Ember X (Death Collectors)

chapter 11

We drive along the highway, making small chitchat about the fight as “Forever” by Papa Roach plays softly in the background. Asher doesn’t ask questions about what was said in the bar and when he looks at me, it feels like he’s really looking past the girl who was brought in to the police station for the suspicion of her dad’s disappearance.

Eventually, he veers off the main road and parks the car in a gravel turnout that overlooks the lake. He shuts off the engines and dabs the cut on his lip with the collar of his shirt, giving me a view of his perfectly sculpted ab muscles.

“You know, this whole night really didn’t turn out how I was planning it,” he says, licking the last of the blood of his lip. “However, I don’t think I would trade it for anything.”

The lake shimmers and the moon reflects against the surface, the water rippling against the breeze. The mountains are black and the trees are dark silhouettes in distance.

“How were you planning it to go?” I ask, wondering if he ever meant to kiss me and feel me from the inside.

He puts the parking brake on. “A little less bar fighting and a lot more making out in the back of the bar.”

I look at him to see if he’s being serious and he stares at me with hunger in his eyes. “How did you learn to fight like that?” I ask, unclicking my seatbeltbefore leaning over and placing a finger to his injured lip. “You were kind of amazing.”

His jaw tenses. “My dad taught me.”

“Yeah, mine too,” I say, lowering my hand away from his mouth.

He relaxes a little, his shoulders unstiffening. “Yeah, I saw you knee that guy… You didn’t so much as hesitate.”

“Hesitation shows weakness,” I say robotically. “At least, that’s what my dad used to say. He was a do-or-die kind of guy.” I pause, scratching nervously at my neck. “I didn’t kill him.”

“I know.” His voice is steady, his gaze fierce.

I lower my hand to my lap. “So you don’t believe the rumors?”

He shakes his head and a wisp of his hair falls into his eyes. He leans over and sketches along my lower lip, before reaching for the glove compartment in front of me. “Come on, there’s something I want to show you.” He grabs a flashlight and then hops out of the car.

I climb out and meet him at the front of the car. We hike down a dirt path, holding hands, and he lights the way with the flashlight. An owl hoots from in a tree and the crickets sing a melody that haunts the night. It’s strange but peaceful knowing we’re the only two out here and that we’re sharing a private moment no one else can ever touch.

Asher unexpectedly makes a sharp turn off the path and ducks into the trees. The leaves and twigs crunch under our shoes as we hike deeper into the woods.

“Where are we going?” I whisper, forcing my eyes to adjust to the night as branches claw at my skin.

He shoves a branch aside and lets me walk through first. “There’s something out here I want to show you.”

“What? A roll of tape and a shovel,” I say sarcastically.

He spots the flashlight on my face. “Am I scaring you?”

Shielding my eyes with my hand, I shake my head. “I think it would take a hell of a lot more than a creepy walk in the forest with a really hot guy to scare me.”

“You think I’m hot, huh?” It’s nearly pitch black, but I hear the smile in his voice.

I roll my eyes, playing off my slipup. “So what’s really—”

He silences me with his lips by crushing into mine and our bodies weld together and steam up the woods as he presses himself against me. His fingers find my waist and he grips at my skin like he can’t get enough of me. I kiss him back, gripping onto his arms for support, wondering if it’s possible to stay like this forever, in the darkness of the woods, away from the world and death.

He pulls back, breathing ravenously. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” He rubs his lips together. “Especially when you’re embarrassed.”

“I don’t get embarrassed,” I assure him, rolling my shoulders back. “Only uncomfortable.”

We finish the rest of the walk holding hands and taking in the serenity of each other’s company until we finally emerge from the trees onto a flat spot of land. Asher sweeps the light across the area, highlighting a stone statue of an Angel with feather-carved wings aimed at the sky and its head and back is curled inward toward the earth. Surrounding it are petite wooden crosses covered with vines of rose bushes.

“How did you know this was here?” I make a path through the tiny cemetery, feeling as though I’m stepping on forbidden territory. “And does anyone else know it’s back here?”

