Fallen Angel (Hqn) (5 page)

Please come to me…

She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t do that, either. Not that she ever cried anymore. She’d stopped crying years ago. What had been the point?

She didn’t feel sorry for herself, either, no matter how difficult her tasks. The Grandmother had taught her that self-pity was worthless. That everyone had to accept their lot in life, to do their duty. That it was hard for everyone. That those who were among the chosen had the hardest lives of all, but the greatest rewards, if they succeeded on their paths.

She had not succeeded.

A sharp surge of pain in her chest at the thought.

“No!”

“Hey…you’re awake. Are you trying to talk?”

His voice was deep and smooth. Rich. Like honey and gravel. Was it him?

She struggled to open her eyes once more, and it was as though every muscle in her body worked to make it happen, every ounce of her strength.

“Angel?”

His hand on her face, warm and lending her courage. She took a breath, tried again. And felt the whispering flutter of her lashes against her cheeks for a moment before she was able to raise them.

His eyes were that startling blue, bluer than the sky. They were the deep, nearly purple-blue of the iris that grew in The Grandmother’s garden.

She smiled. “It’s you,” she managed to whisper. Her throat burned as though she’d swallowed fire.

“Jesus Christ. You
are
awake.”

“Awake? Is that where I am?”

“I can’t believe it.”

He was gone in an instant, and there was too much noise as someone else appeared over her: a woman’s face. Then she was gone and a moment later there were more people. Pain again as they touched her, moved things around. It reminded her of the ceremonies, the sacred nights of prayer and sacrifice. Only she’d been tied down then, the earth cool and solid beneath her naked back…

Chanting loud in her ears and the salt being scattered like chunks of pure quartz crystal. She couldn’t see their faces; they were all robed and hooded, standing in a circle around her.

The Grandmother bent, her ancient back curving as she reached the ground to paint the sacred symbols there, within the edge of the circle of salt. Then to paint them on her body. The brush was made of twigs; it scratched into her skin, hurting her. She pulled against the ropes, but they were too firmly tied to the stakes to allow her to move. She had nowhere to go, anyway. All that happened to her was inevitable.

Then The Grandmother’s face over her, her wrinkles like the deep valleys of shadow between the hills where they lived as she spoke the prayers. The Grandmother leaned in closer, and she could smell the sharp tang of herbs on her breath. Then the bitter liquid being poured down her throat. She knew better than to fight it, as she had when she was little, when she had first come to this place.

Had she not always been in this place?

The time before was a blank, emptiness.
Now
was an unanswered question, as hands moved over her flesh. As pain washed over her in waves.

Be with me…come back.

“I’m here.”

Not Asmodeus, though those were the words he often said to her. No, it was
him.
The man with the blue eyes. He was holding her hand.

She wept then. She didn’t know why. But the tears poured out, hot on her cheeks, sliding down over her jaw, onto her neck.

“Ah, don’t cry. Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I won’t leave you. I won’t. I promise.”

She heard the sincerity in his voice. Felt his fierce protection. Knew he was the one who had saved her. Gratitude suffused her. For what he had done. For what he would be to her. For what he was already.

She blinked the tears from her eyes, and truly saw him for the first time.

He had a beautiful face. Not the kind of perfection that was her demon lover, but more beautiful, perhaps, because of the humanity he wore. His cheekbones were high, his chin square. His mouth was all firm lines, but there was a softness there. Along his jaw there was a scar, old and pale. She knew the beauty of it, from her own scars. Knew they always meant something, were another layer of who a person was. That they were earned through strife, and therefore valuable.

Her hands felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds, but she managed to lift one, to reach up and touch that scar.

His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything as she explored it with her fingertips, her body lighting up with need. Yes, he was pure beauty, this man.

This
man.

The first man she had ever touched.

Her heart raced. Her sex thrummed with wanting, even through the confusion, the pain.

She knew then that she must give herself to him. That
this
was what she had to live for. She could still make a gift of her innocence, herself. She was not without purpose. Life was not without the beauty she was raised to believe in.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, his dark brows drawn.

“A little. It hurts to talk.”

He smiled at her, his face lighting a bit, but still heavy with shadows. He was sad, this man.

“That’s because you had a breathing tube down your throat for a few days.”

She didn’t understand what he was saying, only that he was trying to reassure her. She smiled to show her appreciation.

