Awaken the Soul (Havenwood Falls High)(2)
My questions are futile. Reapers don’t decide these things. There is a larger plan. We all merely follow it. My fists slam the ground. Why can’t I walk away?
She is special, the reaper speaks in my mind, soft and low. Lovely. Her soul was meant for more.
He rambles like someone in awe. His little, obsessive words click through my head. I want, I want, I want, he murmurs. So special. So different.
Rage builds within my chest as his chattering continues. Spots flash in my vision, and my stomach hardens as bitterness coats my tongue.
“She is mine!” I shout the statement within my soul and out of my lips.
No. She is mine, son of angels.
Low, guttural anger rips from within, snapping my control. My hands burn as my muscles bunch and flex, and the world around us dims, blackness snuffing out the afternoon sun. Shadows grow long, branches creak, and the reaper drifts away once again.
I mock his pitiful presence. “Yes, I am the son of an angel. I do not cower before a warden of Death.”
“You are a boy,” the reaper says aloud, his shroud waving in the wind as the heat consuming my hands creeps up my arms.
The light of a thousand fires burns at the tips of my fingers pressed against Vivienne’s wounds. Heal her. I call upon an ability I possess, but have never tapped into. My teeth grind in my tight jaw.
The reaper’s hisses are nonstop. He is furious. I’m saving his prey, taking his prize. His electric eyes flash as he lowers to the ground and assumes an upright position, hovering above the snow. He remains nothing but spirals of mist, taking the loose shape of the classic specter of Death humans are used to visualizing.
A cold touch shocks my side, and I flinch. Vivienne’s hand. It slides down my bare ribs, searching for purchase. Her fingers curl around a belt loop of my black jeans as her back arches off the ground. The intensity in my palms grows, and pain contorts Vivienne’s features. Her brows draw above her eyes, her mouth forming a voiceless scream as a dribble of blood coats her bottom lip. Her free hand digs into the snow. Her suffering torments me, and yet I hold tight, healing her as she writhes. Her heels scrape against the wet ground as her legs bend and stretch. She’s missing one running shoe.
Then it’s done.
The light dies. The weak, gray sun reappears.
Vivienne’s eyes flutter, offering little glimpses of watery blue nirvana before they close, and her head falls to the side.
With a smug grin, I lift my gaze to the reaper.
I want her, he says with his mind, his eyes.
My lip curls. “You can’t have her.”
I will. His black head tilts, a subtle nod, then he’s gone.
The forest awakens, the calm of death no longer holding life at a standstill.
My coarse breaths come quickly, my pulse racing as I gather Vivienne close. Leaning over her, I press my lips to the frozen edge of her ear. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Her heart beats, strong and steady.
My muscles relax as I survey the forest. It’s nearly nightfall. The temperature dropped rapidly in the last several minutes. The air is ripe with the scent of the gathering storm. It’s a mile, possibly two, north. Tucking my ruined sweatshirt between our bodies, I search the ground for evidence of what transpired here. Her blood is everywhere, but nothing else. The storm will cover the blood from human eyes, although the scent will drive the supernaturals in town crazy. Nothing to be done right now. I need to move Vivienne someplace warm.
Cradling her close, I leap into the air and snap my wings wide. I’ll take her to my house, clean her up, and make sure she’s okay. I’ll figure out my next move after that.
Unanswered questions bombard me. What happened in the forest? Why did I react with such savagery? Will the reaper be back? Should I worry? Tell Elias? Speak to Father? No. I won’t call upon him. I have four months, six if I can convince him to let me finish out school, before I take my place at his side. His or another’s—the decision has yet to be made, and I need all the time away from him I can get.
My forehead lowers, pressing to Vivienne’s temple as my hands tighten their grip. Her lips have regained a pink, human tone. I inhale a shaky breath as the emptiness, the nothingness, I’ve lived with disappears. She replaced it in an instant. Her scent fills me. Her warmth, her life, digs into my soul with gripping talons, anchoring in and refusing to let go. These emotions are unexpected and unwanted. I’ve never felt much of anything for anyone.
Is this feeling human or angelic?
The first snowflakes appear before I reach home. Staying low, I fly above the tree line and cloak us from sight as we soar over Havenwood Heights. If I were alone, I’d be home already, a perk of angelic birth, but Vivienne is vulnerable. Especially in her current state. Her pulse remains strong, her heartbeat steady, but her color is pallid. She lost too much blood, and I don’t know how my healing abilities work. Should I take her to the medical center? Her mom works there, but what would I say? Maybe I should bring her home? The feathers between my shoulder blades twitch. Yeah, I’m not a fan of that idea either.
We land on my back deck, and I head straight for the nearest guest room. Forcing my arms to cooperate, I release Vivienne onto the bed as I shift pillows beneath her damp head. I carefully work off her bloody jacket, ruined shoe, and wet socks. She’s dressed in athletic gear—thick, waterproof running pants, a sweatshirt, a thermal—and it’s all ruined by blood. She’ll have to forgive me for the skin I see as I rip at her shirts. Her side is injury free. Smeared blood and mottled bruising the only proof anything happened.