Fallen Eden (19 page)

“I understand,” I said, turning my gaze to William’s face, cherishing the fleeting moment. “I only wanted happiness for him.”

“Well, you should be thrilled you got your wish,” Patrick plucked an envelope from his back pocket and sailed it towards me. “He’s happy in a way he never could have been with you.” He passed through the doorway, nodding back at the envelope in my fingertips. “Could you make sure he gets that when he wakes up? Something tells me he’s going to want to read that right away. You know, it’s from someone special.” He winked, pulling the door closed behind him.

The envelope took on a unique chill, likely due to knowing who the letter was from and what was written on the tri-folded piece of paper. I propped it up against the lamp of the nightstand, my hands shaking the entire way in their journey.

Patrick was right, I should have been the very picture of happy: William was going to be alright, Paul was saved from an untimely death, and William had found someone to fill in the holes I’d punched in his life. Happiness should have been my steady-state for the next decade at the very least.

So I didn’t understand how I felt nothing but an ache that seemed to sink into the marrow of my bones.

GOODBYE

Patrick was right. Again.

It wasn’t more than an hour—a heartbeat—before William’s muscles twitched to life, his arms contracting around me with such strength I could almost feel the shattered pieces of my life coming back together.

“Mmmm,”—he nestled his face into my hair—“I’m dead, aren’t I?” he asked, his voice hoarse from the extended sleep.

I shook my head, burying it deeper into his chest. His arms responded by pulling me tighter. “Surely this is Heaven.”

I couldn’t disagree with him, but I knew his lack of lucidity had him confused as to who was lounging in his arms.

“You’re not dead,” I said. “Open your eyes and that will become pretty clear.” I could only hope he wouldn’t jump to the likely conclusion he’d ended up in hell given the present company.

His eyelids lifted, revealing a set of eyes that were still able to reflect my coveted future. A future I’d chased off, but I could still see it regardless.

A smiled pulled up his mouth, one that was equal parts shy and sweet. “Dreaming then?” he asked, melting my cheek with the warmth coming from his hand.

Again, I couldn’t disagree with him, this was the best kind of dream, but I couldn’t waste any more time helping him ascertain reality. I knew Patrick would be busting through the door soon, prying me away from his brother if need be.

As predicted, a rapping sounded at the door. “You awake in there, brother?” Patrick hollered, not pausing for an answer. “You’ve done enough, Bryn. Come on out and leave William alone.” Patrick had a talent for making you understand just what he meant without actually saying it.

“I’m coming,” I fired back, irritated by the reminder, but planning on holding up my end of our bargain. Patrick had given me more time than I was entitled to with William the past couple of days; I wouldn’t show my gratitude by going back on my promise to leave when William woke up.

“You’ve got one minute,” he warned.

“Got it,” I hollered back, turning my attention back to William.

“Have you changed so much that you concede to Patrick without battling a few hundred rounds?” he smiled, but his eyes were sad.

“Change is the one thing we can count on,” I said, putting on my brave face. “The only thing we can be sure of will be with us to the end.”

He didn’t respond, he just studied me, searching for something. “Why are you sad?” he asked, his honey-thick voice breaking through at last.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I said, not intending for the words to be verbalized.

“Perhaps because the man you love is alive, will always be alive,” he said, his face and voice guarded.

I felt a bout of panic, assuming he was talking about himself and I’d failed to keep an indifferent front with him, but then he glanced at the door, where Paul waited two rooms down. His face twisted infinitesimally, but it was enough to give away that the damage I’d done to him hadn’t fully healed.

“I don’t know why I’m sad,” I said, letting my hands support my heavy head.

“Yes, you do,” he said softly. “You’ve got something weighing on you so heavily, you can’t even look at me right now. Let it go, Bryn.”

“You don’t want to know. Trust me.” I closed my eyes, refusing to let any tears fall.

“Trust me, I do,” he said, propping up on an elbow. “But how about I start? I’ve got something I need to tell you—”

“I know,” I interrupted, sure my mission of keeping the tears at bay would go up in flames if I had to hear about . . . her—thinking it felt like a dirty word. “Patrick already told me everything.”

William’s face lined. “He did?”

“Mm-hmm,” I replied flippantly.

He looked down, opening his mouth, and then closed it. He ran his fingers through his hair, still looking confused. “And what did you think about
everything
?”

