Blood Redemption (Angel's Edge #3) (6 page)

“Are you all right?” Ethan tucked me into the space between his chin and chest. I fit as perfectly as if that place had been made for me.

I wanted to inhale him, drinking in every detail and burning it into my brain to save for another time. Later, I thought, when I was awake and trying to survive Belial’s Kingdom. That was when I’d take this memory out of my pocket like a folded note, and hold on to it so tightly that even Belial himself wouldn’t be able to shake me.

I dodged the question because I didn’t want to lie to him. I was most definitely not all right as I was currently being held prisoner by a demon that looked just like him. But there was no point telling him that. He already knew.

“I’m unharmed,” I said, forcing out the best truth I had. I was done lying to Ethan; if he wanted me to, I would tell him every sordid detail. But there would be time for that later. “And you?” I asked, leaning into him again.

He took me into his embrace, and the skin between us crackled a soft, but electric blue. Ethan’s eyes were wide as he looked at me in wonder.

“I could never get used to that,” he said, staring at his arm where it curved around my shoulders.

“At least we can meet, thanks to Jack,” I said, realizing that the Shadows hadn’t made an appearance on my arms the whole time I was here. Which only emphasized how safe I felt in Ethan’s presence.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Jack said, looking like a guilty eavesdropper. “We’re here for a purpose.”

“Aren’t we always?” murmured this man that I loved, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Ethan,” I began, hesitant. “How bad is it? The town?” Suddenly I couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. “I know what I did was terrible, but you have to believe that I never knew they had Hellhounds! I would never put Whitfield in that much danger, or you, or even…” I lowered my voice to a paranoid whisper. “Or even Asheroth.”

“I know that.” He heaved a sigh. “The town is fine. The Hellhounds couldn’t get past the wards; we pinned them here and were able to call in the rest of the guardians to help with the clean up.” His words were slow and reluctant; he sounded very tired. “They burned down part of the forest, but working together, we were able to save the house. We were lucky to trap them here when we did. If they had gotten loose on the town… well, it wouldn’t have been pretty.”

Even though Ethan had assured me that it wasn’t my fault, guilt still knotted my stomach when I thought about the Hellhounds. It probably would for the rest of my life.

“That’s part of what we’re here to see as charming as this reunion is,” Jack said, stepping closer to us, away from his spot against the wall. He moved lithely in the Dreamtime, his tattoos flickering and his body language leonine.

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused. This was the first I’d heard of an agenda other than getting back into Ethan’s arms.

“I want to see the town,” Jack said, reaching out to grab my hand.

“Hey!” I protested.

“I have my reasons,” he said in a dark growl, and I wondered what they were. Just how well did I know Jack, after all? What could he be keeping from me? And most importantly, why was it essential for him to run around Whitfield in the Dreamtime?

Despite my concerns, I lightly laced my fingers in his. Jack ducked his head, as if embarrassed. “We have to be touching,” he said. Ethan reluctantly let go of my hand to hold on to Jack’s. Now that I thought about it, Ethan seemed less than enthusiastic about going to see the town as well. Was he hiding things from me, too?

Well, I would know soon enough. It was exactly like the last time I Dreamwalked with Jack; the apartment began to waver around us like a bad video feed, and was quickly replaced by another, still wavy, scene. The change was almost instant. One minute we were in Asheroth’s basement bedroom, and the next, we were in the park downtown.

My heart caught in my throat the second I recognized my surroundings. I began to share some of Jack’s alarm. Businesses were closed that were usually open; only about half the lights in the park were on. There were no people except the three of us. That was the way things were in the Dreamtime, Jack had told me. No one came to the Dreamtime unless Jack decided to bring them. But knowing that did nothing to help the feeling of wrongness that permeated the very air around us. I slid up next to Ethan again and rather shakily took his hand.

The darkened windows of our old apartment reminded me that neither Logan nor I lived there anymore; hell, Asheroth had even rescued the cat. Home was now nothing but a collection of unsafe empty rooms―unsafe because the protective wards around the place had been destroyed.

The remnants of the coffee shop on the square made me sad. I had spent so many afternoons there, making lattes and goofing off with Amelie. Now there was nothing but a burned-out husk of a former business. Blue tarps rippled in the breeze; clearly someone had been here, trying to start cleaning up the mess. But to me, it was as if there was a hole in my heart. Only by getting the business restored would I feel better; we had to show those who would stop us that we were a resilient lot.

Ethan’s hands alighted on my hips, steadying me, while the hot sting of salty tears worked their way down to my nose. “It’s not your fault,” he said.