“Ah…Jesus, I don’t know how you can smile,” he murmured, “after everything you’ve been through.”

She wanted to tell him she was smiling because she was happy, but she was so sleepy. She had to close her eyes once more. Had to rest. To dream…

She was back with The Grandmother. They were in the garden. The sun was shining, warm on her face. She loved the garden. The place smelled of the rich earth newly overturned as she bent over a row with her trowel. The Grandmother had taught her to plant and care for the herbs and vegetables when she was so small it took both of her hands to hold the trowel, and she could barely manage the tall shovel. The earth was familiar to her, and the plants. She knew their cycles: when to plant, when to harvest, what each one was for. Basil and thyme to flavor food, black sage for backache, yarrow for toothache, wormwood and chamomile to calm. Datura and salvia and the mushrooms to dream.

Was she dreaming now? But everything was so familiar. She was safe within the walls of The Grandmother’s garden. This was where she belonged.

Not anymore.

Shadows loomed in the garden as the sky went dark. And then there was nothing but the dark. She was falling, falling…

“Asmodeus!”

But the empty air whistled past her ears, tangling her hair, and she remained alone.

CHAPTER THREE

“W
HAT
’
S
HAPPENING
TO
HER
?”

A nurse gently but firmly moved Declan aside. The monitors were beeping, the noise jangling his nerves. She was too damn pale, her breath coming out in short gasps. He’d tried to wake her again, but when she wouldn’t open her eyes he’d called for the nurse. It was as though she was lost somewhere in there.

The tears rolling down her cheeks were killing him.

“Can’t you do something?”

“She’s just a little agitated,” the nurse answered. “Probably dreaming.”

The nurse reset the monitors, straightened the pillows. And his angel calmed, her breath a steady whisper now.

“She’s okay?”

“She’ll be fine. Her body’s just working off the heavy sedation from her surgeries.”

The nurse shuffled out, her soft-soled shoes whispering across the linoleum floor. He went back to his place at the side of her bed, standing over her. The damn tears were still slipping down her face, over the small cuts on her cheeks, the bruises on her jaw. He wiped them with his thumbs, his heart beating like thunder in his chest.

What was it about this girl? They’d barely exchanged a dozen words, and most of them didn’t make sense. But she’d gotten under his skin. He shouldn’t care so much. But he did.

She moaned and he held her cheek. “Wake up. Come on, Angel. You’re dreaming. You just need to come out of it.”

Anxiety was like a piercing heat in his veins. Desire just as strong, but he ignored it.

Her eyes opened, that summer-sky-blue.

“Hey. You’re back.”

“Yes.”

He held perfectly still as she stared up at him. Her lashes were long and dense, a dark golden-brown. Like doll eyes. Except they were filled with light and warmth as she searched his face.

“You’re real, then,” she said softly.

“What? Of course I’m real.”

“It’s difficult to tell sometimes, what’s real and what’s not. I was just in the garden…and then it went away. I wanted to call for you, but I don’t know your name.”

She had the strangest way of talking.

“It’s Declan. Declan Byrne.”

“Declan Byrne,” she repeated.

She blinked up at him. Then she lifted her hand and covered his. And it was only then he realized he still held her face in his hand. Her palm was warm, her fingers brushing over his, making him heat all over. He pulled his hands back, stuck them in the pocket of his jeans.

“Can you tell me your name?” he asked her.

“I have no name.” Her gaze drifted out the window as thunder rumbled outside. The sky was an ashen gray.

Her injuries must have really rattled her. Stephen had warned him she might not be all there when she woke up.
If
she woke up. But here she was, awake and at least partially alert. “That’s okay. You’ll remember after you’ve had a chance to recover.”

“I remember. I remember that I have no name.”

“I…don’t understand.”

She was still looking out the window, watching as the rain started to come down, tiny droplets spattering the glass. “I am The Gift. The Consecrated. Those are my only names, but they are not mine. There is nothing which belongs to me.”

He straightened up. She seemed sane enough. Or, he wanted to believe she was. But this was some weird shit. He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re telling me you don’t have a name, just…titles?”

She turned her head to look at him again. She seemed perfectly calm. Too calm, maybe. “If that is how you wish to think of it.”

“No one has ever called you something else?”

“Only you. You call me an angel.”

