DARK SOULS (Angels and Demons Book 2)

by Brenda L. Harper

  She clung to that. She clung to the idea that he was safe and happy where he was.

  Chapter 24

  The funeral took place the next day.

  Stiles stood under the trees and watched as Dylan and Josephine said their goodbyes. Josephine cried on her mother’s shoulder, no longer angry for what Dylan wanted to do and couldn’t. After Wyatt died, Stiles slipped into Josephine’s room and gave her a false memory. He’d made her believe that Wyatt had told her he was ready to go, and that she would be okay without him. It seemed to give her some comfort as she grieved.

  He wished he could do the same for Dylan. But there was no easing her pain. She walked around as if she were on autopilot, aware of her surroundings, but not really aware. She didn’t sleep and she refused to eat. She sat with his body for so long that Stiles had to wrap his ethereal form around her and remove her in order for Harry to take Wyatt to the hospital morgue. The moment he released her, she went back to the bed and curled up with his pillow against her face, the scent of him offering her as much pain as it did comfort.

  The whole town turned out for the funeral. Stiles saw faces he’d never seen before bathed in grief. And familiar faces. Harry and all of his children were there, their spouses and children too, and the family surrounded him with support and unconditional love. Matthew was there. Members of the council. Everyone respected Wyatt. They understood him in a way they had never understood Dylan. Or Stiles. Wyatt was one of their own.

  As the funeral broke up, Dylan stepped to the box that held Wyatt’s remains. For a long minute she just stood there, staring down at the heavy, wooden lid. She didn’t drop the flower she clutched in her hands, she didn’t say anything—she didn’t move. She just stared at the box so quietly it stirred fear in Stiles’ chest.

  “Mom.” Josephine walked up behind her and touched her shoulder. “We should go.”

  But Dylan just stood there.

  No one knew what to do. Other mourners stood there watching her uncomfortably, aware of a new group of men who’d come to the cemetery. Even Stiles didn’t realize at first what this new group of men wanted. He was too lost in Dylan’s pain. But when he did…

  “You didn’t.”

  Josephine looked over at him. “You have to make her understand. Daddy’s gone now. He knew—”

  “Her husband just died. You’re seriously going to banish her at his funeral?”

  “Jo,” Matthew said, disbelief on his face, too.

  “It’s not up to me.” Josephine touched Dylan’s shoulder. “Really, Mom, if I had an option, I would have made them wait.”

  “You can’t do this,” Stiles said, anger so intense that his sword popped into his hand without conscious thought. “This is her home, her family. You’re her family.”

  Josephine stepped back. “This is the way it has to be,” she said, false courage in her voice.

  “Not today.”

  It was turning into something of a standoff. Stiles raised his sword and the new group of men rushed around him, blocking him from Josephine. When he made a threatening gesture toward one of them, another one punched him squarely in the stomach, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs for a second. But he recovered quicker than any human would, slicing downward with his sword. It would have connected with the man’s shoulder, would have sliced him nearly to the sternum. But Dylan was suddenly there, her hand catching the top edge of the sword so that it was deflected.

  “Stop. I won’t have you do this here.”

  “Dylan, they’re trying—”

  “I know.” She turned to face the group of men. “We’ll go. But I’d like a moment with my daughter.”

  The men looked at each other, clearly confused. But then they parted and Josephine stepped forward.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said, tears sliding slowly down her face.

  “I know.” Dylan kissed her face gently. “Take care of yourself. Take care of that baby. I will see you again soon.”

  Without waiting for a response, Dylan turned to Stiles and took the sword from his hand with a flick of her fingers. Then she slid her hand into his.

  “Let’s go.”

  He didn’t even have to think about it. In an instant they were gone, standing in a grove of trees behind an overgrown ruin that had once been an out-of-the-way motel. Dylan knew it; he could see it in her face. But then a stab of pain rushed through her and she disappeared.

  Gone. Just like that.

  Chapter 25

  He followed, as he always did. It wasn’t in him to let her be alone in her pain.

  She went to a river that he didn’t at first recognize. It had changed over time; the water had eroded more of the shoreline from a little more than forty years ago. But he knew what it was after having seen her memories play over and over again in her head.

  This was where they’d met.

  Dylan jumped to her feet, searching the ground for her knife, her heart pounding at the sound of another voice—a deep, unfamiliar, human voice. Too far away. Her knife lay shining in the sunlight, close to the branches that still held her drying clothes. And behind that, closer to the weapon than she was, stood an odd-looking stranger.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, her eyes flicking once again to the knife.

  The stranger followed her gaze, a slow smile slipping over full lips.

  “I could ask you the same question.” Blue eyes, as deep and clear as the sky, slipped over the length of her bare body. “Not wise to walk around naked in this place.”

  “Why not?”

  A dark eyebrow cocked, rising high on a deep bronze forehead. “Because someone like me might come along.”