“My father took me here when I was younger.” He watches me with the flashlight in his hand. “And I don’t think anyone else knows it exists.”

“How’d your father know about it?” I stare up at the Angel statue.

“His father showed it to him.” He spotlights an engraving on the foot of the statue.

Bending down, I read it aloud, “To guard the Earth from the wrath of death, we must use vigilance. For those we seek to guard could destroy us and themselves.”

“Do you know what it means?” I run my fingers along the elaborate lettering. “It feels like I’ve heard it before.”

He walks up behind me, crouches down, and puts his mouth beside my ear. “Some people believe that Angels are the guardians of humans’ deaths. However, most humans have a general fear of anything involving death. They have the potential to destroy themselves and their protectors. A long time ago, people used to slay anyone they suspected were Angels of Death.”

“Did they have black-winged feathers,” I half joke, but am half serious, thinking of all the feathers I’ve come across during my life.

“Are you speaking of Laden’s crime scene?” Asher asks gravely as I angle my face back, resting it against his chest. “Or of something else?”

“You know about the feathers on Laden’s crime scene?”

“Everyone knows about the crime scene.”

“Do you know it was almost exactly like my dad’s crime scene?”

He places a hand on my hip and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, I heard that.”

Silence capes us as my memories drift back to the night my dad disappeared; the panic that led to my stupid decision to run away and who ran away with me.

“Do you know that some people believe that Angels exist?” he asks. “And that they walk in disguise, looking for the Grim Angel who will save them?”

“That’s not too hard to believe, I guess. I mean, there are a ton of strange things in this world.” Like me. “But what’s the wrath of death?”

His fingers travel up my forearm, scorching hot against my skin, and my stomach quivers with the desire to be closer to him. “The Grim Reaper,” he whispers and I’m slapped back to reality.

I jolt away, standing up, and accidentally step on a cross. I quickly pick it up and stab it back into the moist dirt.

“What’s wrong?” Asher asks, standing up too. “Did I say something that makes you uneasy? Because if I did, you can tell me.”

It’s like he knows. Tipping my chin back, I gaze up at the statue and then at the crosses in the ground around it. “No… it’s just getting late. I should probably get home.”

He nods, not pushing me to divulge. “Yeah, we can go back.”

As we backtrack through the trees, I think about the Grim Reaper. In my head, I picture walking inside my house and he’s waiting for me on the couch with a cup of tea, like we’re old friends. But I’m too old to be seeing imaginary people, let alone drinking tea with them.

“Do you think that… do I come off as a little crazy?” I abruptly ask when we approach the edge of the turnout where the car is parked.

He stops in his tracks, and slipping his arm around my back, he pulls me close to him so that I can see the honesty in his eyes. “I think there are a lot of people that are considered insane, but they just see and go through more than the average person can understand.” He kisses me on the forehead and I bask in the warmth and silence of his lips.

I nod and we move away from each other and climb in the car. He starts up the engine and places the flashlight back in the glove box.

I watch him with a guarded expression as I ask, “Asher, why did you bring me here?”

He places an arm on the back of my headrest. “Because I wanted to show you that people tend to fear the different, even when the different is good.”

“Like Angels?”

“Yeah, like Angels, and like people who are out of the ordinary.” His fingers brush the back of my neck.

“But what does this have to do with Garrick and the Anamotti?” I ask. “Or can you not tell me that yet?”

“Do you want me to tell you now?” He waits patiently for my answer, tracing circles on my shoulder.

I hesitate briefly, nervous what the answer could be. “Umm… yeah?”

“The word ‘Anamotti’ means death. And they believe that Angels exist,” he says in a controlled tone. “And they want to destroy them.”

Angels? “Are you part of this group?” I tread with caution.

He shakes his head. “I’m not, but I know people who are.”

I take in the dark alteration of the night. “What does that have to do with me?”

Hooking his finger underneath my chin, he tips my chin up and claims my gaze, looking past my eyes and into my soul. “I can tell you, but I want you to make sure you’re ready for that answer, because it’s… it might be hard for you to take in, especially when you’ve got so much stress in your life already. I want you to really make sure, whether you believe me or not, that you can handle whatever it is I tell you.”

“How do you know about my stress?” I ask, unable to look away from his binding gaze.

“Because of the sadness you always carry.” He sweeps the tip of his fingers along the corner of my eye. “It’s in here, all the time. So please, if you’re not ready, it can wait.”

It’s frightening how much he sees me.

He gives me a moment to contemplate and my mind reflects back to Garrick and his multiple death omens. To Raven. And Ian. My alcoholic, manic-depressant mother. My dad’s disappearance. Angels and secret societies? There is so much going on in my life and for once I have an escape—Asher. Tonight has been one of the best nights of my life and I want to hold onto the feeling of bliss for as long as I can. Whatever he’s about to say will change it. Perhaps even destroy it—I can sense it through the tone in his voice, the way he moves, and the way his eyes watch me.

“Can you take me home?” I fear having to deal with what’s before me and worry that I’ll crack and end up going insane. “It’s getting late.”

He nods with understanding in his eyes and then pulls his hand away, placing it on the steering wheel. “Whatever you want, Ember. And I mean that. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

I wonder if he really means it.

***

All the interior lights in my house are off when we pull up. Either the power is still out, my mom and Ian are in bed, or no one’s home.

“Is anyone here?” Asher asks, staring at the house. “It doesn’t look like anyone is.”

“Well, it is,” I glance at my watch and my eyes spring wide. “One in the morning. Shit, how’d it get to be that late?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” he teases with a soft laugh and an inside-melting grin.

The darker side of tonight has dissolved from my body and the ride home was filled with light conversation about music, school, art, and writing. I refuse to think about Angels, the Grim Reaper, and the Anamotti for the moment. I want to just be free from death and everything that is related to it.

“Tonight was fun, though.” I jerk on the handle and push the car door open. “And I needed some fun.”

He captures the hem of my shirt and his knuckles brush the side of my stomach as he draws me back into the car. “Then, why does it have to end?”

Is he asking what I think he is? My eyes travel to Raven’s second-floor bedroom window. The light is on and I can almost hear her voice: Do it, do it, do it!

“You want to come in?” I involuntarily glance at his lustrous lips and then lick my own.

He nods, his compelling gaze withering my to a thousand incoherent pieces. “At least until someone comes home; you shouldn’t be here alone.”

“I am nineteen,” I say. “I should be living alone.”

“You shouldn’t ever be anything other than what you are,” he replies softly.

I glance back at my house. “Let me just run in and check to make sure the power is on first.” Actually, I want to check that none of my family is around.

He smiles and releases my shirt, and I climb out of the car. I run inside and flick on the light. “Well, the power’s back on.” I check in the living room, half expecting to find the Grim Reaper waiting for me, but it’s empty and the house is as silent as the cemetery.

I step back outside and wave for Asher to come in. He climbs out of the car and strolls up the sidewalk, taking slow even strides with his long legs. He watches me with every step and I realize how happy I am that he’s staying with me. If he wasn’t, then I’d probably wake up in a few hours, haunted by thoughts of death and reapers. I’d grab my notebook and go to the cemetery, where I’d jot notes about loneliness and pain. Asher has the ability to distract me from death, though, and the silence he puts inside my head allows my body to feel everything that death masks; the high of being touched, kissed, comfortably close to someone.

I shut the door behind him and he scales up my house, turning in a circle in the foyer. There are photos of me as a baby hanging on the wall. Some I’m with Raven, some I’m with Ian. There are even a few I’m with my mom and dad, back when life was all rainbows and sunshine, or at least when I believed it was. But life was just waiting for me to pass it.

“You look like your dad.” He squints at a photo of me as a two-year-old sitting on my dad’s lap. My mom is leaning over his shoulder whispering something in his ear. Ian is in the back, swinging plastic nunchucks at an inflatable Santa Claus. There is a Christmas tree in the background, flashing with red twinkling lights. The picture’s candid, and we look happy. I want the moment back.

I head for the stairs and Asher follows behind me. I’m aware of everything as we ascend the staircase; the movement of his body, the slightest elevation in temperature, the rhythm of his heart.

