Ignite (34 page)

I point up at the sky. The stars are large and shining perfectly, as if they knew we would be watching. They’re putting on their best show to impress Michael.

“That is called the North Star,” I tell him, indicating the largest and brightest star in the sky. “No matter where you are in the world, if you can find this star, you can find North. And there,” I say, sliding my finger across the sky to point at a dimmer set of stars, “is the constellation Cepheus, or The King. It was named after King Cepheus, husband of Cassiopeia and father of Andromeda. He was an Argonaut in Greek mythology.”

“A what?”

“The Argonauts,” I explain, letting my arm fall back down next to me, “were a band of heroes who, in the years before the Trojan War, sailed with a man named Jason on a quest for the Golden Fleece. This fleece, as the story goes, was needed for Jason to claim the throne. The heroes all sailed on a great ship called the Argo.” I look over at him. “Every great hero needs a great ship.”

“You like mythology,” he observes.

I shrug, turning my face back to the sky. “I’ve lived through mythology. There are stories about all of us—angels, demons, what happens after life. In fact, you make cameos in a lot of mythology. The Greeks loved Archangels, especially you. It’s interesting to see what humans tell themselves about our existence. It’s even more interesting how close they often come to the truth.”

I continue to gaze up at the stars above us trying to identify more constellations. It doesn’t take long before I start to see the patterns in the sky of strung-together stars. The Big Dipper, Andromeda, Orion The Hunter…

“Beautiful,” Michael murmurs.

I look over at him and see he isn’t looking at the stars. Instead, he’s watching me.

“You’re not even looking.”

“Sure I am. And what I see is beautiful.” He smiles. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look away.”

I squirm, still uncomfortable with being complimented. I’m not used to being noticed or told that I’m anything special. Because I’m not. “I’m only beautiful if you don’t look too closely. If you know what’s inside of me, that pretty outside shatters.”

“I’m close, and I’m looking,” he whispers, his breath warm on my cheek. “I see what’s inside of you. You,” he says, reaching out carefully with his hand to brush my hair back from my face, “are beautiful.”

For a moment, our eyes lock, and I feel like he can see through me. Like I can’t hide anything from him because he sees it all. All of the darkest corners of my mind, the shadows that loom in my memory… he sees them and he’s not afraid. No one’s ever seen me and not been afraid. Not unless they were like me.

His kindness sets me on fire. His absolute acceptance of the parts of me that are broken shouldn’t be possible, but it is. I can see it in his eyes. He ignites me, sets me ablaze, and if I don’t look away, we’ll burn together, turn to ash and blow away on the wind, joining the stars in the sky.

So I look away. I roll my eyes, brushing off his compliment. “Just look at the stars, all right?”

His shoulders shake with laughter as he turns his face to the sky again. I keep stealing furtive glances at him, making sure he’s watching the sky and not me.

When I’m convinced he’s more enraptured with the stars than me, I tilt my head to the side and rest it on his arm. He shifts under me and curls his arm around my shoulder, his thumb brushing over my arm sending pulses of electricity through my nerves.

“Why do you love the stars so much?” he asks.

I pause, considering his question. “They’re poetic,” I say finally. “Did you know that most of the stars we see are already dead?”

He shakes his head.

“Their light is burned out by the time it reaches us.” It reminds me a little of me and Michael. By the time he found me, almost all of my light was extinguished. I wonder how much longer it would have taken for my light to burn out completely.

“Sad,” he whispers.

“No,
poetic
,” I remind him. “They’re like the lanterns of ghosts, swinging in the sky, reminding us that there’s more out there. That there’s more than just our life. There’s something bigger.”

He turns his head to look at me but stays quiet.

“They may be dead,” I go on, “but they’ve shared the last of their light in their dying moments with us. And that’s poetic.”

“I would have never thought about it that way,” he says in a hushed voice.

I turn my head and lock eyes with him. “You like poetry,” I guess.

“What I’ve heard, yes, I have liked. Do you know any poetry?”

“Plenty. Robert Frost is one of my favorites.”

“I don’t know him,” he says, frowning.

I clear my throat. “‘How countlessly they congregate / O’er our tumultuous snow / Which flows in shapes as tall as trees / When wintry winds do blow.’”

“Was that Frost?”

I nod. “It’s from a poem called
Stars
.”

He smiles. “Any other poets you can recommend?”

“E. E. Cummings is great. Always made great use of parentheses and hated capital letters,” I say with a laugh. “So is William Blake. And then, of course, there’s Wordsworth, Poe, Thomas, Shakespeare, Byron, Whitman…”

He raises his eyebrows.

“I don’t know if you’re ready for this conversation. There are hundreds of poets that I love. I’m a bit literature-eclectic. I’ll read just about anything I can get my hands on, and I love it all.”

“I know some Byron. I’ll try to find something from Blake, though,” he says. “Maybe he has a poem about the stars.”

I think for a minute. “Many of his poems have a line about stars. I’m sure you’ll find one.”

He looks up at the stars again and I see them reflected in his eyes. “You were right, by the way, about how different these are from Heaven’s stars. There are so many more of them. And they look… real.”

“I remember I thought the stars looked mechanical from Heaven,” I say. “Like they were manmade.”

He nods. “That’s exactly it. These ones are so much more pure, more genuine.”

I was worried that he wouldn’t see the stars the same way I do. I thought maybe he wouldn’t notice the difference and appreciate the beauty of Earth’s stars that I saw. But I can tell by the wonder in his smile and the amazement that lights his face that he does.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his breath smokey in the cold night, “for sharing your stars.”

“They’re your stars too,” I tell him.

His smile grows and he props himself up on his elbow, leaning over me. “Our stars,” he says, his eyes hazy with desire.

Carefully, he lowers his lips to mine. A heat spreads through me, spiraling out from my abdomen, as his lips move against mine so slowly it’s agonizing. I thread my arms around his neck and pull him closer to me.

“Pen.” He murmurs my name, his voice hushed and gravelly with desire. He says my name again, even softer, “Pen,” and his eyelids flutter closed.

I ache to be nearer to him, to fill the emptiness I feel in my chest, and to thaw the ice in my veins. He runs his hands up my sides and into my hair, leaving a trail of heat on the bare skin his fingers brush against. We burn where we touch, consume one another completely. Softly, he hums against my lips, sending small vibrations radiating through my body. I close my eyes and knot my fingers in his hair.

Brazenly, I tease his mouth open above mine and feel him gasp. My cool breath fills his warm mouth and we breathe together like we are starved for oxygen only the other can provide. I give him the air I don’t need and he breathes me in desperately, and for a second time his lungs fill with my breath, his chest rising and falling on my accord.

We kiss slowly, deliberately, trying to commit the shape of each other’s mouths to memory. I touch his cheek, my fingers sliding to his jaw before traveling down to his neck and strong, corded shoulders. His body is hard against me, strung with tight, toned muscles, but his lips are soft, so soft. We hold on to each other like lifeboats but still we manage to drown in the kiss. Under the sea of stars, with Michael, I cannot imagine ever needing to come up for air.

Quietly, like a soft caress in my mind, I hear his golden voice.
‘She walks in beauty, like the night / Of cloudless climes and starry skies.’

I sigh against him, recognizing the poem.

‘And all that’s best of dark and bright / