Taken (Marked By Angels Book 2)

by KC Bellinger

  He pulled me into his arms and held me like a lover, like a child, someone he lost long ago and feared he’d lose again. “I won’t,” he promised.

  The one thing I had learned from Dustyn, and the most important thing she’d taught me, was to never believe in promises. What is sent to us will be taken, but for right now, I felt like the something that had been taken from me was finally returned.

  Chapter 9

  We walked along the sandy pier as a heavy wind wrestled with my hair. Rhys pulled the rubber band from his slick, black locks and gently curled the blonde strands out of my face, fastening them into a knot. Standing behind me, a wave of heat blew off him and burned my skin like the sun on a hot August day—it felt good. Goosebumps fluttered up my arms and I shivered. He placed his arm gently around my waist as we walked. His black duster jacket swayed in and out of his legs and the thud of his heavy chained boots made him look like a cowboy from an old western picture.

  We walked in silence, neither one of us wanting to ruin the moment with talk of demons and Hours. The boardwalk held stores that had been boarded up for years. Thieves or the vandal of the ocean waves had broken into a few when the tide got too high. A few chain restaurants still stood behind the village of nails and wood. Some had signs of famous fast-food places and others were nameless. A few of the delis had reopened and were family-owned and operated. Further inland, a few dress shops with local tailors had once dressed the more wealthy residents of Timber Grove but now stood vacant.

  “How long have you had that jacket?”

  His face brightened as he turned toward the early morning sky. “A while, I suppose.” His eyes turned contemplative as the corner of his lips twitched. “Stole it from a demon.”

  We watched as the sun and the ocean became one. It seemed the same for us, Angel and Hour: one again. How strange we must seem to someone peering out of a nearby window. I tensed at the thought. Who could be watching us?

  “I probably should get back to the church.” I wasn’t sure if I had a curfew or not, but I bet staying out till dawn was frowned upon.

  “Yes, of course.” He turned me around in his arms, dropped his head, and spread his wings.

  ***

  Rhys dropped me off in the cathedral’s cemetery. I walked grudgingly back to my cabin and noticed a body slumped against the door.

  “Justin?” Gently I shook the boy to wake him but failed. I looked around to make sure no one was looking. I hoisted him up and carried him into the cabin. I placed him on the bed and covered him with the patchwork quilt from the foot of the bed.

  I watched him as his chest rose and fell, then decided it was time to pull out Dustyn’s books. I chose my favorite: a leather-bound novel with an intricate symbol on it. I studied it for a moment and realized it resembled Dustyn’s angel mark. It was the mark I wished I had, a type of sundial pointing to the Hour they represented. I closed my eyes to keep the tears from falling.

  I wanted a husband, a family ... children. So, why were the Night Hours created, and why are they killing them? Why didn’t Tresian know about them? What hurt above all was that Jaiten seemed to know, but had kept it from me.

  I rubbed frantically at my eyes and returned to flipping through the pages. I found the warrior that wore Rhys’s ring. The eagle’s tail feathers swept the man’s head, but it wasn’t Rhys. None of the pictures were of him. Were they the angels that had gone missing? There were a few notations in the margins, most of which I didn’t understand, so I focused on the drawings. I still had so many questions.

  “What are you reading?”

  I jumped up in my seat and slammed the book closed.

  Justin smirked as he yawned and stretched. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He looked around, confused. “How did I get in here?”

  “I don’t know, but when I got home, you were here,” I lied.

  “After you stood me up last night, I came searching for you,” Justin admitted, blushing a bit. “This isn’t the type of city you want to get lost in or hook up with the wrong people.”

  “Did you get my note?” I asked bluntly.

  He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “Yes, even so, I wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

  “Did my father put you up to watching out for me?” I barked. “Because if he did, you can call our friendship over.” I couldn’t have this kid following me around. He’d get hurt or worse. I walked over to the door and threw it open, hoping he’d get the hint to leave.

  “No,” he said sincerely, shaking his head. “I’m sorry; I’m just used to keeping watch over everyone here.”

