AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Azrael,” Bec says, her little hand on my shoulder urging me to look at her. Behind her are paramedics, and outside, through the door, I can see the chopper waiting to airlift her to the nearest Society hospital. “They need to look at Willow. Get her into the helicopter.”
“I’ll carry her,” I say, voice as hoarse as if I’ve swallowed a bucket of sand.
“Sir, we have a stretcher.”
“I said I’ll carry her,” I snap, standing, keeping Willow close. I won’t let them take her from me.
“Here, come on,” Bec says, leading the way out of the cabin I vow to burn to ash.
“He beat her so hard,” I hear Raven say.
“Sir, please,” a paramedic says.
“Azrael. You’re not helping her,” Emmanuel tells me firmly.
I only spare a glance at him, at the paramedics, and the stretcher. I look at my Willow and something inside my chest breaks the way her body has been broken. Do they hear that breaking? Does she?
“I’m sorry,” I tell her as I lay her on the stretcher and hold her hand. The paramedics tuck blankets around her, securing her to it before wheeling her to the waiting helicopter. I don’t wait to be given permission to go with her. I just get on. Raven does the same and shoves one of my hands away to take one of Willows as we fly to the hospital. I keep making my promises to her, to anyone who is listening, that if she opens her eyes—if she wakes up—I’ll end this. I’ll end it all. I’ll find a way.
Someone must hear me, or maybe it’s my own mind conjuring the sensation of her small hand squeezing mine. Maybe it’s my own desperation making me think I feel it, but I don’t care. It’s all I have.
Because if she dies, what will be the point of it all?
If she dies, how will I live?
When I took her on the night of the Tithing, the cruel truth of what that meant was an abstract, far-away idea. It was nowhere near a reality to me. Sacrificing her the way I am meant to, taking her life with my own hands… Did I ever believe I could do it once I saw her? Held her?
The thought of it drove my brother to suicide.
Those men outside, I may have killed them. Probably most of them at least. I’m glad for it. I’d do it over again, and Caleb Church will die at my hands. But Willow?
I will take what consequence comes to me, but I will not allow her to be hurt any more than she has been. I swear it. I swear it on my own life. I will find an end to this.
6
WILLOW
The steady rhythm of noises around me tethers me to my surroundings. Squeaking shoes. Wheeling carts. Machines beeping. Keyboards clacking. These are the sounds of a hospital—an anchor to safety.
A reminder that I’m not in hell anymore.
At least… temporarily.
The thought elicits a stray tear from my eyes, and I squeeze them shut, trying desperately to barricade my emotions behind a wall of numbness. But those emotions pile up every hour, and I know it’s only a matter of time before the dam breaks.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Well over a week, at least. Nurses and doctors come and go, and the hushed voices of my family linger in the hall. Concern edges its way into their questions with each new day that passes.
They want to know why I’ve refused to speak to any of them. Why I can answer my doctor’s questions behind a veil of privacy but not theirs. They want reassurances that I’m okay, but I can’t give them that.
Physically, I may be healing, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay again. This isn’t the end. This isn’t even the worst thing I’ll have to face. My death still lingers on the horizon, a death that will surely come at my husband’s hands. I don’t think there could be anything worse than that.
Part of me wishes I had died in that compound, that Azrael and Emmanuel had only rescued Bec and Raven instead, and I have to wonder why he didn’t just let me die there.
But then, the answers come to me in an uncomfortable acknowledgment of the truth. He couldn’t let me die there because it has to be him. He has to perform a ritualistic murder of his wife to satiate a demon angel who doesn’t exist.
It’s this thought that keeps me from meeting his gaze every time he sits beside me. He’s been a constant at my bedside since I first woke. When I saw his face, the two halves of my heart were at war. One wanted to take shelter in his strength, his protection… believing every false promise he ever made. But the other part, the one that’s guarded my emotions for so long, insisted that he can’t be trusted. The Book of Tithes has proven as much. His name on the contract, signing my inevitable death, has confirmed it.