I inhaled, wishing I could come up with a better way to stall. If I’d been trapped in purgatory living without William, I’d now digressed to the inner circle of hell having to talk about him being with someone else. “I just want you to be happy,” I said, barreling through the grapefruit sized lump in my throat. “I’m happy where I am and now you can be, too. I know there was a time when we thought we’d be with each other forever”—the grapefruit was warping into a melon—“but, like I said, things change. We’ve got to change with them if we want to survive.”

His head fell back into the stack of pillows. “Wow. That’s not how I thought that would go,” he blew out an exaggerated sigh. “I really am an idiot.”

“How did you expect it would go?” I asked, feeling the seconds we had left together ticking away.

“Not like this,” he answered, covering his eyes with his hands. “It’s your turn now—I’m finished. What’s weighing on you?”

I cleared my throat, preparing to deliver my answer as evenly as crushed-girl possible.

“If you ever loved me,” he said before I opened my mouth, “don’t say ‘it’s nothing.’”

My back shook from the sobs I kept locked inside. I couldn’t tell him the truth, he’d moved on, but a lie wouldn’t form on my lips. It was the truth or silence, and it turns out, silence isn’t always golden.

“It’s alright,” he soothed. “Everything will be alright.”

It was his sweet voice that broke through my resolve to not look at him. I should have known, but of course the first thing my eyes found were his and they were drowning with concern.

“No, it won’t. Nothing will be alright,” I whispered, realizing I was traversing a road I couldn’t turn back from.

“What is it?” he asked, sitting up. His hand wound around the back of my neck, pulling me closer. “Tell me.”

“I can’t,” I said with no conviction, letting him close the distance between us. I was incapable of putting up a fight.

“You can—you know you can. There was a time when you trusted me with your life. Trust me again,” he whispered, gazing at my lips, inching closer. If I was able to find a smidgen of willpower deep within, it was all over when his eyes came back to mine. They drew me to him like water pulled from a well—there as no escape, it was inevitable.

Instead of being a victim to his enticement, I became an active participant. Our mouths connected, all save for the thin strip of air separating them, when I stopped . . .  momentarily. I couldn’t kiss him until he knew how I felt, until he knew this wasn’t just a weak lapse in judgment, but coming from the depths of my core. “William, I—”

 “Time’s up!” A materialized Patrick fog-horned right outside my ear.

“Damn it, Patrick,” William growled through closed teeth, keeping his hands and eyes locked on me.

Patrick’s presence brought me back to my senses, back to reality. Willpower was something I was incapable of with William. I scooted down to the edge of the bed, still not able to free myself of his magnetic pull.

I stood up, moving to the opposite corner of the room. His eyes didn’t leave me and he wasn’t hiding the disappointment in them, but it wasn’t the kind of disappointment I hoped it was—the kind that came from regretting we’d let the moment pass us by. The disappointment came from my weakness, my inability to stay away from him, despite knowing he was with someone else. I’d just about become the “other woman.”

“Could you give us a minute,” William said to Patrick, more commanding than requesting. “And by minute, I don’t mean a literal minute.”

“Sorry, no can do, brother,” Patrick said firmly, crossing his arms. “Bryn’s man is about to wake and I imagine he’ll have a few questions for her to sort through.” He looked back at me, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “Isn’t that right, Bryn?”

I nodded once, backing farther into the corner. I didn’t let myself look at William, I couldn’t take him seeing me for who I really was any more.

“Bryn,” a strong voice vibrated down the hall, through the door.

“Ah,” Patrick said, clapping his hands together. “There’s our boy now. He transitioned fast, what a fine Immortal he’ll be.” Patrick’s voice was thick with sarcasm. “Would you agree with me, William?”

I couldn’t do it anymore, I couldn’t stay in this room. When I heard Paul call out for me again, I took my escape, flying out the door.

William didn’t call out for me, he didn’t ask me to wait. I knew I shouldn’t have expected him to, but there was still some tangle of hope that had wedged itself deep inside my heart and I couldn’t twist it loose.

I entered Paul’s room and what was taking place within was shocking enough to relieve my mind from the emotions running amuck. Paul was bouncing on his bed, spinning somersaults in the air every few hops, dressed in nothing but his plaid boxers.

He glanced over at me, bouncing higher. “Look at me,” he shouted, running his hands down his torso. “I’m healed. It’s a miracle,” he said, pulling his best impersonation of a television evangelist.

Paul was probably the only person in the world who would wake up to a drastically changed body and take it at face-value, not assuming it was some kind of dream or hallucination. What a wonderful view to have of the world—that anything was possible. Only Paul “Mr. Rose-Tinted-Glasses” Lowe.

