BROKEN ANGELS (Angels and Demons Book 1) (2 page)

Dylan stood at Rebecca’s grave and watched as the groundskeepers slowly lowered her into the ground. She closed her eyes and remembered the last time they had spoken. Rebecca had made Dylan promise to watch after Stiles, to be good to him, and to trust him. Those were things Dylan would have thought unnecessary for anyone to ever ask of her. Stiles was…it was hard to describe their relationship, but he was as important to her as Wyatt. She never wanted to see him hurt, not after everything they had been through together.

But maybe Rebecca was right. Maybe she needed to be reminded that Stiles was not just her friend, her guardian, and her comrade in arms.

He was her future.

“You okay?”

Dylan opened her eyes and looked up at Wyatt. “I guess we should head back. People will be expecting us,” she said.

“In a minute.”

Wyatt drew her into his arms and pulled her against his chest, his hands moved slowly down the length of her spine. He always knew just how to touch her, just what to do to make her feel better. Now was no exception as she felt the soft warmth of his hands turn into something more intense—into the warmth of the unique healing power they shared. The pain of her grief lessened. It never completely disappeared, the pain of her emotions, but it lessened and became bearable.

“I love you,” she said quietly.

Wyatt kissed the top of her head. “I know.”

She groaned, slapping his arm as she pulled back. “Some things never change.”

“Would you want them to?”

“No.” She slid her hand into his and led the way out of the cemetery. “I want things to stay the way they are forever.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen, either.”

Dylan glanced at Wyatt, the streaks of gray that had recently appeared in his dark hair tugged at her heart a little. She’d never thought of Wyatt as growing older. He was just Wyatt…her Wyatt. She knew it would happen. It was happening all around them as their friends became wrinkled and their hair grew white. Even Harry had white in his hair. And Josephine…she was such a pretty girl, but even she was beginning to show signs of age in the creases that were becoming more prominent along the sides of her mouth and next to her eyes. The progression was slow, but it was there.

Except for Dylan.

Stiles said she wasn’t aging for the same reason she still had her angel powers. But he couldn’t tell her why she still had her powers after everyone else’s had faded.

It frightened her, this awareness that she was still different from everyone else. She had served her purpose, hadn’t she? She’d made the choice. She had saved humanity from destruction. Didn’t that mean that she could just be a normal girl now—that she could live a simple life and could grow old with Wyatt?

Apparently not.

“It was nice of you to offer to host the reception at our place.”

Dylan shrugged. “Stiles doesn’t like these traditions and Harry was a little too upset to think about it.”

“Do you think Stiles is going to survive this okay?”

Dylan glanced up at the sky, aware that Stiles was up there somewhere, watching them and listening to their conversation. She wanted to yell at him for not sticking around long enough for the ceremony to finish, but, again, she understood his aversion to these things. They made her uncomfortable too. But still…he shouldn’t have left the way he did.

“I don’t know. He loved Rebecca.”

“He did.” Wyatt opened the door of their electric car and helped her inside. “That’s why I’m worried.”

Dylan pulled her skirt around her knees and watched Wyatt make his way around the car. Under different circumstances, it might have been amusing to hear Wyatt express concern for Stiles. Their relationship had begun as an adversarial one, and not much had really changed over the years. They tolerated each other, but Stiles openly resented Wyatt’s role as Dylan’s soul mate and Wyatt openly resented Stiles’ air of possession over Dylan. So, for Wyatt to be concerned, it said volumes about what everyone thought of Stiles’ state of mind.

He may not realize it, but Stiles was deeply loved by their community.

Wyatt climbed behind the controls of the car and punched the appropriate buttons to instruct it to take them home. As they glided over the city streets, Dylan stared out the windows. It never failed to amaze her how far they had come. Even while the survivors of the war were still gathering, they had made the choice to level the old cities and start all over. All their buildings—homes and city buildings—were built the same; more concerned with practicality than appearance. Most were built of reclaimed materials from the old cities—wood, stone, and concrete put back together with a uniqueness that gave their community its character. The emphasis was on family. Most of the buildings were single family homes with a few dorm-style houses that served the young adults who were in that stage between living at home with their parents and moving in with a spouse and children of their own. The city buildings consisted of limited space for the hospital, the Outlander registration office, the city council building, and the local headquarters of the United Alliance of the Americas.

There wasn’t much need for government in their community. Everyone got along and worked well together. Everyone knew what their role was and fulfilled it to the best of their abilities. And when there were disputes, the city council handled it via a hearing after which all parties willingly followed the council’s edict.

There were many of these communities throughout what was once known as North America. Each was set up basically the same with each living simply with the help of the technology their scientists and engineers had reinvented or newly discovered over the last thirty-seven years—including reestablishing an electric grid, rebuilding medical facilities, reestablishing an internet over which community leaders could communicate with one another, and new advances like the electric car and QuikTunnel travel.

It was quite a change from the ruins Dylan and Wyatt had once walked through while trying to escape Luc and Lily’s attempts to imprison them.

It was funny…they lived only a half mile from the place where Viti once stood, the city where Luc and Lily had made their headquarters, and where Dylan had been imprisoned alongside her friend, Sam, all those years ago. Sometimes, when she was feeling a little bogged down in the past, she would sit on her back porch and stare at the small hill where they’d camped briefly before they were overrun by the Redcoats. It was a dark and confusing time in Dylan’s life. But, sometimes, she found her real family during that time, too.