When I reach my room, I open the door and he immediately glances at the drawings on the wall, the poems, and the pictures of the dead poets. He gives a lengthy gaze at the Reaper and then at the Angel on the wall across from it, before he focuses on a picture of Edgar Allan Poe tacked to the closet doorframe.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you have a crush on him,” he says with a drop of amusement in his voice. “But then again, I really don’t know you.” He faces me and cocks his pierced eyebrow. “So is this my competition?”

“I’m not in love with him,” I reply, picking up the raven feather off my dresser. Weird. I thought I put this away. “I’m in love with his work.”

“I remember from the party… You practically fell into my arms when I quoted the only line I know of his poetry.” He teases me with a smug smile.

I narrow my eyes and try not to smile. “So you were playing me? Is that why you took off and left me on the dance floor.”

He looks remorseful. “I’m sorry about that… I just… there was somewhere I had to be.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’d had enough of dancing anyway.”

He gives me a small smile, then snatches the feather from my hands, and spins it in-between his fingers. “Is this a raven’s feather?”

“Yeah, why?”

He shakes his head and hands the feather back to me. “Where’d you get it?”

“From the ceme—the park.” I set the feather on my dresser, wondering what an Angel feather would look like. “They’re a pretty common bird.”

The seriousness in his face fades into mischievousness and he grabs my hip. “I was just wondering how hard you went looking for it—how deep your obsession is with Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Ha, ha,” I say sarcastically, giving him a playful shove, but he traps my hand against his chest. He swallows hard as we both freeze and then his gaze lands on my mouth “Am I allowed to kiss you?”

“You can do whatever you want,” I say in an unsteady voice.

“Can I?” Pulling on my arm, he steers me to him and our lips and bodies collide and liquefy with lust as soon as we connect.

The kiss heats quickly and we’re practically all over each other, falling onto my bed, our bodies entangled. My heart races inside my chest, pounding my blood through my body as I massage his tongue with mine. His hands slide to my hips and he flips us over, so he’s on top of me, one arm on each side of my head, holding his weight up. His tongue ring inspects every single inch inside my mouth, running along the roof, the inside of my lip. My legs wrap around his waist and he lets out a low growl as I writhe my hips against him.

“F*ck…” He moves his body with mine as he traces kisses down my neck, rolling his tongue out along my skin. When he approaches the hollow of my neck, my breath hitches and I slant my head back.

“Your heart is racing,” he whispers against my skin.

I nod with my eyes shut, unable to speak through the combusting warmth spinning throughout my body.

He presses a kiss to hollow of my neck and then pauses. “Maybe we should… Maybe we should slow down.”

My eyes open and I tip my head down to look at his expression. “Are you being serious?”

He looks up at me through hooded eyes. “It’s just that… Things have been moving really fast.” He rolls over to his side, his forehead furrowing, like he doesn’t understand why.

I don’t understand why he’s suddenly saying no. “Okay.” Flustered, I climb off the bed, ignoring the thunder of my heart as I grab some pajamas out of the dresser and duck into the closet.

“You know that curtain is pretty thin… it’s almost like getting a peep show,” he says, humor hinting his tone and then my iPod flips on and the sound of “Hands Down,” by Dashboard Confessional drums through the room.

I’m so confused. Why did he stop? Does he not want me? It sure as hell felt like he wanted me. I quickly slip on a tank top and a short pair of boxer shorts. I unclasp my studded bracelets and drop them in the corner of the closet floor, right by the insane drawing of X’s. I barely remember drawing it, like how I barely remember being rescued from drowning. Feathers all over his crime scene. I shut my eyes and try to summon more details. Dark water. My necklace floating away. The black mass—the Grim Reaper.

I open my eyes. Am I losing my mind just like my dad? Or is everything real, just confusing?

I return to the room in a miserable mood, shoving through the curtain. Asher is lying on my bed reading a book with his boots kicked off and his jacket thrown on the floor.

“Wait a minute… is that…” I reach for the book in his hands, but he rolls to his side, laughing as he reads a line from Raven’s romance novel. “‘And then he takes his hand and slides it up my thigh, pressing it deep inside my wet—”

I hop on him and snatch the book away from my hand. “This is not mine. It’s Raven’s.” I chuck the book across the room and it lands in the garbage.

He laughs and situates his hands on my hips as I straddle him. “So you don’t want me to slide my hand up your thigh and put it in your wet…” he trails off at the sight of my face. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.” I start to climb off him, but his fingers delve into my waist, holding me in place.

“Something is,” he says. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be frowning like that.”

“It’s nothing. I promise… I just… Why did you stop?”

“Stop what?” He looks perplexed.

“Touching me… kissing me…”

His throat muscles move up and down as he swallows hard. “Because I don’t want to do anything without your permission.”

I have no idea what’s going on and why he’s so worried about politeness. “But I want you to.” I want the silence. I want him. So bad. I run my fingers through his hair. “I already said you could do whatever you want.”

A breath eases from his lips. “Are you sure about that… I need you to be sure.”

My mind screams at me to proceed with caution, but my lips have other ideas. “Yes.”

Seconds later, his lips collide with mine, almost violently and a gasp falters from my mouth as his fingers slide up the inside of my leg and enter me without any warning. He starts moving them as his other hand grabs the back of my shirt and he leans away jerking it over my head and discards it onto the floor. He instantly reaches around my back and unhooks my bra. I can barely catch my breath as my breasts are exposed to the cool air and his relentless gaze.

He takes me in as his fingers drive me to the edge and I have to close my eyes. His mouth comes down on my nipple and he sucks it hard as his fingers spread over my waist. When his mouth leaves my breast, my lips part in protest, but snap shut as he licks a path with his tongue ring up my neck to my mouth and then he bites my bottom lip. With his fingertips stabbing into my hips, he flips us over, so I’m on my back and then his fingers are leaving me as he leans away.

I prop up on my elbows as his head moves downward, his body hovering over me. I watch him as he guides my shorts down to my knees, along with my panties, nervous, yet needy, waiting for whatever comes next.

As I lie naked before him, he grabs my ankle, forcing my knee to bend, and then with his eyes on me, he kisses a path up my inner leg all the way to the top of my thigh. Putting a hand on the inside of each thigh, he spreads my legs open and I clutch onto the blanket at the first flick of his tongue ring.

“Holy shit…” I swear I’m melting on the inside, burning up. I can’t breathe. I let go of the blanket and thread my fingers through his hair as my back curves up against the feel of his tongue, and seconds later, I cry out his name.

My skin is damp as he moves his mouth away and kneels up between my legs, watching me come back down. I blink my eyes, stunned at what just happened. All my life I thought it’d be impossible to get this close to someone—be with someone—and now here I am. And it’s way better than I ever imagined. With a lazy grin on his face, he grabs my arms and pulls me up. He slips my shirt on over my head and then I put my shorts on. Neither one of us says a word, but it’s a comfortable silence.

We situate on the bed and I rest my head on his chest with one arm draped around him.

He smoothes my hair back from my forehead. “Are you okay… you don’t regret it, do you?”

I shake my head, a smile touching at my lips. “No.”

“Good,” he says and I hear the smile through his voice. “You should get some sleep.” He plays with my hair, combing his fingers through it. “I’ll stay with you until you do.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” I yawn. “I’m fine by myself.” I press my cheek against his chest and his heart skips against it. “Asher, why did you take off the other day? After you got Garrick away from me?”

“That’s another question you may really want to think about and make sure you want me to answer.”

I deliberate his response, my skin still tingling from where he touched me. “I want to know.”

He lets out an uneven exhale. “Because if I didn’t leave I would have chased Garrick down and killed him.”

Perhaps I should have got up and ran, but the silence of his body is my sanctuary. “Why would you have killed him?”

“For a few reasons,” he whispers and kisses the top of my head. “One being that he tried to hurt you.” He pauses. “Does that scare you?”

“Do you think it scares me?”

“No.”

“Then you’re right.”

Stillness takes over, along with the sound of the lyrics flowing through the speakers. Moments later, I drift off to one of the most peaceful nights of my existence.