A Matter of Time (The Angel Sight Series) (14 page)

Before the sun had moved much further in the sky, a car near the back of the waiting pack honked, calling the attention of the militia on the bridge. I took my chance and bolted on half-asleep feet. Near the bridge the soil was slippery, and so soft it crumbled away.

I fought every step until I could rest my back against the structure of the bridge, my nails clinging to the concrete base. While catching my breath, I angled myself wrong and the river sucked me in. Ice-cold water surged up to my waist. The current lifted my feet out of the muck. Fingers clawing at the packed mud, I crawled on my stomach back to the closest side of the embankment, not the side I wanted to be on. I shivered, trying to judge the distance of the clearing between the bridge and the trees. With four armed men on the lookout, it looked like an eternity.

While peeking around the base, I slipped again.

“What’s that?” one of them asked. “Under the bridge.”

Crap.
I fought to my feet and took my chances, speeding through the clearing.

The echoing pop of gunshots fired. They spurred me faster. Shouting behind me. Lots of shouting. Another shot cracked through the air, breaking the roaring rush of the river. They must not have been great shots. Nothing around me was disturbed by a bullet.

I jumped feet-first into the thirty-foot wide river. The current picked me up and tossed me downriver. Water surged around me. The river roared in my ears when my head was above water, and muted the world when it pulled me under. My knee cracked against a rock. I reached for it and pulled myself up. Sputtering and out of breath, I broke the surface. With no time to waste, I ignored the pain in my knee, dragged myself to the other side of the shore, and ran toward the trees.

More shots assaulted my eardrums. The militia had home field advantage. They probably knew these woods better than anyone, but I had adrenaline on my side. I never let my feet stop, and wound through the trees at breakneck speed until I heard voices. They were close. Too close. I switched directions to head away from the road. I could try and find it again when I wasn’t being chased by power-hungry civilians with shotguns.

I made the turn and waded through the trees, determined to keep moving, when the very distinct cocking of a shotgun behind me stopped me dead.

“That’s far enough,” a woman shouted.

I might have been buzzing with Lucifer’s son’s essence and a marvel to both the angels and the Fallen, but that had never made me bulletproof. As far as I knew. And I wasn’t about to test my luck now.

“Hands up.” Another voice came from my left.

“I don’t want any trouble.” I turned with my hands raised at ear level. “I didn’t do anything. I just don’t have my ID so I went around the bridge.”

“Jesus, Kyle,
it’s her
,” another one said, walking up from the river.

Surrounded on three sides. A woman with a shotgun, a man with a revolver, and a teenage boy with a pistol.

The woman with the shotgun pulled forward, squinting into my face. “Holy shit. Sweetheart, you wandered into the wrong territory.”

“Territory?” I asked, my gaze glued to the barrel of the shotgun mere feet from my midsection. “Whoever you think I am, I’m not. I’m just a girl.”

“March! Back to the bridge!” the teenager said. The quiver in his voice made me turn my head to look at him. The hand holding his gun shook. “Now!”

“Calm down, son,” the man on the other side of me said, his voice quiet but commanding.

“Jason, we need her alive.” Shotgun Sally reminded the boy.

“No,
she’s
the problem.” Jason balked. “She’s the reason they’re here! We kill her and they’ll have no choice but to go back to the rock they crawled out from under!”

The boy, Jason, aimed at me, which looked way different from just pointing a gun in warning. From my vantage point, the barrel was aligned with the tip of his nose, pointing straight at the center of my chest. One of his eyes closed. The shaking in hands stilled. His finger tensed on the trigger.

“No!” both Shotgun Sally and Revolver Kyle shouted in unison.

In one instant my pulse crested, my hands broke out into a sweat, my body tensed. Panic consumed my thoughts, showing me new flashes of Hell, the torture I had endured. Heat kindled inside me, the fire radiating from the center of my chest. Something white and too bright to be real flashed. I covered my eyes.

A shot fired. My ears rang.

I stumbled back. My fingers scratched against something rough, steady. A tree. I latched on with both arms, using it to keep me upright. My body convulsed, tremors nearly loosening my grip. I blinked until colored blobs returned to my vision. When the light had fled and the shaking subsided, I patted my chest, searching for the inevitable bullet hole. Nothing. I squinted out at the forest. The three gun-toters had all dropped their weapons. They were rubbing their eyes and moving their mouths frantically.

The white light. I’d seen it before.

No.

I shook away the memory that barreled into me, its claws still under my skin. I didn’t have time for it. The others on the bridge would have heard the gunshot. Or seen the white light. I pushed forward on shaky legs and tripped deeper into the woods.

The farther away I got the better my sight, and eventually my hearing, became.

But that white light.
I
had done that to them. I’d blinded them. Maybe permanently.

At least I hadn’t knocked them unconscious … or turned them to ash.

The thought brought on the memories I’d refused earlier.

Azriel running me through with a sword. Lucien reviving me with more of his life essence. The anger boiling in my blood. The hate swallowing me. Me, blasting them. Wanting to hurt them. Needing revenge.

Oh God.

I blinked back another torrent of memories and kept moving. A cough rattled my chest. I coughed again, covering my mouth, pulling away with red in my palm. Blood.

What was happening to me?

I kept moving, weaving through the thick forest, trying to run from another set of foggy recollections. Little good it did. I hung on to a tree, bracing for another memory.

Lucien again. Looking down at me in Lucifer’s ice cell. Prodding me. Antagonizing me. Pushing me too far. Whatever Lucien had planted inside me with his essence, the fire and rage, the absolute need to hurt, burst out of me again. Two Fallen in ashes and Lucien on the icy ground. The sword. My desire to stop him from hurting anyone else ever again. The overarching anger. The need to end him. I cut into him again and again and again until he could hopefully never be put back together.

I hated him.

So much hate. Nothing but it. No light at the end of the tunnel. Only darkness remained inside me.

I slid to the ground, suppressing another round of blood-laden coughs, trying to remember who I had been before that hate had consumed me. Wondering if I could ever again be anyone else but that dark being.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Rayna

I hugged the base of the tree until voices rung out in the distance. Then it didn’t matter who I was or what I’d done. If they caught me, I was nothing.

I kept moving, setting a grueling pace, and eventually found my way back toward the road. In only a few hours I found the hotel. It was in a clearing less than four miles off the main road, just like Kade had said.

There was no telling how safe it would be now that I’d been spotted. Exhaustion made me lazy, careless. Still, I waited ten counts of a hundred before calmly walking to room one fourteen and checking under the mat. There was a key waiting like he said there would be.

It could be a trap. It could have been Lucien all along—there was still a possibility he had been resurrected. But there was tap water in there, and a bed.

I used the key and closed the door behind me, following Kade’s rules not to turn any lights on. Standing there, with my back against the door, I waited for my eyes to adjust. When I was sure the room was in fact empty, I ran to the bathroom and drank about a gallon of tap water—and surprisingly kept it down. I draped a cold washrag over my forehead and collapsed in the chair by the window, peeking through the blinds, watching for any signs of trouble.

The clock beside the bed read seven twenty-nine when a dirty, silver SUV pulled into the motel parking lot.

A tall man in dark, wrinkled denim stepped out. His worn black boots had seen better days. His black t-shirt clung to his back in sweaty patches. From what I could see of his face, one side, he hadn’t shaved in over a week. The man went to the office, spent forty-nine seconds there, and returned with a key in his hand. I cowered in my chair as he stopped at the window.

He opened the door and closed it behind him. He slid his sunglasses off, letting his eyes adjust. I couldn’t help noticing the greasy bag of fast food in his opposite hand.

After a few moments, he looked down at me, the shadows conquering his features. “Ray?”

I stood to get a better look at him without the slivers of late afternoon light piercing my eyes.

“Kade.”

It was him. His face, his voice. The parts of him I’d dreamed of, remembered even if only in brief flashes.

But there was something not right. Something missing.

It was a trick. It had to be. There were certain things that didn’t change on a person, paramount of those being an eight-foot set of inky black wings. I stumbled back, tripping over the chair and ended up on my back, tangled in the chair legs.

This had happened before. My memories began to show me the similarities. A hotel room. Lucien, wearing Cam’s face, pretending to be him.

Kade leaned forward, as if to offer me help. I jumped up, kicking the chair between us. “Stay right where you are,” I warned him. “Tell me something only we would know.”

“Okay.” He dropped the bag of food on the table. “How about your coffee, which was the vilest I’ve ever tasted?”

Coffee? What was he talking about? “No. What?”

“You’re still piecing things back together. Something more recent then.” His gaze brushed over me. “I’ve never seen you in shorts before. But I’ve seen you in less. That little devil outfit, for Halloween. With the short skirt and corset. The one I had to lace you into.”

I had to hold my breath not to gasp at the sudden memory of his fingers brushing against my bare back as he laced me up.

“The one that I got to torture you with, but it backfired on me. It killed me to look at you in it. Took everything I had not to find little reasons to touch you. It started something not even Hell could stop.” I could hear the swish of saliva in his mouth as he swallowed. “I’m going to lock the door now. Unless you want me to leave.”

I ignored what he said about the lock and asked, “What happened to your wings?”

He turned the bolt. “I had to sacrifice them to get us out of Hell. It was the only way I could think of to open the gate home.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, the chair no longer between us.

I should have been freaking out. One, because I didn’t remember any of what he was talking about, and two, because he was so close. Mere feet away. But I wasn’t. Which meant I trusted him. To a point.

Staying right where I was, I asked, “What happened when we left Hell?” I wasn’t about to tell him I didn’t remember a stitch of it, but I had to know.

“On our way up … ” His gaze found the setting sun through the blinds. The haunted distance in his eyes scattered chills across my arms. “You were pulled in by the circle of madness. You started screaming … and you wouldn’t stop.” The gravity of his voice almost distracted from the way his hands grasped the ends of the mattress. “I had to use my influence to quiet you. I didn’t have a choice.”

I couldn’t take the pain in his face any longer. I had to look away.

“It messed you up, made you completely silent.” His words came quicker now, as if rushing through it would make it less true. “We breached the surface … and then the screaming started.” The mattress springs groaned as he leaned forward. “I kept you safe for as long as I could. But I had to turn you over to Cam—which I never wanted to do. But no way would I risk doing more damage by trying to fix you myself.”

In the silence that followed, my memories began to fire. Sitting in the dark, watching him, I remembered doing that. A lot.

I reached in my pocket and stroked the piece of bark I’d pulled off the entwining trees that helped me remember Kade in the first place. The person I was getting to know all over again was nothing like the man my memories were showing me. Walking around in a towel to make me uncomfortable, creating a garden for me on a roof, stroking my hair when I couldn’t convince myself we would ever see Earth again. The Kade in front of me had sacrificed everything.

If only I could be certain the two men were one in the same. I steeled myself and moved to sit on the bed beside him. Not close enough to touch, but closer than I should have been.

“Your turn,” he said abruptly, pulled from his own memories. “What happened with Cam? Tell me everything you remember.”

I opened my mouth and the daily routine spilled out, days of it, until the thorn prick triggered my memory. I hesitated, monitoring his face for any signs of change; Lucien would often smile for no reason. Kade’s brows drew together. His jaw clenched as he watched me, uncovering the distrust I must have clearly been wearing. But he didn’t flinch or shy away. He tilted his chin up a fraction of an inch to allow me a better look at him. As if to say,
you’ve earned this. Weigh and measure me, I have nothing to hide.

If nothing else, he’d earned an ounce of my respect.

Trust though was a different story.

After another few moments, I chose to go on, revealing everything up until I called him. I took another drink from the faucet. When I started again I was shaking, telling him about the roadblock, the people with guns, being trapped, and finally, the white light.

“I could have killed them,” I whispered as if saying it too loud would make it truer. “And then the memories came. Of Lucien. Of … ”