She reached over and took Wyatt’s hand.

“Josephine should be here in an hour or so.”

“I thought she wasn’t supposed to be back until next week.” Wyatt squeezed her hand.

“When she heard about Rebecca, she wanted to come back sooner. You know she adores Stiles and she always respected Rebecca.”

“Everyone did.”

Dylan sighed, moving closer to Wyatt in the small confines of their little car. Death was a relatively new concept to their community. When the war had ended, most of the survivors were young…under fifty. And the angel DNA they all shared made them stronger and more resistant to disease. There were accidents—farm equipment that went haywire and the occasional accident during the demolition of the cities. But deaths from violence and old age were a thing of the past. But, recently, that had changed. Their community was aging, and some of the oldest were now in their eighties and nineties. And yet, they still seemed so healthy. Until lately.

Rebecca was the tenth person to die from an age related ailment in the past four months.

It was as if, just as their powers had faded, their strength was also fading away.

It worried Dylan. Not for herself. She hadn’t aged a day since she’d made her choice, but for her friends, her family…for Wyatt and Jimmy.

Jimmy would turn seventy soon.

Jimmy was Wyatt’s father. They’d had a difficult relationship when Wyatt was young. But when Wyatt became a father and Jimmy was no longer the leader of the resistance, they found common ground on which they developed a strong father-son bond. Jimmy and his wife, Martha, lived right next door to Wyatt and Dylan—all of their children lived within blocks of them. They were a close family with a history that was…
unique
.

Dylan had been having dreams lately that bothered her. They weren’t really dreams. They were more like memories. And they all centered on Jimmy.

Dylan could travel through time, something she hadn’t realized until she was pregnant with Josephine. It was a difficult time because Joanna had convinced Dylan that Wyatt was dead, killed by Luc’s sword. In her grief, she shifted around in time, trying to find Wyatt and spend as much time with the memory of him as she could. Instead, she found herself visiting Jimmy in the early days of his leadership in the resistance—just about the time he met Joanna and married her—a short time before Wyatt would be conceived. And those visits revealed things to her about her father-in-law and about herself that she was still struggling to understand.

It was important. She simply wasn’t sure why.

“We’re here.”

Dylan looked out the windows, mildly surprised to find dozens of small electric cars like their own parked on the street in front of their house. Brought back to the moment, she straightened and smoothed her skirt, preparing herself to play host to her grieving friends and family. She turned to get out of the car, but Wyatt stopped her with a simple touch of his hand on her knee.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “If anything happened to you, I think I would cease to exist.”

“You wouldn’t.” She turned into him and offered him a soft, gentle kiss. “You’d probably hook up with Mabel Watson. She seems to fancy you.”

Wyatt groaned even as a smile slipped across his still-full lips. Mabel was a unique woman in their community who liked to stand out. She liked to emphasize the ample curves God had blessed her with.

Dylan slapped his arm, but he grabbed her and pulled her closer into his chest.

“You know you’re the only woman for me. You always have been.”

“Yeah? What about Ellie?”

Wyatt groaned. “I was a kid. I thought you liked Stiles, or Sam. I was trying to make you jealous.”

“It worked.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He kissed her again, the feel of him on her lips was so familiar and yet so new that it was almost like the first time. She melted whenever he touched her, so overwhelmed by his touch that her ability to think and to reason disappeared with the first touch. She would have been perfectly happy to sit there in his arms for the rest of the day if it weren’t for the knock that sounded against her window.

“Mom. They can’t find the ham you said they could use for the sandwiches.”

Dylan groaned, pressing her forehead into Wyatt’s shoulder as he laughed slowly against her hair.

“Caught.Again.”

She shook her head, a little giggle escaping her lips too.

They reluctantly separated and climbed out of the car.

“Hey, Jo,” Dylan said, pulling her daughter into her arms. She never would get used to feeling a grown woman’s body whenever she did this. To her, Jo would always be the little, giggling blonde-haired girl who followed her everywhere she went, asking endless questions about everything from why the sky was blue to why Mommy could do things that other people couldn’t.

Josephine looked like her father. Her eyes were a deep blue, just like his, her nose long and slender, and her jaw square and bold. But her hair was the color of straw, a pale yellow that shown with golden highlights in the sun. That she got from Dylan. It seemed to be the only thing she got from Dylan.

“Daddy!”

Josephine tore herself from Dylan and jumped into Wyatt’s arms, laughing as he swung her around as he had always done when she was a kid. Thirty-five years old and she was still Daddy’s little girl.

“You got here sooner than we expected.”

“The meetings wrapped up early. And Toby says he can handle the rest.” She stepped back and glanced at her mother. “How’s Stiles?”

Dylan glanced up at the sky. It was the only answer Josephine seemed to require.

They went inside and were instantly inundated with words of sympathy, requests for help finding things, and questions about Stiles. Wyatt, in his calm, good-natured way, directed everyone away from Dylan with a charm that had never changed in all the years she’d known him. After an hour of organizing things in the kitchen, Dylan went in search of Harry.

He was in the backyard when she found him, a tall thin man who possessed as many of his father’s quirks as his mother’s sensible personality.

“Long day,” she said softly as she handed him a glass of Wyatt’s homebrewed beer.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. She’ll be missed.”

Harry looked away, his gaze moving first to the sky, and then to the ground.

“You know how he feels about ceremonies. He’s never been good with that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, but this was her funeral. It’s about respect.”

“He loved your mother.”