Her Black Wings (The Dark Amulet Series Book 1) (23 page)

CHAPTER

SIXTY-THREE

Elliott

Elliott stood with his hands on his hips watching Virgil fly away from the chamber, glowering the whole time. He stalked around the cavern talking to himself.

“What kind of an idiot? Who the hell does he think he is? Arghhh!” He wanted to do more than just scream. And wasn’t that frustrating?

Amalya smiled demurely, which wasn’t her usual way. He’d noticed changes in her behavior since they’d met. He was about to ask why she was lying on the floor, not moving, when her hand twitched. The kind of spasm one didn’t do voluntarily.

Dammit.

Being angry at her for following him through the French doors into his home realm had to wait. And he had to admire her courage.

Stupid courage.

Kneeling next to her, he grasped her hand to steady the tremor. Her other hand, or maybe a foot, would be next. He had to hurry.

“Ohhh,” she moaned, “I’m going to be sick.” Green vomit spewed outward and onto her chin.

He put one of her arms over her head and rolled her onto her side. With her tongue sticking out she gagged over and over until there was no more puke. For a full five minutes. The smell made him heave in sympathy but he suppressed the rising bile. Barely.

Elliott spoke with his nose plugged. “Amalya, I have to get you into the water.” Not bothering to undress, Elliott jumped into the water and slid the mat and her over to the edge. He tunneled his arms under the back of her knees and torso then hauled her into the pool. The dead weight of her limp body made him grunt. She wasn’t too heavy, but hadn’t prepared himself for the lift either. He sluiced water through her hair, washed the barf off her chin and chest, and groaned when he made the mistake of looking at her breasts bobbing in the water.

Light emanated from him, flooding the pool, making the aquamarine water glow pale yellow. Amalya’s hand stopped twitching. She took a deep breath, then another.

“I can move my toes,” she whispered. Her voice sounded weak.

He wanted to be cranky and yell at her. However, harsh words escaped him at the moment. She needed him and this he could help her with.

“Try moving your arms…good.” The little movements signified progress. Her shaky hands curled into fists by tiny increments, then straightened.

“You’re glowing.” She smiled up at him.

“I know.”

“Your light…how come you didn’t use this stuff when my wing was broken?”

He ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “Because it wasn’t necessary. And I can’t heal you with only my light.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to have to disagree with you on the not necessary part,” she smirked. Elliott held her out further from his body. She jerked, expecting to sink to the bottom, but he kept her at the surface. She swished her hands from side to side. His eyes roved the length of her body.

CHAPTER

SIXTY-FOUR

Virgil

Too many years Virgil had spent in his realm. A hierarchy existed among the Redeemers and he had achieved a higher status, although this didn’t mean he’d moved onto the next level. No longer did he leave home. In essence, he was retired from field work, in charge of looking after the other Redeemers. Of all the countless of his brethren he’d watched depart contented and return broken, Elliott affected him the most. The angel’s wings had been ripped from his body.

Virgil only allowed himself to weep in solitude. A tear dripped from his chin, landing on the steps outside The Place to Honor. The temple hovered high above the warrior towers. By the time he set down on the wide porch that ran all around the sandstone dome, night had fallen upon this part of Arcadia. He’d come to the temple for two reasons, neither of which involved worship. He took a deep breath and tugged on the silver wing-shaped door handles. The hinges creaked.

No windows equaled no light. Inside was pitch black. The empty space comforted him. The angel neither cared for nor enjoyed being alone, but sometimes his spirit needed isolation to rejuvenate. Familiar with the temple, he knew how many paces it took to reach the middle of the room. He sat on the warm sandstone floor cross-legged, his hands draped off his knees. Concentrating on keeping his breaths even, he prepared to wait for a considerable time.

Although Deus was the only omniscient energy force, Virgil suspected the entity had limitations and wasn’t truly all-seeing. Virgil had been thought to be all-knowing by his peers. He wasn’t, not even close. He knew about his fellow angels and saw through their eyes, felt their pain like his own whenever he came into close proximity with one of them. Their memories and feelings came to him in a flash. He’d learned not to show his reactions, hiding behind a stoic mask.

A pinprick of a soft glow appeared, gradually increasing in size until a figure took form out of the light. The Creator of All Life, Deus, manifested as a human man. The white suit he wore as an attempt at humor had always confused Virgil. He reminded himself to stop gawking and stand.

