“Then there are the seven metahumans you personally killed. All in all, I’d say you deserve a very painful death. Oh, and you’ll get what you deserve, after I get a fresh sample of your blood and DNA. I have some scientist who will be able to work wonders with your blueprint. Who knows? Maybe your anomaly will be the answer I’ve been looking for all along. In which case, hunting Margo Winter and the stolen assets will be more for sport than necessity.”
Creed instinctively wanted to curl into fetal position, but couldn’t. His muscles strained uselessly. He was strapped to a gurney. Feeling himself tied down was almost more agonizing as the pain itself.
“Oh, yes, you noticed the reinforced straps. I had Chaunders install those just for you. Even in your current state, I didn’t want to take any chances. Don’t worry Mr. Young. We’ll be arriving in Germany soon enough. That’s when your real fun will begin.”
Creed slipped in and out of consciousness. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt Meg’s gentle quiver of emotion slip around him tentatively, searching and slipped away almost as quickly. Left lingering in his mind was the scent of red, ripe strawberries. As imagined as it probably was, his aching mind latched on to the essence and used it as a soothing elixir, desperate for any sliver of the girl he would give anything to see once more.
Meg.
The girl whose eyes sparkled with light that seemed to come from inside her.
The girl whose will and determination made her seem ten times bigger than her small body could possibly contain.
The girl whose strength came from her willingness to love by faith and not by sight, to open herself to emotion and pain out of sheer stubbornness—determined to be there for those she took under her beautifully protective wings.
She allows herself to be a mirror, absorbing everything around her, giving back only the most beautiful of what is thrown to her. Her reflective soul acted like a filter, allowing only the most precious pieces to be given back to the world—taking the evil and darkness away.
…Interceding for even a worthless monster like me to the God who blessed her with the heart of an angel, Creed thought.
Creed knew it was Meg who saved him, even as he lay bleeding to death feeling his organs desperate to shut down, one at a time, out of sheer ruin.
Before Meg, Creed knew he was a soulless, empty shell designed for evil. He was a puppet to a devil. She and her family brought him to humanity. If he had a soul now, it was only because she breathed God’s life back into him. He wanted to be a better man for her. She made him want to take on the world and kneel at her beautiful feet just to be near her.
Creed knew with every screaming ounce of his being that it was Meg who filled him with her light and goodness. He didn’t know why she chose to waste her time with a worthless monster like him, but she wrapped her lovely white blanket of goodness around his heart and freed him. She taught him what it was to love, to believe and to pray.
Even as the arid pain of consciousness made Creed’s body convulse, his mind was desperate to plead what would be only his second prayer ever. He prayed for forgiveness for being so late to recognize the preciousness of life.
I am not worthy of any forgiveness, but I do have a soul, and if you choose to show me mercy, please take it from this body. Let me watch over Meg as her guardian instead.
Creed’s mind drifted toward the isolating blackness before a burst of iridescent light blossomed warm and welcoming to his weary soul, drawing him into its comforting embrace.
Chapter 15 Wings
Meg’s back hurt.
She couldn’t figure out why it was hurting, but it was. The location of the pain was strange. It ached on either side of her spine, right where her shoulder blades would be. She kept trying to remember why it was hurting. Had I bumped into something?
No. Not that she remembered. The ache was strange. It didn’t feel like cuts—more like tender bruises. Frowning, she reached one arm over the opposite shoulder to touch the tender spot and felt something.
A moment of panic had her patting the entire area and feeling the juncture at which something was protruding from her skin.
Was I stabbed? Was I impaled? How could I have been and not remembered?
Meg’s other hand flew up to her opposite shoulder to feel if the other ache was being caused by another projectile. It was.
Oh my God. What is this?
Having just awakened from a terrifying dream, Meg had only stumbled into the bathroom to brush her teeth, as she always did after a bad dream. She needed to get the foul taste out of her mouth. All she was wearing was a thin strapped tank top and panties. The lights were off and Meg was standing barefoot on the cold tile frantically feeling things dug into her back. They hurt so badly, but felt strangely better when she rubbed the base—the part where it embedded itself into her skin. What the hell?
Meg slapped on the lights, and blinked hard against the glare, desperately searching for a handheld mirror. Her shaking hands scattered bottles of mousse and mouthwash to the floor before they found what they sought. Meg spun and held the small hand held at an angle to see her back in the built in bathroom mirror.
Her jaw dropped.
There, on either side of her spine were what looked like the start of…no, it couldn’t be.
But it was; there were even small furry feathers.