“Easy there, cowboy. Your head’s going to punch a hole through the ceiling if you jump any higher,” Patrick said, amused, from behind. “The owner might have just left the building, but that’s no reason to go all Animal House on the place.”

I spun on my heels. “Where is he?”

Patrick grinned, his face victorious. “Gone.”

I lunged through the doorway, shouldering him into the wall in my haste.

“Where you going, Bryn?” Paul shouted after me. “You’re going to miss the grand finale.” I heard bed springs smash and burst, followed by a heavy grunt. I doubted if there’d be any vestige of the bed intact by the time I returned.

I burst into the room William had been in, seconds ago, only to find it empty. Nothing but a cyclone of blankets to prove he’d been here. A note was propped up on one of the pillows, the leather braided bracelet below it. I swallowed, rushing towards the bed. I didn’t need to read the note to know what the message would be and I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to touch it, I wanted to pretend this was a figment of my warped imagination and I’d find my way back to reality sometime soon.

Telling myself to stop delaying the inevitable, I picked up his note, feeling my stomach twisting.

This was once my job, to protect you. It isn’t any longer.

I read it again, the message just as clear as it had been on the first read through, so I don’t know why I couldn’t accept it, at least not from a few words penned on paper. I needed to hear it from him, his mouth, but he was gone . . . or was he?

 I was on auto-pilot, cancelling all thoughts and inhibitions out. I rushed into the hall, rounding the corner towards the entrance with such speed, I crashed into the opposite wall.

A form froze in the doorway, his hand on the doorknob, tentatively looking over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” I asked needlessly. I already knew where and how he’d likely be welcomed home—with an eager set of arms and lips. 

“Away,” he said, offering nothing more.

I took a step forward, wanting to take every one keeping us apart, but I was frozen in place.

“You were going to leave without saying good-bye?” I asked, no longer able to keep the tears contained. I was sick of holding back.

His shoulders fell, his head following suit. “I didn’t have a chance to say this before, but for closure’s sake, I think I need to.” His eyes aligned with mine, flat as a blank canvas. “Good-bye, Bryn,” he said firmly, before throwing himself out the door, leaving me behind.

I couldn’t find the words to respond in turn. I couldn’t say them to him again. Once had taken enough of my soul away.

FIRE

Patrick made the initial explanations since I’d fallen into a semi-coma the past twelve hours after losing William all over again. Paul had accepted it all without a question or peering about for cameras to see if he was being punk’d. I thought I’d accepted all the impossible mysteries of Immortality with ease, but Paul made me look like the severest of skeptics in comparison.

Patrick made sure to let me know I’d have the responsibility of tucking Paul under my wing since the one who’d changed him wasn’t up for it . . . something about having better things to do. I tried not to think about
better things to do
in a literal sense.

When I’d asked Patrick if he’d consider the Immortal equivalent of “mentoring” Paul, he’d keeled over laughing, saying he’d have even more motivation to figure out my talent training so he could use it to kill himself. As per usual, his sick humor was lost on me.

“Dying was like the best thing to happen to me,” Paul said, throwing himself back onto the sofa, a wide smile making its way over to me. I couldn’t get over the change in him, how he’d gone from knocking on death’s door to radiating vigor.

As any and every female could attest to, Paul had been good-looking in his Mortal life, but the passage into Immortality had enhanced him in such a way he could have been the result of a Swedish model mating with a Greek God. He was a Disney hero incarnate—wide, roguish smile and all. “Well, maybe the second best thing to happen to me.” His eyebrows danced feverishly my direction.

Patrick stuck his index finger in his mouth, throwing the book he had in his lap to the ground. “I’m through playing baby-sitter for one day. You kids going to be alright on your own or do I need to tuck you into bed with a warm cup of milk?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ve got the tucking into bed covered.” Paul looked over at me, no hint of shyness in his expression, just rugged, assured confidence. It seemed Immortality had exponentially enhanced his confidence as well.

“Whatever you say, cowboy,” Patrick said, obviously annoyed, as he rose from the chair. “See you two in the morning.”

“You can stay here,” I said, absently pushing back my cuticles.

“I’d rather not,” he said, turning for the door. “I’ll leave you two . . . alone.”

“This is great,” Paul said, curling his hands behind his head and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “There’s bro-code for Immortals, too.” He looked over at Patrick, bowing his head slightly. “I appreciate it, man. I’d say some alone time is definitely in order.”

I heaved my exasperation. What exactly about my unending cold-front gave Paul the impression he was gaining footing? I was just about to launch into some snide reply when a flaming object hurled into the room, shattering the large picture window behind Paul.