“You may stay as you are, Virgil.”

The ceiling morphed into a paper-thin sheet allowing the moon’s rays and nighttime stars to illuminate the room. Deus walked toward him and started to sit, only there wasn’t a chair. One appeared just before the angel could reach the Creator.

“Ahh, that’s much better. You must learn to relax, my son. Even if this body before you had fallen, it would have done you some good to laugh.” Deus crossed one leg over the other, wove his fingers together, and clasped a knee.

“I would not have laughed at you.” Virgil knelt before him.

Deus raised his eyebrows. “This,” he pointed to himself, “is just a mirage. A construct I created to better serve you. Having a conversation without a
mouth
, would be difficult, don’t you think?”

What?

“Precisely.” The Creator chuckled. “You wouldn’t be able to understand anything I said.”

Virgil’s brow creased. He didn’t understand anything now.

Deus clapped his hands, startling the angel. “Oh, you must relax. Much. Too. Tense.”

Virgil sagged his shoulders, shook out his arms, and rolled his head around.

A low chuckle began under the Creator’s breath, turning into roaring laughter. “You are too much. Splendid. I think you may have a sense of humor after all. Now, let’s get down to business, shall we? Why have you come to see me?” Deus uncrossed his legs and placed his palms on the tops of his thighs.

Virgil thought Deus looked too eager, wide eyed with a giant grin on his puss. Taking a cleansing breath, the angel prepared to speak. Words were on the tip of his tongue, on the verge of coming out of his mouth.

“Tell me your thoughts on Elliott.”

All right, if he already knew, then why the pretense?

“It amuses me. Go on.”

“Elliott the Redeemer is not doing well…”

“He’s been this way before. What makes this time different, do you think? I know…but I want to know what
you
think.” Deus’s smile disappeared.

“His w-wings were s-stolen from him,” Virgil stammered, fighting to keep his emotions in check.

“Yes. There is something else, as well.” The supreme entity leaned forward.

“Joelle. He’s a dear friend to Elliott the Redeem—”

“Best friend.”

Virgil snapped his head up and looked at Deus.

“You seemed surprised by my recognition of the social structure of our realm. I am aware some seek the company of certain individuals and not others. Joelle is Elliott’s
best
friend.”

“Y-yes.”

“Joelle has moved forward onto the next plane of existence.”

The angel sighed. “I understand.”

Deus chuckled, “What? You’ve given up? And so quickly?”

“No, I just thought—”

“I shall ask Joelle if he would like your job then.”

Virgil coughed.

“Yes. I will offer the position to him in exchange for your field service. If Elliott fulfills his duty as he promised, wings he shall receive.” Deus disappeared in a flash of brilliant white light.

“Wait!” Virgil threw his hands up. “Balls! Boot-licking motherfucker!”

Virgil didn’t lose his composure often. In fact,
never
. True enough he’d become restless, bored even, with his duty, but faced with actually returning to Earth in service of redeeming humans again?

God dammit!

Well, okay, there was an upside; he could help make sure Abaddon would have fewer souls to capture and torture.

“I must admit, Virgil, I’m impressed. I’ve never heard you swear before.”

Virgil leapt to his feet and spun around, his eyes wild and fists clenched.

Joelle put his palms out. “Whoa, man. Chill.”

“Chill? You know I hate the modern vernacular. No one is able to ‘chill’, unless they fall into a vat of ice water.”

Joelle rolled his eyes. “God, who pissed in your Wheaties today?”

“I don’t know what ‘Wheaties’ are, but I assure you no one urinated on anything of mine.”

“Anyway…”

“I assume you are aware of Elliott’s situation. I fear it is much direr than he would like to believe. He is in danger of—”

“Blah, blah, blah, I know. I’ll talk to him, all right. My way.”

Virgil paced the floor, muttering to himself about the preparations he needed to make for going to Earth, while counting on his fingers his list of supplies. A century and half had passed in Earth’s realm since the last time he visited. The language had definitely changed. What else? He had no idea what he may encounter.

Smoothing his Van Dyke into a point, Virgil cursed. Most of the angels shaved their beards completely off these days. He needed new clothes…shoes…oh God, did people still wear hats? He hated hats.