  Dylan shrugged, allowing her eyes to move over the stranger as those blue eyes had moved over her. The first thing she noticed—next to the alluring blue eyes, the strong, heavy jaw, and the long weapon strapped over a breastless chest—was a lack of curves, of the rounded hips that marked most girls of her age. The stranger’s hips were straight, thick, and a belt that held yet another weapon was lying there without the tight cinch of a waist. The stranger had to be her age, or maybe a year or two older, if height told her anything. But there were none of the signs of maturity that marked a high-level adolescent’s body.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Dylan asked with real curiosity in her voice.

  The stranger stepped forward and reached toward the knife. Dylan stepped back slightly, her heels sinking into the moisture of the sand at the water’s edge. She had nothing with which to defend herself, nothing to keep the stranger from using her own knife to end her life. Her heart began to pound and she felt the odd breeze settle over her again, stirring the heavy, wet strands of her hair. Together, Dylan and her invisible friend waited to see what the stranger would do. Instead of touching her knife, the stranger picked up her clothing and tossed it to her. “Get dressed,” he said as he moved back toward the trees, “and we’ll talk, Genero.”

  “How do you know I’m from Genero?” she asked.

  “Because…” He turned and gazed at her for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on her hips and her breasts. “You’ve never seen a man before.”

  Stiles had lingered around her then. He’d tried to warn her with his presence and his thoughts as she assessed Wyatt…he knew Wyatt was bad news the moment he saw him. Something about him…but now he knew he just sensed that Wyatt was something special for Dylan and that he would change her life. He was afraid of any outside influence back then. But now…he was grateful Wyatt had given Dylan everything he had. She wouldn’t be who she was without him, just as Stiles wouldn’t be who he was without Rebecca. He just wished neither of them had to say goodbye.

  He lingered now, too, letting her know he was there with the wind of his movements. But he stayed invisible—off the radar. He didn’t want to interfere. But he had to keep her safe.

  She lay curled on the ground, barely moving for hours and hours on end, her skin burning in the heat of the day, healing itself as the cold of
the night air brushed over her. Again and again, she healed herself even as the sun and lack of water and food, took its toll on her fragile, human body. He’d done the same thing, he remembered, walking for a decade in the desert after Dillon had died—before Dylan saved him, and before he’d escaped the fate Stiles had watched him suffer all those years ago. And he’d walked after God called the angels home and had forced him to stay; he’d walked until Joanna had found him.

  He couldn’t blame Dylan for her pain, for her inability to cope. But the longer she lay there, the more he worried that she would never pull out of it.

  He scared wild animals away and kept the area safe for her. He touched her at night to repair the damage that her natural healing powers couldn’t, or wouldn’t, keep up with. And he waited.

  He waited. He didn’t know what else to do.

  Raphael handled the demons with his legion arriving whenever they received news of them, and fought them the best they could with the tools they had. They weren’t making progress in this war, just keeping it under control. They needed Dylan to come back, to lead this war.

  Weeks passed. Then months.

  A wild boar came. Stiles lay his ethereal form over her and protected her from its gnashing teeth and stabbing horn. She never moved—never acknowledged any of it.

  Her thoughts were so filled with grief that images of Wyatt were all Stiles saw when he tried to hear her thoughts. But, slowly, thoughts began to filter in again. Angry thoughts. Why did he have to die? Why did he leave her? Why didn’t he agree to their plan? Why did he agree to have her banished? Didn’t he love her enough? Did he love her as much as she’d loved him? Did he still love her? Would she see him again?

  And then her thoughts began to focus on more than Wyatt.

  How was she supposed to stop the demons? Why did God give her these gifts and not teach her how to use them? Why did she have to be the one? Why did she have to be the savior? Why couldn’t she grow old and die with her family like the others who came out of Genero with her? Why couldn’t she be like Donna?

  Stiles listened to her hurts, her fears, her anger…and waited.

  Then, one day, she sat up. She crawled to the water’s edge, cupped the water and splashed her face with it. Then she lay back down.

  The next day, she actually drank some of the water.

  And then…

  “I know you’re here.”

  I’m always here.

  “Come sit with me like a normal person.”

  “But I’m not normal.”

  Stiles settled onto the ground behind her, taking a chance by wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t object. In fact, she leaned back into him and shuddered, a low sob slipping from between her lips.

  “You’re going to survive this.”

  “I don’t know. It hurts so much.”

  “I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “And it will continue to hurt. But you are strong, Dylan.”

  “I wish I believed that.”

  “You asked me a question before all of this. You asked me if I loved you.”

  “I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything that happened before.”

  “You do. You remember the moment you met Wyatt. You remember every minute of the forty-three years you spent together.”

  She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.

  “You remember that he loved you so much that he wanted to let you move on. That he wants you to become what you were meant to be.”

  She nodded again, not even angry that he had listened to her final moments with Wyatt. He kissed the top of her head again, wanting so desperately to offer her comfort.

  “He gave you something Lucifer never had. He gave you a human existence. He gave you a perspective that you will carry with you for the rest of your existence. He gave you a gift, Dylan. You can’t waste that gift.”