  “Well, let me tell you,” I snarled, “I don’t need anyone to babysit me, understand?”

  Justin gulped and nodded.

  I pointed to the small covered porch. “Since you’ve been sleeping in my bed, I think it’s time I use it now. Goodbye.”

  “Whitney?”

  “What?”

  “Breakfast is in an hour and then you promised to help me with the children.”

  Shit, I forgot about the music lessons. “Come get me in an hour,” I said.

  “Are we okay?”

  I thought about that for a moment. Jaiten wouldn’t have waited for me to come home. He never worried about me and it felt almost good. Almost. I sighed and nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.” I reached for his arm to stop him from leaving. “Justin, wait.” Ashamed at my outburst, I lifted my eyes to meet his. “I’m sorry. I’ve never had a friend I could count on before. Do you forgive me?”

  He grinned and touched my hand. “Of course.”

  ***

  I woke to the tapping of a pencil on my desk. There was a contemplative shadow lingering on my wall, and then the tapping stopped, replaced by scribbling.

  My eyes rolled to the one pane window: dusk was disappearing. “Jaiten?” Sleep yanked at my eyelids, but I fought it.

  The shadow turned and stood. Footsteps clunked over to the bed.

  “I thought you were never going to wake up.”

  “Justin?” Once I realized I was in the cabin, I knew it couldn’t be Jaiten. He couldn’t set foot on sacred ground.

  “Were you expecting someone else?”

  I shook my head. “Is the hour up yet?”

  “Try almost thirteen hours. You’ve been asleep all day.”

  “What?” I bolted straight up. “I am so sorry. I’ve never slept so long in my life.”

  “It’s fine, really. What do you say about a bite to eat?”

  My gaze fell away from the smiling kid and scanned the darkness outside the window. There was a shadow that hadn’t been there before. I shook my head. “You know, Justin, I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll just go back to sleep.”

  “Do you want me to stay?” He tucked the quilt around my shoulders.

  “No, I’ll be fine.”

  He looked disappointed.

  “But if you would come and get me for breakfast tomorrow morning, that’d be great.”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Mass is at seven. Would you like to attend the service with me before breakfast?”

  “I’d like that.”

  Justin seemed torn as he gathered his books to leave. He walked out onto the small porch with his stuff in one hand and a wavering candle in the other. Turning around, he came back into the cabin, walked to the woodstove, and set the lit wax and its brass holder on the warming plate. It was a friendly gesture. He returned my smile then left.

  A few moments later, the door blew open and the dancing flame died.

  Chapter 10

  A shadowy figure dominated my doorway. He didn’t knock, but he waited for me to invite him in. I gestured to him and climbed out of the heavy blankets.

  “Stay there,” Rhys ordered, putting his hand up. His voice strained and cracked like he had been using it too much.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, and he took a seat across the room at the small desk. He might as well have been on the other side of the planet.


  “Are you okay?” I was dying to touch him.

  “We need to talk,” he said, ignoring my question. “Can you see in the dark?”

  I nodded and studied his gaze as it moved from me to my closet door. It opened and invisible hands pushed aside my sweaters on the top shelf. I looked back at Rhys, his eyes were focused on the top shelf. He raised his eyes and tilted his head. I turned my attention back to the closet. A book floated toward me. I gulped and returned my stare to Rhys. He brought the book inches from the bed, blinked, and it fell onto my lap. Pages started turning, stopping on the picture of the female who wore my cloak.

  “Do you know what she is wearing?”

  “Yes; it’s my cloak.”

  More pages flipped. The eagle warrior stared at me.

  “Do you see his ring?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “I remembered it when I first saw you.”

  He nodded with approval. “Good, so you know there are many objects of power shown throughout this book?”

  “I guess so, but I don’t know what they are used for or where to find them.” Staring down at the picture, I traced my finger around the ring. “I used to draw my favorite pictures when I was little.”

  The pages flipped again to a drawing of a man wearing a wolfskin on his back.