“Virg…Virgil?”

“Huh?” He stopped pacing when Joelle stepped in his way. Or maybe he walked into his path. It didn’t matter which, Virgil turned and headed in the opposite direction.

“Yeah, didn’t think you were paying attention.” The angel chuckled.

“What did you say?”

“Will you quit pacing? You’re driving me nuts.”

Virgil huffed. The angels shared an irritated glance. “Listen, Joelle, I’d rather you didn’t mention to Elliott the Redeemer I spoke to Deus on his behalf. About you, about his wings.”

“You asked for his wings back?”

“Yes. I wanted—it pains me to see him this way.”

Joelle’s eyes widened. “But you don’t want him to know. Why? You know he doesn’t like you much, this might make him like you more.”

Virgil didn’t look at the other angel as he spoke. “Let’s be honest. He doesn’t like me at all, he tolerates me.”

“Okay, he doesn’t like you, but he respects you.”

Respect had nothing to do with Virgil’s job and he didn’t care about it. He did his duty willingly. “Ha! Do not insult my intelligence.” Now he turned around.

“Then I have to ask you again, why?” Joelle’s exhale blew his floppy hair off his forehead.

“Because he would resent my involvement, he has made this abundantly clear.”

“Oh,” said Joelle sarcastically, “so you’re going for sainthood now.”

“On the contrary, I’m simply doing my duty. I don’t need or want the recognition.”

Or respect.

“Then you won’t mind if I don’t thank you? What’s this really about?”

“Will you keep this to yourself or
not?”

Exiting the building, they trotted down a few of the steps. Joelle turned back and faced him.

“Yes, fine, no problem. You’re a true angel, making the rest of us look bad.” Joelle waved at him flippantly.

Joelle spread his majestic wings. The moon tinted them a purplish-blue hue. The angel shot straight up into the air with a whoop.

Virgil remained on the stoop. He shivered. A ball-bearing of regret and fear settled inside his stomach.

CHAPTER

SIXTY-FIVE

Amalya

Elliott gasped, sending heat to Amalya’s core. “You like what you see?”

“You have to ask? You’re so beautiful.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Ooh la la. You know, I am starting to feel better.”

“Are you?” He arched an eyebrow.

Hollowing her back allowed her nipples to breach the surface—instantly hardening. And that wasn’t the only thing stiff.

Elliott moaned, his frown contradicting his lustful obsidian eyes. She ignored the expression because she needed him. Wanted to feel him inside her, spreading her wide while he laid between her thighs.

He maneuvered her until she straddled his hips. The underside of his steel cock pressed against her sex. She wound a hand around the back of his neck and smashed their lips together.

“I want you,” she said against his mouth.

He responded by thrusting his tongue past her lips. Feverish. Desperate. Necessary.

They stayed lip-locked as he stood up with her legs encircled tightly around his waist. Water glistened, meandering down their bodies.

For a moment she thought about the angels on the other side of the shaft. Wouldn’t they see them doing it? Did she even care? Not really, she realized.

Elliott carried her to his bed, a cushioned ledge protruding from the wall, protected by sandstone posts on one side. He laid her on the velvet padding. Her hands rubbed the fabric and it was indeed actual velvet.

Closing her eyes, she eased her head onto the mattress. Feeling selfish, she asked him to lay beside her. “Let me take care of you this time.”

“Hmmm, I’d like that,” he purred, positioning himself.

She captured him in her mouth. His head pitched back, he arched his back and grabbed at the bed, but couldn’t get enough of anything to grip. Veins across his chest stood out. The pulse in his neck throbbed. She worked him until he begged her not to stop.

He thickened, on the verge of an orgasm.

Oh no, you don’t.
She pulled her head up, nibbling on the tip of his engorged member, teased his twin weights. Sucking, flicking her tongue over them. His fingers weaved through her hair and fisted a couple of wads.

She whimpered.

“Sorry,” he whispered, easing his grip on her hair.

Getting to her knees, she placed them on each side of his legs then shuffled forward. Elliott’s head popped off the bed. He squeezed her ass with one hand and positioned his arousal with the other. The swollen blunt head made contact with her sensitive bundle at the apex of her sex.

“Oh God, Elliott, yes. I need you to feel you inside me.” His hips surged to meet her the same time she came down on him.