My body responded instantly and efficiently. I rolled towards the couch, pulling Paul down and away from the window and where the flaming torch had ignited the carpet. Patrick moved as quickly, extinguishing the snarling flames with a blanket he’d pulled from the rocker.

“What the?” Paul said, looking between the two of us.

“I’ve got a bad feeling,” Patrick said absently. “A really bad feeling.”

I crouched next to Paul, covering him with my body as I scanned the room like a feral cat. There was a thick silence, none of us so much as breaking it with a breath, when hell decided to explode around us.

An inferno of torches broke through every window in the living room, falling in a circle around us. One landed on Patrick’s back, igniting his shirt instantly, as if the flames were as supernatural as we were.

Afraid to move and expose Paul—he was Immortal, but new enough his skin would burn—I tossed Patrick one of the throw pillows from the couch. By the time it reached him, he’d already torn out of his shirt, but flames still scurried across his skin, diminishing once there was nothing left to ignite. This was the first time I’d seen Patrick shirtless and all I could think was that DNA had done the Hayward boys good.

Yep, situated at the epicenter of a raging fire, that was what went through my mind, but, thankfully, it was short-lived.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” I yelled over at him, as the flames devoured the curtains.

Patrick shook his head. “It’s a trap. They’re trying to flush us out. We go out there, we’re dead.”

We’d arrived at the same conclusion, needing no faces to confirm who was the bearer of the flaming torches or who was waiting for us outside. “Paul’s dead if we stay in here,” I yelled, the flames becoming louder, hissing all around us. The bottom of the rocking chair was catching fire, smoldering with its imminent destruction. 

“We stay here,” Patrick commanded, crawling towards us, covering the exposed part of Paul’s body with his.

“Something tells me they’ll be waiting for us when there’s nothing but ash left.” I looked hard at Patrick and I knew he agreed. We were dead, either way, and perhaps with the chaos of the fire, either Paul or him—or both—could make an escape.

“So it comes to this again,” Patrick said, a corner of his mouth pulling up. “You and me against the evil powers of the world.”

I couldn’t help smiling back, poor timing as it was. “We make a good team, when we’re not fighting each other.”

“Am I some sort of Immortal wimp?” Paul hollered up at us, looking furious we’d left him out of the equation.

“Yes,” Patrick and I answered in unison.

“At least for now,” I added, pulling him up with me.

Patrick came up beside Paul and glanced over at me. “Ready to throw down the pain?”

“I’ve been ready.”

“You know that gift of yours?” he said, as we each wound an elbow through Paul’s arms. “It would come in handy right about now.”

“Point taken,” I said, too much adrenaline shooting through me to worry about who I could kill or who I wouldn’t kill.

“Jump!” Patrick yelled and the trio of us lunged through the picture window, bursting through the flames to the ground two floors below. We landed in unison, and near silence, crouching low to the ground, waiting.

We didn’t wait long.

A half-circle of men holding more torches glided forward, their dark faces lit up by the orange flames licking around them. There was nothing that gave any designation of time and had someone been transported to this very moment, it would have been impossible to distinguish if we were surrounded by mercenaries in medieval England or Puritans back in Salem or the Klan in the deep South. The one thing about hate was that it was timeless, in the worst sense of the word.

“So we meet again, beautiful,” a familiar voice broke through the night, transporting me back to a time when I was nothing more than an ordinary college girl with a sad past. “I always hoped we would.”

Troy’s stocky form broke forward from the line of torches—doing a quick count, there were just under forty smug-faced Inheritors. Leaving Patrick and me with twenty each. I’d seen worse odds, for instance, William falling in love with me . . . but I wouldn’t exactly call that a victory. So maybe we were screwed, but I’d make sure I’d be the first to die if that was our destiny.

“I always
knew
we would, Troy,” I responded, taking a step forward. Patrick matched mine, followed by Paul. “I’ve got a little payback I’ve been meaning to deliver.”

Troy chuckled. “This is why I like you so much, defiant to the end. It’s too bad we just missed William, but don’t worry”—the whites of his eyes gleamed in the darkness—“we won’t leave him out.”

“Over my dead body,” I shouted, charging forward, but Patrick materialized in front of me, stopping me. I tried shoving around him, but Patrick hadn’t become a strength instructor for no reason—he was as immovable as Mt. Everest.

Troy’s grinned widened. “Exactly.”