  “It hurts.”

  “I know.”

  They sat quietly for a while, drawing comfort from one another even as they both realized that there was no comfort. How do you find comfort for something that was overwhelming, that was unimaginable?

  “How can you love a child you helped raise?”

  Stiles ran his hand slowly down her arm. “You were never a child to me. Not really. You were always that calm, confident girl who came to me and begged me not to kill Wyatt’s mother.”

  “But you saw me as an infant.”

  “I was there when you were born.” He drew her head closer to his chest. “I was there when you took your first steps and when you said your first words. I was there when your abilities began to manifest, and when it was most important to hide you and to protect you.”

  “And you were the kind cook who snuck me a glass of milk every once in a while.”

  “It’s been sixty years since you were born. I’ve known you longer as a grown woman than as a child.”

  “When did you fall in love with me?”

  Stiles groaned. “That’s a complicated question.”

  “I know.” She sighed, pulling away from him just to turn toward him and to touch his face. “I know this is what is meant to be. I know you are my soul mate.” Her eyes fell to her hands where they rested against his chest. “I know this has been difficult for you.”

  “You change the rules, Dylan. I’ve never known of an angel that went more than a few seconds without a soul mate. Once one mate died and another match was identified, the connection was instantaneous. But you…this freewill thing really sucks.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. I wouldn’t change this fate for anything.”

  A smile slipped out as she rested her head against his shoulder. “I know I wouldn’t be who I am without you. You have always been just as important to me as Wyatt was.”

  “I love you,” he said quietly. “I’ve always loved you. And, yes, it’s like the way I felt for Rebecca, but different—bigger, somehow. We’re connected in a way I could never have been connected to Rebecca. And, as much as I still love her…you…it’s different with you. Not just because of the soul mate connection, but there’s more, something I can’t even begin to describe.”

  “I feel it too.”

  Stiles nearly gasped, so caught off guard by her statement. He had never been sure how she had felt, had never been able to trust what he thought he heard in her thoughts or felt in her emotions. But now…

  “You have to give me time, Stiles. I know this is right, I know this is where I am meant to be. But it still feels like a betrayal.”

  “Okay.” He ran his hand over the back of her head, stroking her with the gentlest of movements. “I told you once before. I’m a patient man. I can wait as long as you need me to.”

  “Thank you.” She nuzzled against his neck for a second. “I guess we should get back. Work on this demon thing.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  But they didn’t move for a while. They just sat there, holding each other, and finally walking over a line Stiles had never been sure they would cross. It gave him hope and filled a hole that had been sitting in the center of his soul for a long, long time.

  Chapter 26

  Raphael jabbed the map in front of him with the blunt end of a stick.

  “We’ve fought them here, here, and here,” he said with each tap. “They seem to be moving north, toward the capital. My guess is that they intend to invade the capital if we don’t stop them soon.”

  “Where are they now?” Dylan asked.

  Raphael tapped the map again. “We’ve had reports of incidences here.”

  The place he tapped was a hundred miles south of the city where Dylan had buried her husband. She crossed her arms over her chest as she studied the map.

  “There are gargoyles there?”

  “A dozen stationed all through the area. That’s where we’re getting our reports.”

  Dylan looked at Stiles and saw concern in his eyes. She knew he was worried about Harry and the rest of his f
amily. She understood. She was worried about Josephine, Matthew, and all the neighbors and friends she’d left behind when she was banished.

  “Has anybody talked to Wilhelm? Has he got any idea what these things want?”

  Rachel sat up in the chair where she’d been lounging, watching the meeting unfold around her. “He said he doesn’t have much, but what he does have, he wants to deliver straight to you.”

  “Me?”

  Rachel nodded.

  Dylan glanced at Stiles again. He offered a vague shrug.

  “Well,” she said, “I guess we should find him and see what he wants.”

  Dylan turned and began to walk out of the room, but Rachel rushed up behind her and grabbed her arm.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for the funeral.”

  Dylan bit her lip to keep tears from rushing to her eyes. Just as she’d managed to keep her thoughts on anything but Wyatt for longer than a full minute, Rachel had to remind her. She knew she didn’t mean any harm by it, but it still hurt.

  “I loved Wyatt, you know I did,” Rachel continued. “It never crossed my mind that he would go so young.”

  Dylan inclined her head slightly. “I didn’t want him to. But the cancer was aggressive.”

  Rachel touched her face lightly. “No one blames you.”

  And that pushed her over an edge. She glanced desperately at Stiles, but it was Raphael that came to her rescue.

  “Rachel, could you help me with these maps? I can’t seem to remember what you told me about the regions.”

  The grief disappeared from Rachel’s eyes and she smiled softly. There was pleasure in her expression, pleasure that Dylan remembered seeing in her eyes years ago when she had married her young farmer. His death had destroyed Rachel…she hoped Raphael knew what he was doing, encouraging dear, sweet Rachel’s affections.