by Adams, Lori
“That’s your brilliant plan?” Michael yells at Raph. “You said you found a way to keep her from getting hurt! I thought you were stopping her from becoming a spirit walker, not bringing in demon hunters to train her!”
I feel my head clear and my temper rise. If Michael won’t let us talk this out in private, we’ll have to take it public.
I gingerly climb to my feet, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of rubbing my aching head, which I really want to do. “I think it is a brilliant plan. Unless you don’t think Kanati and Chang`e are good enough to help me?” I cross my arms and give him a challenging look.
“Of course they’re good enough!” Michael snaps. “They’re the best! That’s not the point!”
“We all want to make sure she’s safe,” Raph says. “That is your main concern, right?” There is a hostile challenge in his question, and Michael’s face darkens.
“Of course it is,” Michael says tightly. He assesses the situation and then forces himself to relax. I wonder how long he can control things before he explodes all over someone.
He walks over to greet Kanati and Chang`e. They are friendly enough but their voices drop to quiet undertones, and I’m dying to know what they’re saying. I look desperately at Raph. Michael won’t talk them out of helping, right?
Raph steps over and wraps an arm around my shoulders. He tells me not to worry. We wait while Michael confers with the demon hunters, and I feel sick as though I’m dividing the family. I don’t want to cause trouble between Michael and Raph.
The demon hunters gather their things and wave their good-byes. My second heartbeat is fluttering like a humming bird, and I feel Raph grip my shoulder. Michael’s eyes are blank as they slide from Raph to me.
“You have to go now,” he says, and all the air leaves me.
Chapter 11
Michael
“I can’t believe you sent her away,” Raph said, following Michael as he marched across the meadow, headed for the weapons chamber. All the way over, he berated his older brother for his controlling and callous behavior. “Tell me why you don’t want Sophia to be a spirit walker. Why you are so possessive of her.”
Michael whirled around. “Why I’m what?” he snapped
Raph flinched and for a moment had the good sense not to respond. But it faded and he stood his ground. “You heard me. We all know how she feels about you. That has been obvious for weeks now. Months, even. And you’ve done nothing to discourage her feelings. As you should have. But what I don’t get, is why you’re acting like the overprotective boyfriend. You know your guardian vow and the consequences of breaking it more than anyone. You know what’s at stake here, Michael, so why …” His eyes narrowed suspiciously as an idea occurred to him. “You … haven’t touched her, have you?”
Michael stiffened and clenched his jaw. He stared hard at his brother, half tempted to admit his feelings for Sophia. He was sick of the games, sick of hiding his love for her. He wanted everyone to know how he felt about her, that she belonged to him, not to this damn foolish idea of becoming a spirit walker.
It was too much to risk now. He still had time to convince her to give it up. If not for her sake, then for his and their relationship. But Raph was getting too suspicious and aggressive for answers; he seemed to be purposely injecting himself into their business.
“If I’m not mistaken, brother, the last few times I’ve seen Sophia, you were the one with his arm around her—touching her—not me.” Michael’s voice was bitter and deadly, so unlike him. He and Raph had been at odds for a while now; it felt unnatural to argue with a brother guardian. But then again, a lot of things had felt unnatural lately.
“That’s … not what I meant. I’ve been … trying to reassure her,” Raph said, stepping back. “She’s worried about becoming a spirit walker. For some reason, she believes she might not be good enough. You tell her that?”
“I have never told Sophia she wasn’t good enough,” Michael ground out. “Now correct me if I’m wrong here, but didn’t she just fall out of a tree? On her head?”
“She’s learning and—”
“She’s too delicate!” Michael yelled. “She’s not made for this kind of work and you know it!”
“What I know is that she needs help! She needs the kind of training only demon hunters can give her. So why did you send her away?”
Michael stepped closer and lowered his voice to a menacing growl. “I only sent her away because the Halos are due here any minute, and we need the barn.” He jabbed his finger in Raph’s chest. “And I’m sending you away, too. Leave. Before I hurl you through the wall.”