  This was one of the few pictures I didn’t like. The head of the animal was draped over the man’s face and he wore nothing else. His skin was dark, like all the other people in the book. I glanced back at Rhys, wondering why he wanted me to see this certain picture, but I didn’t get any response. I didn’t enjoy looking at the naked man, but I studied it again. He wore a leather necklace with a stone. That was nothing abnormal. His feet were bare. One of his hands was missing as though he held behind his back. His other hand was fastened to the wolf’s skin. Drops of blood dripped down his arm and chest, suggesting a recent kill. I forced myself to look at his bloody arms and hands. He wore an intricate golden cuff that had a striking resemblance to the one Rhys wore on his wrist. I looked again. Yes, it was the same one.

  “Look familiar?” he asked. “It’s a fake. The real one was destroyed. There are seven objects this clan made and had blessed by three discrete entities—seven is the number of perfection. It is looked upon favorably throughout religion and spirituality. There are many hidden sevens throughout the bible as well. The seven relics are one of them. The three entities also have a deep meaning: birth, life, and death. Only once has a representative from Heaven, Hell, and Mother Nature herself ever agreed to produce such remarkable power. The demon repented and was sent to Heaven, so the items and the story became a fable to that realm. The items were divided and sent to different parts of the world to be protected. Lately, the demons have learned they exist. They do not know of their gifts but are attempting to steal them all. Demons believe they were cheated because of the remorseful soul. I have the ring and you hold the cloak.”

  “You sent Jaiten the cloak, didn’t you?” I accused Rhys, pointing a finger at him.

  “Yes,”—he smiled—“and I suppose you didn’t tell him what it does?”

  “I don’t even know what it does. So, no, I didn’t tell him.” I shook my head.

  “They probably think it’s a fake as well.” He grinned triumphantly. “They think the ring is, and if we can make them think they are all fake then, hopefully, they will stop searching for the others.”

  “What does the cloak do?” I asked curiously.

  “It evolves with the owner. If you need to be hidden or fast, it will come to your aid. However, it can become addicting and, as I said before, it can devour you.”

  “So what now?” I sighed.

  “We talk to Father Bucheli.” Rhys stood but then dropped to his knees. He looked pained. “And then you return to Jaiten. We have to find the others.”

  The space between us was unbearable. I felt the ache he must have been feeling. Dropping the blanket, I crossed the room in two long strides. My arms wrapped around his bowed head and he buried his face deep into my soft belly. He was shaking, and I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped my lips. I dropped to my knees and snuggled into his thick arms.

  Forcefully, he pushed me and moved away. Stunned, I sat sprawled out on the cold wooden floor. Rhys put his hands on the pipe of the woodstove. I recently made the mistake of leaning against the black metal that directed the smoke out of the cabin’s roof and burned myself.

  “Rhys,” I whispered.

  “Not now, Whitney, we have a mission,” he winced.

  “Then when?” I got up and put my hand on his. I could feel warmth radiating through his palm.

  “Soon,” he said, barely audible. “Maybe. Or never.”

  I dropped my hand and balled my fists like a two-year-old about to have a tantrum. Shaking with fear that I may never know what it’s like to love him, I reached into all the pain bounding my chest. There will be no lies or hate here. They didn’t belong. I was strong and I didn’t need demons or ghosts to lean on. No, I wouldn’t let my past prevent me from loving him, and I sure as Hell won’t let my future stop me either.

  “I will go back to that place … I will defeat the Strongs … I will find the others …” I said, raising my voice with each promise. “I will aid my angel as his Hour.” Tears came to my eyes and for the first time since my mother’s funeral, I let them fall. “But I refuse to be your ‘never.’”

  “Then you must fight like Hell,” Rhys’s words were tight and demanding. His hands dropped from the pipe to cradle my face.

  In the moonlight, every scar on his face was lit. The need vibrating through us stopped as soon as we were touching again. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. I didn’t want to stop watching him, but my body pulled everything tight, including my eyes, to let my mouth open with his.

