“Seemed a waste.”
“Waste?”
“Of an interesting life, and I’d rather like those answers you owe me before I let you kill yourself.”
“I was not trying… I had not planned to kill myself.”
“No, but you definitely were making a fine job of it, weren’t you?”
We are flying. Ascending into the dark, ash-ridden sky as his mighty wings drift up and down, propelling us into the night and up the side of the cliff. Turning my head, I study his wing. The feathers are long. They shimmer where light strikes them from the hazy moon’s glow. Layers of iridescent and downy feathers. Velvety and soft, but also so many that his wings beat against the air with such force that it whips up the wind.
We rise higher and over the ridge. He changes direction and leans. His wings stretch outward again and catch air, stopping their beating altogether as we slowly lower.
The agony returns when our landing jars me. I wince and mewl out the pain I cannot stifle. His eyes immediately study my reaction.
“How bad is it? Can you stand? Walk?”
“Put me down, and we’ll find out.”
He does not look pleased, but he lowers my legs ever so slowly and then releases them. His strong arm stays at my back as if to steady me.
The pain cannot be helped. It spirals up my leg the instant I set it down and try to put weight on it. He gathers me close once more, but I hold out my hand. “I can do it.”
“Can and should are two different matters entirely. Stop forcing yourself to be something you’re not.”
I glare up into his strikingly handsome visage. “Something I’m not?”
“Strong. You are weak. Maybe not always, but currently due to your own foolishness and obstinacy. Had you just let me carry you, you wouldn’t have fallen. Had you not hunted in grounds full of men’s traps, you wouldn’t have been caught in one. It is as if you desire to put your own life in peril and are so used to surviving on your own, you don’t know how to lean on another when you need it most.”
I do not know quite how to respond to that. He is right, but there are so many reasons not to trust him. Not to place my life in his hands, and this plan has gone south to the point that I have no option left but to rely on him now.
“Let me at least help you off your feet and find you somewhere to rest for a moment.”
I raise my arm and accept his help. He carries me some way before placing me down on a small boulder. I gently set my leg down and mask my wince as much as possible. But he misses nothing.
“You’re in great pain?”
“Yes, but it will heal. It will just take some time.”
“How long?”
“By morning, I imagine.”
He seems less worried by this, taking my words at face value. I will not heal. Not from a wound this severe and with no more elixir in my blood. I hope at some point in the night, when not under his watchful gaze, I can change that and be as good as new with one small dose.
If he sleeps at all.
Do angels require rest? If not, I have to hope he leaves me unattended at some point. I also need to mentally prepare myself for the task ahead. He is within reach, and his guard is down. I might never have another chance like this one, though I war with the thoughts he has planted in my mind. Others, bred into me, battle those and remind me of the sacrifices I have made to have this opportunity. I cannot let it pass me by.
We stare at one another for a long moment. I take in this version of him, which looks both like the boy I see in the visions, but has since grown into a man and fought on the battlefield. He's changed a great deal.
“I saw something when you caught me.”
He nods. “I did as well.”
“I saw you and another. The white one. He’s your twin? Or was, a lifetime ago?”
“He is, yes, and we, unlike the other Horsemen, were once human.”