“Ride me, Amalya, ride me hard.”

Breaths left his throat in harsh pants, sawing in and out. His Adam’s apple jumped up and down as he swallowed. Her own inhales increased in speed, along with her strokes. She gripped his shoulders, grinding her core against him. Back and forth, up and down. Her inner walls pulsed, milking him, feeding her thrill ride.

“Elliott! Oh, God…yes!” Her head snapped back and she screamed.

“Oh,” he grunted. “You’re so tight! Aw, shit!”

Amalya almost laughed when he started to come. Men always looked like they were in agony with their eyes clamped shut and face all scrunched up. Her angel grabbed her bottom, pressing his fingers into the cheeks, urging her to stay with him through his bursts of pleasure.

She rested on his chest with her head facing away and her hands curled around his shoulders. Their hearts beat inches from each other. She inhaled his scent, maybe for the last time. A foolish part of her wanted to remember his scent for forever, because her rational side knew Aba would eventually come for her when she failed. He’d drag her back to Netherworld, where she’d be trapped forever or worse, become number one hundred of his harem. And what had happened to the last number one hundred?

Oh God.

She shuddered.

“Don’t tell me you’re cold.” Elliott’s arms tightened around her torso.

“No. Why?” Lifting her head, she swiveled to glance at him then returned to her original position.

“You shivered.”

“Oh,” she sighed, “it’s not that. I was just envisioning my demise or…whatever.” Amalya couldn’t see his face but knew he’d rolled his eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes. It’s true, I only have a limited amount of time left before—”

“Now I’m rolling my eyes. You
don’t
have a limited amount of time left.”

“You know, you’re right. I don’t. My soul’s already spoken for. I might as well serve myself up to the Devil on a silver platter with an apple in my mouth and pineapple rings stuck to my ass. Maybe add some carrots and potatoes too.”

He snorted a chuckle. “Are you finished?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

He nuzzled the back of her hair and planted a kiss. She wanted to hear a rebuttal to all her negativity. His lack of denial for her perceived outcome made her throat feel like it was slowly collapsing, constricting the passage of air. Soon her face would turn blue and she’d pass out or die. But she already had, hadn’t she? She was back where this all started. Only this time it was worse. She wanted to live. Wanted more time with her angel. A trembling hand went to her face, capturing her tears.

Although Elliott had been there for her most of the time, he’d been a reluctant participant, apart from the sex. Elliott lost everything dear to him trying to save and protect her; his wings, Joelle. And now she came here, not because he was hurting, like she told herself, but because she wanted to convince him to help her once more. How could she ask this of him? He didn’t owe her. If anything she owed him. Even if she spent the rest of her existence trying to repay him, she would never be able to.

“Amalya, you can’t stay here. I mean, shit, that’s not what I mean. I want you to stay here—”

“But I can’t. I know. Brandon’s supposed kill someone. Crossroad bullshit and all. Oh, wait, did I miss it? I didn’t think about the time thingy between Earth and your world…”

Elliott chuckled. “Arcadia. And you didn’t miss anything. Time is the same as on Earth except for when you come and go to this realm through the doors to Eternity, then you’ll return to the same point in time you left Earth, give or take a few seconds.”

“So, it’s not like Netherworld? I thought—”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or frightened the world still awaited her. “Weird. So, like, Max will be on the other side just waiting for me?”

Elliott exhaled with an implied eye roll. “He’s not going to
know
you’re coming
back
.”

“Well, duh.” If she came back to him they’d have to work on his tact. And his obsessive nail biting.

“You know why I followed you here?” she asked.

“For sex?”

“Quit playing, I’m serious. I wanted to ask…beg, you to help me, but I realized something. I can’t ask you for anything else. It’s not fair and totally selfish of me to even think it.”

“Amalya, it’s my job. I freaked out and ran. I’m the one who’s selfish.”

“Shut up, you’re not, never say that about yourself. You’re not selfish. You’ve already sacrificed too much and for what? A criminal. The only reason I wasn’t in prison—”

“Stop. That isn’t who you are anymore. That life ended over twenty years ago, no matter how little time you feel has passed. It’s over. End of discussion.”

Her chin quivered and tears sprang to her eyes. “It’s just, if you knew the truth, you may not feel the same way about me.”

