My eyebrows shot up at his statement, but Icouldn’t stop the laughter that escaped me. Hawk’s shouldersrelaxed. River smiled in her sleep, and from the corner of my eye,I saw the heads of the others turn in our direction. “I’ll agreewith that statement,” I told him.
He smiled at me, and I knew then that Riverhad changed the dynamic between us all. I had somehow become morehuman in their eyes through my relationship with her. Two monthsago, that would have infuriated me, but now I didn’t mind it asmuch. I actually liked these humans, and as long as they kepttreating her well, we wouldn’t have a problem. If they turnedagainst her, I’d kill them.
“Are all angels like Azote was?” Hawkasked.
“All the fallen ones are. They’re the onlyones I’ve ever met.”
Corson poked his head through the window.“They have to go to the bathroom, again.”
The more bumps we hit, the more the humanshad to stop. I gestured for Hawk to pull over to the side of theroad. He parked the truck before a stone church with a gold crosson the front of it. The church appeared entirely intact except forthe gaping hole where its roof used to be.
River stirred, her eyelids fluttered open,and she rose from my lap. Her forehead furrowed and her mouthpursed when her gaze settled on the roofless church. She stared atit for a minute before looking at the angel on the dashboard.Something about her attention to the angel caused my skin toprick.
She rubbed at her eyes and stifled a yawn.“Why are we stopping?”
“The humans have to use the bathroom.”
Her mouth quirked in a smile as she grabbedthe door handle and pushed it open. I held the door for her whileshe climbed out of the truck. The other humans went toward thewoods, but River headed for the church.
“Don’t you have to go?” I asked.
“In a minute,” she murmured.
I scanned the trees and surrounding area,drawing in deep breaths of air as I scented and searched for athreat. The only smells I detected were burnt earth and the freshvegetation drooping beneath the July sun. I stayed close by herside as she approached the church and walked around to one of thewindows.
Placing her hands against the side of herhead at her temples, she rose on her toes to peer through thedirt-streaked, stained-glass window. My gaze went to the horizon asa flash of movement caught my attention. A doe with a fawn pokedher head out from behind a house. Her ears perked up when shespotted us before she and her baby took off into the woods.
Stepping away from the window, River turnedand I walked with her toward the back of the building. A beam fromthe crumpled ceiling had torn a hole into the side of the wall whenit had fallen.
I grasped her arm when she went to climb therocks spilling out of the hole. “What are you doing?”
“I’d like to look around.”
“It’s not safe in there.”
“It is.”
I could tell by the color of her eyes thatshe wasn’t having a vision, but something about the look she gaveme caused me to release my hold on her and let her do what sheneeded to do. “I’ll go first,” I told her.
She opened her mouth to protest but closed itagain and stepped aside. I adjusted my feet as I walked across thepile of shifting stones. Standing on top of the thick layer ofstone and wood, I surveyed the wreckage piled on the floor of theruined church. The place reeked of mildew and rot, but I didn’t seeanything unusual or hazardous below.
Turning, I held my hand out to take hold ofhers. I helped her to climb over the rocks and watched as her gazeroamed over the high walls before focusing on the couple feet ofdebris beneath our feet. She took a step forward, but I pulled herback and held her close as we climbed down to the floor of thechurch.
“What has drawn you in here, River?” Iinquired, my voice reverberating within the cavernous building.
“I’m not sure if anything has.” She removedher hand from mine as she picked her way carefully forward.
I followed her as she moved past theshattered remains of a couple of pews poking out from the rubble.She walked to the altar covered in wood and rotting shingling fromthe roof. Her frown deepened as she focused on the stained-glasswindow of an angel tucked behind and to the right of the altar. Theangel’s blonde head was tipped back to the sky, her hands claspedin prayer and her green eyes vibrant in the sunlight filteringthrough the window.
“It looks like the figurine you have in thetruck,” I remarked.
“It does,” she murmured.
Her head tilted to the side as she seemed tobe straining to hear or see something within the shadows andcobwebs hanging in what remained of the rafters. Rays of sunlightstreamed through the stained-glass window, causing multiple colorsto play over her tanned complexion and caressing her body in analmost loving manner.
In that moment it seemed the world was asdeeply connected to River, as she was to it. She’d said the loss ofher bond to the earth and all things living would break her, turnher into something evil like Lucifer, and I believed her. Icouldn’t feel her connection to life and the world around her, butI knew the bond I felt with the hounds, how intricate a piece of meit was, and what it would do to me if it was ever severed. Iwouldn’t risk doing anything to her that could possibly destroy herlink to the earth.
Which meant there would be no turning her andno eternity for us.