  Chapter 11

  Father Bucheli was available for confession in the evening hours according to the sign posted on the bulletin board. So, we planned on meeting inside the church once the parishioners left. I threw on the cloak and chewed my nails, attempting to bide some time since Rhys wanted to approach the priest first, alone.

  The footprints in the frost from Justin leaving were still fresh on my porch. The time with Rhys in my cabin was enough to forever hold onto, but it had all happened in a matter of minutes. I sat in the memory of our kiss. Who knew when or if we’d get another one.

  I entered the church as quietly as I could through the back glass door, but it was heavy and loud enough to alert God I was there. There were two white-haired ladies kneeling in the back row with rosaries in their hands. They were saying penance and though they were soundless, I could make out every word formed on their lips.

  I didn’t see Rhys anywhere inside. The confessional was occupied, so I took a seat in the middle of the church, hoping not to disrupt any churchgoers from their sacraments. There was an eerie comfort in the somber song echoing off the walls. The church organ faced the congregation, so the face and the fingers stroking the keys were a mystery.

  Statues of saints stood in alcoves around the altar. At their feet, brass candle holders held different shapes of burning wax, but the wicks were about out of life. The carved ivory faces of St. Francis and St. Michael were fading quickly in the wounded light. Red, crystal cups on each window still had days to burn, so when the altar went dark, the rest of the church would still have light. I closed my eyes and smelled the familiar scents of wood polish and incense. All churches smelled the same to me and made me feel more at home.

  Both doors to the confessional slammed in unison, breaking my meditating mind. The two old ladies’ heads snapped up to join my stare as Father Bucheli and Rhys walked quickly down the aisle. Father Bucheli looked bewildered as he pulled frantically on his collar like when I saw him tending to the garden, but now it looked like a nervous habit. His eyes, behind thin-rimmed reading glasses, were fixed on the crucifix above the altar.

  Rhys, with his long black hair, looked misplaced in a house of worship. His ma
tching black ensemble and glasses could fool anyone. But the closer he came to the front of the church, the larger and brighter he got, and no amount of forbidding clothing could deter him from his origins. His long strides surpassed Father Bucheli, and he stopped at the pew I was sitting in.

  Wordlessly, he motioned for me to kneel with him. I did, and the priest took the spot opposite the angel moments later.

  Looking back, the two women were gone, and I heard a faint click of locks on all three doors leading into the nave of the church turning.

  Rhys was the first to get up and sit in the pew. Father Bucheli and I followed. The three of us sat together, a little too close than what would be normal, disrupting each other’s personal space. A tense hush filled the room’s cavity. The organ stopped playing, and the only sound was the faint hiss of the flickering candles.

  “Whitney, please explain to the good Father why it is important not to leave the confines of the cathedral,” Rhys said calmly but with an edge of impatience.

  They had already started this conversation without me.

  “Because he said so,” I teased.

  Both men glared at me.

  “Okay, okay, I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “This is not the time for jokes.” Rhys scowled.

  “Yeah, I know.” I sighed, folding my hands in my lap. “I’m not sure what you told him, Rhys. Remember, I wasn’t in there with you.”

  “Of course.” Rhys covered my hands with one of his large, bronze palms.

  It was a simple gesture and perhaps one meant for an apology, but it excited the hell out of me. He must have felt it, too, because he quickly withdrew.

  “I was explaining to Father Bucheli about our situation. I’m not sure he fully understands the danger he is in. There are demons everywhere. Whitney, you see them as souls because they do not repel you. But in fact, they are now visible to many humans because they believe in them. Funny, what faith brings.”

  “I didn’t notice.” Ashamed, I thought of all the demons at the bar drinking and talking to humans. The girl on the street—wasn’t that a demon she was dancing with? How could I have been so stupid? “Father, do you know what Rhys is?” I leaned over the angel, attempting to change the subject. I felt Rhys inhale my scent and, alarmingly, my mind found us in a dark corner, alone, doing something very wrong inside a church.