* * *
Every day Michael waited anxiously for his training to begin. He was overflowing with energy, and the trials were the ideal way to release this excess without giving himself away or attacking Sophia with affection. He was excelling far beyond his fellow candidates and more than impressing the Halo Masters. They had been regarding him with reserved admiration. But the other candidates could sense the Masters’ wonder in the unique angel. Michael Patronus was living up to his reputation as a lethal guardian. And then some.
This had been a point of pride for Michael in the beginning, but now was a mere afterthought. Especially tonight. Finding Sophia in the barn with demon hunters had rocked him to the core. Of course, it had been his brother’s idea; Sophia wouldn’t have known to ask Kanati and Chang`e for help. She wouldn’t have known to train in the barn.
He wasn’t surprised she had seen the barn in its spirit form; after all, she’d seen him and the soul seeker, Degan, in their spirit forms. But why didn’t she tell him her plans? It’s true he’d made himself scarce, wanting time to find his own plan to dissuade her, but she could’ve texted him or called. At least reached out. Instead, she went behind his back.
As he stripped down and slid into his training garb, he thought maybe Sophia was getting away from him. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew he’d been moody and all over the map with his affection. It felt as though everyone was testing his patience, especially that damned J.D. When he’d asked Sophia to the dance, Michael had felt his energy rise with jealousy. He wanted to shove the guy’s face into the ground for thinking about dancing with her. He was overacting, of course. When he’d had time to think about it, he decided that Sophia had probably accepted the invitation only to use J.D. as a decoy. It made sense. Besides, Michael had always liked J.D. The guy was harmless. What Michael didn’t like was the idea of J.D.’s hands on Sophia. It brought up visions of Dante touching her, and that always triggered his overprotectiveness.
The last thing Michael wanted was to scare Sophia away with his jealousy. But this need of his, this insatiable desire for her was driving him mad. She was all he could think about. Raph was right; Michael was possessive, bordering on obsessive.
The Halo Masters had talked about the “Exceptional things within us” and how they tended to dominate. While Michael should have identified this as his strength and ability to protect souls, he’d thought only of Sophia. He had known instantly that she was the exceptional dominant thing within him. As proof, he was no longer eager for tonight’s lesson but wanted it over as quickly as possible. He wanted to go to her and beg forgiveness for his behavior. Apologies long overdue. Tonight’s training was simply getting in the way.
When the fellow candidates arrived for the evening’s training, they assessed Michael’s brooding mood and kept to themselves. He heard their grumbling tributes, “Michael’s superior strength” and “Unshakable concentration,” but also their concerns, “Too much power for one angel?” and “So what is the real source of his aggressiveness?”
He scoffed when one candidate claimed to have cherry-picked his emotions and had said, “Michael has an overwhelming love to kill evil.”
Michael had gotten so used to hiding his feelings for Sophia that it was second nature. No one knew that the real source of his love came from a human.
When the Halo Masters finally arrived, they were in no mood for the
usual chitchat and got down to business. Because the first trial was over and each candidate had the desired spiritual commitment required, they were now well into the second trial: becoming combat ready. This constituted daily bouts through solids and liquids, while constrained and bombarded with obstacles that would drive a sane guardian out of his mind.
“Tonight begins the waterworks,” Chief Master Sachiel announced as he paced in front of the candidates. “We like to call it drown proofing in a high-threat environment. If you have any internal defenses, I suggest you tap into them.” He stepped back, allowing Squad Master Camael to provide the details.
“Each candidate will expose his flight wings and have them bound at his back by guardian ties. Hands and feet are also bound, and a guardian sword will be strapped to the center of your back. Out of reach. Then each candidate will be dumped into the brook, which, as you can see, has transformed to extend straight down into a swirling black hole—an individual abyss for each of you. At the bottom of each abyss is a golden treasure box. Each candidate must free himself of all constraints, fetch his box, and return safely to the surface. Oh, and there is the annoying distraction of Rahab, a demonic sea monster who would rather die than lose his golden box.” Camael turned on his heel and stared hard at each candidate. “A word of warning when fighting Rahab; any blood in the water will attract evil minions lurking in the shadows. Their only purpose is to gnaw the meat off your bones. Good luck, gentlemen. Now light ’em up!”