The line of men started forward, one unified step followed by another, nothing but smirks of destruction playing on their faces. I knew John went for intimidating, but whenever I’d had dealings with an army of his brutes, they more came across as meat-heads who were only capable of following one-word commands. Their strength might outmatch mine, but anyone with the wits of an ameba could outsmart them.

I heard Paul running forward, but I stopped him short. “Stay back!”

“Sorry, Bryn,” he answered calmly, as if he was clueless as to the destruction surrounding us. “I’ve never been a bench-warmer and I’ll be darned if I’m about to start.”

He shoved past me, harnessing a power that wasn’t typical in a new Immortal, right as the advancing wall of flames came to an abrupt stop. Seven new forms had crept in behind us from the darkness, positioning around us.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Patrick shouted, his face blanching white.

It took me a moment to figure out who the saviors around us were, but when one squared himself directly in front of me, holding his head in a very familiar way, I felt my own face falling white, surpassing Patrick’s.

“No,” I barely whispered, surging forward. I lunged past him, at break-neck pace toward the waiting men in front of us, praying once they had me, they’d leave the rest of them unharmed.

I made it half a body-length before his arms ringed around my waist, pulling me back against his chest while walking backwards towards his family.

“Let me go, William!” I yelled, trying to pry his grip from me. It was impossible—his arms were glued to me with a kind of permanency I wouldn’t have minded if we’d been in any different situation.

“I didn’t save you and turn you into an Immortal for nothing, Paul,” William shouted, striding towards him. “For the love of god, protect her.” He handed me over to Paul, but it felt forced, like he was fighting everything to do so.

Paul’s arms replaced William’s, positioning me tightly against him. Avoiding my eyes like they shot lasers, William turned and jogged back to the front of the line, taking his place between Nathanial and his father. Cora and Abigail were even there, although their husbands were fortressed in front of them, their faces snarling with warning. I pitied the man who even
tried
to lay a finger on Cora or Abigail. From the looks of their faces, Joseph and Nathanial would happily tear any who tried to microscopic shreds. 

I’d had some dark thoughts in my twenty years of life, some deep fears, but never in the worst of them had I imagined this kind of horror—where William and his entire family, Hector included, would fall in their efforts to protect me. I wasn’t worth one Hayward’s life, let alone seven.

“Let me go.” I struggled in Paul’s arms, not able to break through them. He was strong, impossibly strong. It seemed Immortality and him really did go well together.

“It certainly is our lucky night,” Troy said, stalling my efforts. “We come for three and we end up with ten. John will be ever so pleased. He’s always said Immortality would be so much better without the Haywards a part of it. We’ll make his wish a reality in about five minutes.” His wide smile gleamed in the moonlight as his attention turned to William, the smile managing to stretch. “It doesn’t look like you were able to tame her. I’d say she’s only grown wilder,” Troy said, his eyes shifting all about me in the I-need-to-take-a-shower-I-feel-so-dirty way. “But don’t worry. I’m
more
than up to the task.” He ran his thumbs over his belt, pulsing his hips my direction.

William roared, sounding more animal than man, charging straight for Troy.

Troy snapped his fingers and forty torches crashed to the ground as the line of goliaths charged forward with destruction on their faces. The ground shook like an earthquake as they bore down upon us, but the eight bodies surrounding Paul and me responded in equal, charging into the army of dark-suited men. Bodies clashed, one of John’s to one of ours, the remaining thirty intent upon another target.

In a unified leap, the men tackled William, piling over him in a haystack of limbs and aggression. There wasn’t a piece of him exposed, only dozens of balled fists moving as fast as pistons.

“Let me go,” I demanded, struggling against Paul’s hold. fontNow! I have to help him.”

The Haywards were barraging towards the pile of bodies and I was useless. I was the most deadly thing here and I’d been sidelined.

Right before his brothers, the fastest of them, reached him, an explosion of men erupted from the pile. William stood at the epicenter of the explosion, like Poseidon rising from the sea, looking unhurt and invincible. I knew from personal experience he was neither.

There was one moment of calm—as everyone gaped wide-eyed at William’s impossible strength—and then the flood gates opened.

The tossed-aside men righted themselves, pouncing on the nearest Hayward. The majority of Troy’s men concentrated their efforts on William, Patrick, and Hector, although the remaining five didn’t have it easy. Nathanial and Joseph stayed strategically positioned, trying to keep Abigail and Cora in the center, but the girls were managing to hold their own.

It didn’t seem right that someone five foot nothing like Cora could throw down with men twice her size and Abigail’s courtesan-like ways were definitely not aligning with the woman I saw before me, moving as powerfully and stealth-like as a panther.