It was exactly what I needed to hear―reassurance. “It feels like it is.” I turned to bury myself in his soft cotton shirt again; it hit me how tired I was. I shook it off and smiled at Ethan as brightly as I could. “But we’re here, together, and nothing’s on fire right now, so…” As I turned in a slow circle, taking in the rest of my town, I saw something that made my heart stop.

My fountain. My beautiful, beautiful fountain at the center of the square. For the first time in my life, it wasn’t running. It wasn’t lit up. Hell, it didn’t even have any water in it. I had never, ever in my entire life seen it that way.

“The fountain!” I said, starting forward toward it. “What happened?”

“It was vandalized. We’re not sure by whom,” Ethan said. There was a tight edge to his tone that I hadn’t noticed before. “One thing is certain. The incidents of violence against innocents here in Whitfield are growing to the point that even the innocents are noticing. The Council has had a hard time explaining it away. Things are at critical mass here, Caspia. It’s like a forest right before the fire; everyone’s on the verge of panic.”

“But what’s happening?” I demanded, bewildered.

I’d been afraid of the ones I loved being hurt, and yes, that I had caused some chaos in my town was a possibility, but this? This went deeper. This pointed to something not right in Whitfield itself, and I needed it to be right. Needed it badly. How else was I going to survive the Dark Realms if Whitfield was struggling?

“Oh, Caspia,” Ethan said, and I could hear nights of worry in his voice. His fingers through my hair were both gentle and possessive. I wanted him to twine them there and hold onto me forever. “War has come to Whitfield at last.”

stood there, horrified.

My mind couldn’t process Ethan’s words. It was absurd: war in Whitfield. I lived in the town where nothing ever happened. Except, apparently, angels and demons and a host of other supernatural creatures. But besides that, it was really pretty boring.

Most of the time.

Branches scraped themselves across the face of the moon. They waved gently in the night air, creating ribbons of slowly moving, tangled light on the concrete below me. I wanted to lean into Ethan and stay there forever, but I was too shocked by my surroundings to move.

At any moment, I expected the fountain to burst into life again, highlighting its statues and singing with trickling water. I expected to see trees draped with tiny white lights―what my mother had called fairy lights―but only a few gap-toothed and broken strands remained. I wanted to see all of the shops on the square brilliantly lit up, doors flung open in welcome. Instead, more than a few looked closed, their interiors dim and doors firmly shut. I longed for everything to be back to the way it was, back to the Whitfield I remembered.

But nothing changed, and I turned to Ethan once again. He pulled me close until our hips brushed against each other and I rested safely in the crook of his arm. He nuzzled the top of my head with his lips, murmuring, “It’s all right. It will be all right.” His words were as soft as the gentle wind around us.

I found myself relaxing in spite of everything, longing to believe Ethan’s reassurances.

Only to feel icy fingers on the back of my neck. Strong like a living statue’s, they wrapped slowly, but surely around me while a too-familiar voice spoke languidly in my ear.

Asheroth, here? What the hell?

“Dearest Caspia. Here you are again. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve been?”

Ethan stiffened beside me at the all too familiar voice. “And you’ve made everything worse through your actions,” Asheroth said, drawing out his vowels to give his words extra emphasis. His fingers drummed against my skin, their texture rough like lightly weathered stone.

“Let her go,” Ethan said, his voice taut with anger. He trembled against the side of my body where we touched. “She’s done nothing to you.”

“On the contrary,” Asheroth said. “You lied to me, Caspia. You lied to both of us.” He actually sounded a little hurt, underneath the cutting tone of his voice. His fingers flexed against the back of my neck, icy and uncomfortable. For just a moment, I was reminded of how powerful he was. He could crush my bones to dust with one hand―if he wanted―in an instant.

I shivered in his grasp, and then forced myself to stillness. I wasn’t ready to apologize. Not to him, not yet. “What do you want, Asheroth?” I asked, keeping my voice carefully neutral. Who knew what kind of mood he was in tonight, and what the consequences of that mood might be? Best to play it safe and careful.

I found myself ripped from Ethan’s grasp and spun around to face my very angry, self-proclaimed guardian. He looked every inch the Fallen angel, cast down from the Realms of Light for daring to love a human woman. That human woman had been my ancestor, long since dead; he had taken it upon himself to guard me for her sake. I truly believe guarding me was one of the few things keeping him clinging to sanity. His pitch-black hair was on the boyish side of long with tendrils of it getting in his eyes. Those eyes burned at me now, a brilliant white like staring into the sun. His abyss-wings weren’t visible. I took that as a good sign, that he could somehow control the Darkness inside him.