He was surprised to feel himself blushing. “You heard that?”

“Yes.”

“What else… Never mind. I’m just glad you’re awake.”

“So am I. What is this place? Is this your place?”

“What? No. It’s the hospital.”

“Hospital…” She seemed to be testing the word on her tongue. “You do not live here?”

“Only lately.”

Her brows drew together in confusion.

“Sorry. I was making a joke.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, neither do I. Look, something has happened to you. You’ve been hurt pretty badly. But you’re going to be okay.”

“What I am going to be remains to be seen. I’ve not been told yet.”

“For now you’ll stay here, in the hospital, until you’re well. You’ll be taken care of. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

Where had that come from? But it felt ridiculously important to him, to protect this girl. From what, he wasn’t sure, exactly. But he needed to find out.

“Do you remember who did this to you?”

She turned her face away from him once more, pressing her cheek into the pillow, her jaw clenching, her eyes squeezing shut. Another tear slid down her cheek.

Shit.

He leaned in closer, said quietly, “You don’t have to tell me right now. Okay? That can wait. Just rest. Get better.”

“It hurts,” she said quietly.

“Are you in pain? I’ll get the nurse, have her give you something for it.”

“It hurts to know I’ve failed. That I did this to myself.”

“Angel, it’s not possible for you to have done these things to yourself.”

She shook her head. “It is my own fault, my own failings. If I’d been good enough…”

He was angry now, at whoever had put these ideas into her head. “No one deserves what happened to you,” he said fiercely. “No one.”

She turned to look at him, her eyes glossy with tears. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He stared down at her, willing her to believe him. “I don’t know very much about you, but I know that.”

She was silent for several moments, then her face lit in a slow smile that dazzled him. She nodded her head. “Thank you.”

He was speechless, overcome by her beauty, by the innocence of her face. By the depth of her blue eyes, as though even in that sweet face, she was a thousand years old, somehow. And beneath that sweetness was a sensual earthiness he couldn’t explain. But his body knew. His body knew the flawless heat of the skin on her cheek, her hand. He was going hard, even as he berated himself for it.

“The doctor is coming in to see her,” the nurse said, bustling into the room. “We’re going to be taking her out to run some tests. Maybe you want to go get some food, Declan? Come back later?”

“Yes, sure.” He turned back to the young woman in the bed. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

She reached for him, and he took her hand in his. She was still smiling at him. He had to force himself to give up her hand, to step out of the room.

Ridiculous.

This obsession with her was crazy. But he’d never met anyone like her. Hell, he didn’t know the girl, didn’t even know what he meant by that, exactly. She was like some unearthly creature. Truly like an angel come to earth.

It had to be some sort of weird amnesia—the way she talked, that she thought she had no name. He’d talk to Stephen about it after he’d had a chance to examine her, run the tests, whatever they planned to do now that she was awake. Meanwhile, he’d see what anyone had found out about who had done this to her, who she was. He’d focus on getting information. And he’d damn well get his body under control.

He went down the hall and outside, the fresh air cool on his face as he made his way to his truck, pulling out his cell phone as soon as he sat down.

“Hello?”

“Dad.”

“Hi, Declan. What’s up?”

“I need your help.” There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Look, I know I’ve been a total shit and I don’t deserve anything from you—”

“Cut the crap, Dec. Tell me what you need.”

“Just like that?”

“I’m not the one who’s been angry.”

His father’s voice was gravelly, low. It always had been, but it had become even rougher as he’d grown older. Declan didn’t like to think about him aging. Growing weak. It made him feel as if he was running out of time.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“We don’t have to talk about it now. You called for a reason.”

“It’s the girl…she woke up. And she has no idea who she is. She says she doesn’t have a name. She wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, but I got the feeling she was alert. Hard to say with her injuries, I guess. But nothing is adding up. And the sheriff’s office still isn’t telling me anything. I want to know, Dad. I want to know who I can talk to. I need to know where she came from, who did this to her.”

“I thought you might. I’ve been doing a little digging through some old connections.”

“And?”

“Nothing so far. She sort of came out of nowhere. No missing-persons reports fitting her description. And no leads as to who did this. A boyfriend, maybe?”

“I don’t think so. There’s more to it than that. Unless her boyfriend is some total psycho.”

“That’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“Can you talk to her again?”