The water was beyond ice cold, and Michael swore under his breath as he was dropped down, bound by guardian ties. He took a moment to adjust to the temperature and allow his eyes to wash out of color and light the way. He, like all angels, could see easily through darkness. As he drifted deeper into the abyss, water swirled and images rose.
He struggled against the ties, trying to loosen his feet and wrists. It was no use; guardian ties could not be broken, only severed with a spiritual weapon. The abyss spun him in a tornado atmosphere, and all around were disturbing shadows meant to distract him. Rahab was close, his repugnant fishy smell as strong as the water he inhabited. His tail lashed out, striking Michael across the torso. Fish fins stung and cut deep. Blood seeped from the wounds like a red cloud and then was lost in the vicious swirling current. Michael doubled over in pain; he clenched his teeth and scrambled for an idea. The water was too powerful to fight, the restraints too tight to break. His back wings whipped painfully in the turmoil, ripping away feathers. It was excruciating to lose feathers, and he winced and writhed.
The blood brought out the minions that swarmed like piranha, biting and nipping and tearing at his legs. Michael flailed wildly, shedding more feathers. The water rippled in a long shadow; Rahab was circling, his snapping jaws full of razor-sharp teeth. A Chinese dragonhead, Michael thought, only more evil and hideous. It was bloodthirsty for more. Always more.
Instinct kicked in and Michael spun himself like a whirlwind, the minions losing their hold, unable to bite what they couldn’t grasp. Then he arched his back and activated the fetching along his forearms. He bent his knees, bringing up his ankles and cutting the ties. Once his legs were free, he flipped himself over, going against the swirling abyss. The force was strong enough to move the ties along his back wings. Now that he’d lost a considerable amount of feathers, the ties were no longer tight, and the water worked with him, loosening the ties even further. Eventually, his back wings were freed.
The minions were back, tearing at his flesh. Michael expanded his wings around his body, using them as shields. At the same time, Rahab dove from above, his mouth open wide to consume his prey. Michael was forced to retract his back wings and roll, barely escaping the snapping jaws. Rahab’s long, scaly body rippled by, circling for another strike.
With his hands still bound behind him, Michael lifted his arms as high as he could, working the ties against the sword at his back. Once weakened, the ties gave way, and in one swift motion, Michael grabbed the sword and swung around, meeting Rahab as he attacked again.
The sword sliced wide and deep across the serpent’s underbelly. Immediately, a shrilled, unnatural sound reverberated through the water. Michael spun away, covering his ears. It was the most ungodly sound he had ever heard. When he looked back, Rahab was flailing in a cloud of blood. The minions were clacking their teeth, tearing away chunks of raw meat.
Michael secured the sword to his hip and dove quick and deep. He grabbed the golden box and turned, just as more minions swarmed him. Without hesitating, he shot straight up to the surface, out of the water, and high into the air. His back wings snapped open and held him aloft. Once stabilized, he looked down at the Halo Masters gazing up at him. Michael’s chest was heaving and his vision sparkling with blue light. His body was dripping water and blood, rivulets like open veins that ran thick and pooled on the ground below him. Slowly, he eased himself down until his feet touched the soft, grassy bank and his wings retracted. He handed the golden box to Chief Master Sachiel and then walked away.
“Don’t you want to know what’s inside?” the Halo Master called.
Michael paused across the meadow and considered. He guessed it was customary for candidates to acknowledge the treasure they’d just risked their lives for. But Michael felt no curiosity whatsoever. He, alone, knew where his treasure awaited, and it wasn’t in some damned box at the bottom of an abyss.
“No,” he said over his shoulder, and then ducked inside the weapons chamber.