“I already know.”

“And you still wanted to help me?”

“I wasn’t given a choice. I have to confess though, I almost left you in Netherworld. After my wings—God, just, never mind.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“It’s my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

“Everything. You losing your wings, Joelle—”

“Stop it.” He skimmed a palm over the top of his head.

“Every decision, I’ve ever made led me to this point.”

“Same for everyone else too.”

“Yeah, except for you. You didn’t choose this. I chose. And now
I
have to deal with it on my own. Take a stand. Believe in something for once. I choose to put faith in myself.”

Elliott wrapped his strong arms around her and hugged her tightly. Amalya slid off Elliott and onto her side, nestling into him. She propped her head up on her hand, tracing the contours of his muscular chest and abdomen with her fingertips. He inhaled sharply.

“That tickles…” He bolted upright.

Gasping, Amalya covered her mouth with the palm of her hand.

Elliott glanced back at her over his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

“Your back is healed. The wounds have disappeared.”

“What?” He felt what he could reach of the smooth skin on his back. Then her angel unraveled. He jumped to his feet and went for the heaviest thing in the room, the dressing bureau. Angels had the strength of twelve humans when they summoned their power, even without their wings. The oak cabinet lifted like it weighed no more than a brick. He hoisted the piece of furniture over his head, chucking it clear across the space and into the opposite wall. Clothes and wood fragments scattered. Several pieces of lumber spun across the floor, over the edge, and down the shaft.

She ran after the splintered wood, shouting, “Look out below!” Just as she looked over the side, two wooden missiles struck the wing of an unsuspecting angel, hitting him on the meatiest section. His cries echoed. Without thinking, she dove after him. If she could just get below him…

The injured angel tumbled through the air in a sort of somersault. She flapped her wings faster. The open mouths of the flats zipped past her, level after level.

“Help!” she yelled, realizing she may not be able to catch him in time.
Poofing
didn’t work here.

She pressed on, reaching her hands out. She made contact with an arm, but it slipped through her fingers and her heart sank.

“Heeeelp!” Now she was further away from him but more determined than ever to save him.

A few more flaps and she realized her wings created too much wind drag. She folded them close to her body, squeezing in for the least amount of resistance. Her speed increased. Reaching out again, she snagged the top crest of the injured wing. A shrill yelp made her cringe; she knew the pain he felt. But she had him. Wings would heal. Angels would go splat. Although it wasn’t clear on
how
dead an angel could actually get, especially after witnessing Joelle turn into light and vanish. Nonetheless, she could tell the angel in her grasp also wasn’t interested in finding out.

With the angel now firmly in her grip, Amalya snapped her wings straight out creating a glider. The angel whimpered from the sudden jolt. They coasted in a spiral. The lobby came closer by the second.

Two dark haired angels flanked her on each side. “Looks like you could use a hand,” the one on her right said.

“Mind if we take over from here?”

“Please, he’s in a lot of pain.” The weight was lifted, and she started weakening again. “We’ll take care of him.”

“Thank you.” God, she was turning into a good person, except she didn’t know how to feel about it; pleased or scared shitless.

Through the hurt angel’s anguish he said, “Thank…you.”

Amalya resisted the urge to cry. So far she’d saved everyone’s life except the one that could save hers.

The best thing for her to do was leave this realm and go find Brandon, but she couldn’t without seeing her angel first.

When she reached Elliott, he was balled up and lying in the middle of the bed. After landing, she staggered through the land of destruction. A toothpick sized splinter stuck into the bottom of her big toe. “Gaaa!” She hobbled over to the bed to examine her foot, noticing again she was naked. She paled.

Naked the whole rescue mission, you say? Nice.

An inflectionless gravel-laden voice asked, “Why’d you come back?”

She forgot the giant twig sticking out of her foot.

“Lemme guess, you forgot something.”

“No. I, I mean yes, I need some clothes, but that wasn’t the reason…”

“Then why?”

“I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Oh, just grand. What do you
think
?”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, even if it is what you think of me.” She yanked the wooden pole out, too pissed to make a sound. Blood welled from the puncture wound. She stood and strode over to fetch some loose linen pants lying on the floor, limping with her toes off the ground. They were way too big and she had to roll them up. She tied another pair she found around her torso to cover her breasts.