“Yes. But I don’t want to push her too hard yet. I don’t want to upset her. And enough time has passed that whoever did this has probably left the area already.”

“Dec, it’s likely we’ll never find them,” Oran said quietly.

“I know that. Do you really think I don’t know that, Dad? But I have to try.”

“Jesus, Dec. Why do we have to do this now? You need my help and I’m willing to give it. For the girl. Hell, for
you,
whether or not you want to believe it.”

“Fuck.” He ran a hand over his hair, dug his fingers into his scalp, squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay. Okay. I’ll put a lid on it. I appreciate your help.”

He heard his father huff out a breath. “It’s no problem. I’ll help with this however I can.”

“Thanks. I’ll be by to pick up Liam tonight. How’s he doing?”

“Fine. He hangs out on the porch all day, eats like a horse. He’s good company.”

“Good. Good. Okay, I’ll see you later, then.”

“I can bring him by your place. You’ve got plenty going on.”

“You don’t have to do that, Dad.”

“I know.”

He heard the stubborn tone in his father’s voice. Knew there was no point in arguing. Knew Oran understood perfectly well that he had his reasons for avoiding the house all these years.

Declan flipped his phone shut, stared at it for a few moments. He damn well hated to ask his father for anything. But this wasn’t for himself. It was for
her.
He’d do anything he had to for her.

There it was again, that crazy idea. But he couldn’t shake it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Shades of the way he’d felt about Abby. But this was different. He was different.

Yeah, a hell of a lot more bitter.

It was true. But he’d lived with that bitterness long enough that he was used to it.

God, he was thinking in circles. He must still be tired. But he had things to do. Like go harass Tim Bullock for information again.

He stuck the key in the ignition and the big truck roared to life. He pulled onto the road, rolling the windows down, letting the scents of sea and cypress roll in.

A mile down the highway he caught himself humming. That was new. What the hell was wrong with him? Or maybe something was right for once, which would sure as hell be hard to recognize.

She made him feel good, the beautiful girl in the hospital bed. Good about himself. Just good, in general.

Must be some sort of savior complex. But there would be plenty of time to psychoanalyze himself later. He was on a mission. He could help this girl. His angel. Be of some fucking use to someone again.

Was that what he really wanted? To be of use to someone? Or was it something more?

He refused to think of Angel as a substitute for Abby. And even if that had been partly true in the beginning, things had changed. Even just watching her sleep, waiting for her to wake up, praying she would come out of this whole. It made him feel a deeper connection to her than should be there, maybe. But the moment she’d opened her eyes and talked to him, it all felt all right. And for the first time in a long time he didn’t want to question anything. He could allow himself to feel good.

It had been years. Too long, probably, and he had plenty of regrets. His relationship with his dad, although he wasn’t ready to resolve that yet. He wasn’t ready to let go of resentments held too long. He regretted relationships with women he’d passed up because he just couldn’t handle it. So, why now? Why her? Why was it so damn important to him that whatever happened with her, there would be no regrets?

She was a mystery to him. Yet he felt like he
knew
her in some strange way. He couldn’t explain it.

He didn’t like anything he couldn’t explain. He was too goal-oriented to leave anything hanging in the air unanswered. But he almost didn’t mind when it came to Angel. He wanted to find out who had hurt her. But the rest—the strangeness about her, his response to her—didn’t bother him as much as it should.

A shadow flickered over the truck and he looked up in time to see a hawk gliding across the road, wings spread, soaring. He didn’t know why it made him think of Angel. She was very much a part of the earth, but it was as if she wasn’t quite tethered to it.

Jesus, he was getting philosophical now.

He wanted to see her again, talk to her. He could hardly wait.

Ridiculous.

But she’d gotten beneath his skin, deep down, and he couldn’t shake her. He didn’t even want to. He didn’t know what he’d do when it was time for her to leave the hospital.

And where would she go?

Don’t even consider it.

But she had nowhere to go, no family that anyone knew of, no way to take care of herself.

He couldn’t stand the idea of her alone in the world. He could give her money to get an apartment, maybe. And hire someone to help care for her. She’d need that. And he could still see her…

He stepped on the gas, hard, and the truck lurched forward.

He’d go back to the hospital after he’d talked to Bullock, tell her that he’d help her.

If only he knew who was going to help him get over this girl. This woman. His angel fallen from the sky.