Chapter 12
Fighting the Hands That Hold Me
I dream of Michael. We are standing in the barn with the meadow stretching in every direction, farther than our imaginations. Harmony lingers in the flowers, and the bees take it with them, spreading peace from bud to bud. Michael smiles down at me and holds my hand for a walk. He is tucked safely by my side, and I am happy. Michael is happy. My second heartbeat is a hummingbird that flutters erratically in my chest. I shiver. A breeze tickles up my legs, and I frown in my sleep.
My covers are sliding toward the end of the bed, exposing my bare legs. I’m wearing a T-shirt and panties and nothing else, and it’s chilly in here. I rouse, groggy, and crack open one eye to search for my sheets or blanket, anything. They are just out of reach, and I strain forward but they move again. I stop; they stop. What the hell?
I reach out, and they slip over my feet, just beyond my fingertips. I blink in surprise and then look around. It’s murky and quiet. There is a rush of wind, some movement in the room, and I know I’m not alone. My iPod lights up, and Tenth Avenue North croons “By Your Side.” As the song builds, I feel myself slowly rising off the bed. I give a strangled sort of yelp. This must be Michael. But why don’t I feel the second heartbeat?
I’m five feet off the bed, hovering with my arms out. Gently, I rotate until I’m prone and staring at the ceiling. I feel the weight of my hair hanging from my head and nothing else. The music continues, louder, pounding in my ears while I gently turn like a merry-go-round. Eventually, my feet tip downward and I hover with arms out, just like I did at the frozen waterfall. I am turned around, watching my room scroll by. The music escalates, and I’m pushed against a wall, my head just below the ceiling. I’m caught in someone’s snare, and I tremble, looking around the room.
The edge of my T-shirt inches up, exposing my stomach. I wiggle, frantic. Higher and higher it rises while I tremble.
“Mmm.” I hear a moan deep and low beneath the music, and then I feel something warm slide over my hip and into the curve of my waist. I gasp and go still. A hand wraps around each wrist, pinning my arms against the wall. My second heartbeat pops to life at the same moment that Michael materializes in front of me. His body is pressed against mine, and he’s grinning down at me. His eyes are indigo and hooded with a look of desire that chases away any argument I thought we had.
I want to ask how he managed this without revealing the second heartbeat but I can’t. I’m flushed with hot tingles racing through my body. I smile back and he releases my wri
sts. I don’t fall but wrap my arms around his neck. “Um, do I know you?” I tease, and he dips his head and whispers across my lips, “Let’s see how well you know me.”
He presses his body against mine, wedging my knees apart. I wrap my legs around his waist as his mouth trails down my neck. He grinds me against the wall, kissing and biting, tormenting me with a flood of shivers. I run my fingers through his hair, grasping and tugging. Michael groans, and I guide his head up. His face is dark and serious, his eyes heavy with need. He blinks slowly and kisses me softly on the mouth. The first spark is sharp and brutal, and we jerk apart in surprise.
“Did I do that?” I ask, shaken. I touch my lips; they are zinging with heat.
He laughs and says, “Well, you are one hot tchotchke.”
I laugh. “Seriously, Michael. That one hurt. Why would it …” I notice one of his eyes churning into a dark shade of brown. Caution tells me not to mention it. Then I see several lacerations across his cheeks and neck. I push him back to get a better view. “Michael! What happened?” I run my fingertips over the cut across his cheek. It’s wet with blood.
He looks as though he’s wrestling with an answer, or whether to answer at all. I imagine he was attacked by some sadistic reaper or soul seeker who fought him for a soul. My imagination can keep going but I want him to explain.
“Tell me,” I say, and he sets his jaw. He lowers us onto the bed and eases himself on top of me. I wrap myself around him again. I love his weight on me, our bodies molding together as one. There is not a space inside me that Michael doesn’t fill.
“Nothing to tell,” he says, and dives for my neck. He bites up and down my neck, and my body arches up in pleasure. I groan as my thoughts evaporate and all I know is the feeling of Michael.
I slide my hands along his velvety skin, inside his shirt. He rises so I can lift it over his head and drop it. I stop and stare. Michael’s chest is covered with random cuts and bites, serious lacerations. He sees my horrified expression and remembers.
