That’s debatable. “First things first.” Accepting the blanket, I sit and pull my knees to my chest, covering my legs and feet. “I should text Zara so she doesn’t call my mom.”
“Good idea. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He crosses the room to the kitchen as I type out a vague text. My gaze flits from the keyboard to his back, unable to not look for evidence of the wings hiding in there somewhere. Do they hide? Are they magic? Invisible? “Ask whatever you want.”
My head snaps up. Breckin’s face reflects in a mirror running from floor to ceiling behind the wet bar. He watches me stare at him. My cheeks burn. Hitting send on my text, I drop the phone to my lap and drag the throw to my chin. The fire works its magic, the flames warming my frozen toes.
“I’m not sure what to ask,” I admit, after a moment of watching him watch me.
He pulls two water bottles from a mini refrigerator, his mouth twisting. “You’ve been watching my backside—”
I choke. “Uh, watching your wings. Not your backside, thank you very much.”
“Yes, my wings. That’s what I meant, Vivie. I didn’t know you had such a dirty mind.”
I gape at his smug grin. His tease draws my ire at the same time his calling me Vivie draws goosebumps over my skin. “I do not have a dirty mind.”
As if testing me, he twists the lid from his water and drinks half of it—a knowing smile on his perfect face when he’s done. Darn my eyes for staring. I face the fire and bite the inside of my cheek.
Breckin sets a bottle of water on the table by my chair and takes a seat on the couch. I peer into the fire, watching the flames leap around the ceramic logs, the blue glow from the gas flickering at the base.
“I like real fires better,” I say for no reason, other than to break the silence, my eyes not leaving the fireplace. “There’s no snap, crackle, and pop to a gas fire. No faces in the burning logs.”
“Faces in the logs?”
“Yeah? Don’t you ever stare at the flames? At the way the embers and burnt logs burn into creatures?” My breath catches. Creatures, like demons and dragons—that’s what I usually see in a fire. Scary fairytale type things I never considered real, like angels. Now I’m unsure.
“The one upstairs is real. I brought you down here because the lack of windows is safer.”
I work up the nerve to face him, to ask my questions. “Safer from what?”
He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, his forearms resting on his thighs. He flips his water bottle between his knees and regards me.
“You said you would tell me everything if I came with you. What happened yesterday? Why do I need to be in your basement? Why do I need safety?”
His head falls. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you’re in this position.”
“Why would this be your fault?”
Yesterday was a normal day. Zara dropped me off after school. I ate a snack with my mom, then changed to go for a run while she got ready for work. She dropped me at my usual trailhead at the base of Mount Alexa, and I started jogging. For the past three years, I’ve followed this route—jogging for several miles. Yesterday something happened. Something different.
“You said I was attacked, that you heard me scream. But I have no memory of it. I have no physical injuries.” I shake my head, challenging everything he told me.
“You have bruises,” he says softly. “On your ribs.”
“How would you—”
He sinks into the couch. “Because I took your clothes off, Vivienne. I carried you back to my house and undressed you and made sure you were okay before carrying you home.”
My sports bra and running tights. Half my clothing was missing. My shoes were missing. My breathing accelerates, the possibilities filling my mind.
“You were covered in blood. I saw it from the air and . . . it’s not the first time I’ve seen a wild animal attack while out flying, but . . . but I followed the trail. Something drew me down to earth yesterday. Something made me track you.”
My fingernails dig into my palms as the blood drains from my face.
“Whatever it was ran off. All I saw was a flash of movement as I came through the trees and saw you lying there.”
“No.” My feet slip from the chair, dropping to the floor with a thud as I sit forward. “No, that’s not right. Blood from where? I’m not injured. I’m fine.” A tear slides down my face.
“I’m an angel.”
He’s no longer cocky and full of egotistical pride. He says those three words as if they’re nothing—like reciting the day’s weather or answering a simple question. My palm covers my mouth.
It is the answer.
He’s an angel. He called the other a reaper. A reaper.
“You said I was dead. He said you stole me from him.” Images flash through my mind. The rip of claws at my side. The darkness hovering, the pain of a million suns consuming my body, the amber eyes—Breckin’s eyes—filled with worry. My cheeks are hot with tears. “Breckin?”
“You were moments from death. He was here to take your soul. You were supposed to die.” His pain-laced voice cuts me deeper than knowing the truth.
But I didn’t die. My wounds were healed.
He nods, somehow knowing my thoughts and confirming what I know to be true. “I healed you. I brought you back.”
Pieces
Breckin
“Angels aren’t supposed to interfere in Death’s work.” I slide to the far end of the couch, putting myself directly across from her. “I won’t apologize for it. I couldn’t let you die, Viv.” Leaning forward, I pluck her hands from her lap.
She’s in shock. Her shoulders slumped, her jaw slack, her hands limp in mine. Her eyes seem far away, staring past my face, but I tell her everything. I start at the beginning and explain exactly what I saw when I landed in the snow and found the reaper over her. What he said. How I responded. Finished, I lean closer, my head bobbing around until she meets my gaze.
“I won’t let him take you, I swear.” My fingers tighten their grasp.
Her face undergoes a kaleidoscope of emotions before she wets her lips and speaks. “On the mountain, earlier . . . he said something.”
He said a few things. “Yes?”
“He said you were a son of an angel in love with a human.” Her gaze slides left, as her cheeks color. “Is that true?” she asks, returning her ice-blue stare to mine.
“There isn’t an easy answer to your question.”
“Then the answer is no.” She pulls her hands from mine and sits back.
I nearly growl. My hand clutches her blanket-covered knee, because it’s the closest thing in my reach, as I lean in, bringing my face inches from hers. “No. The answer isn’t that simple.”
Our eyes lock and hold in a battle of wills before I remove my hand and give her space. “We barely speak, Vivienne. Would you believe me if I said I was in love with you?”
Her hair dances around her face as she shakes her head. “Of course not.”
“But you’re angry?”
Her mouth opens, then closes, her head turning to the fire once again as she exhales deeply. If I knew what love was, if I knew how to decipher the emotions she’s brought to life in the last twenty-four hours . . . the reaper might be right.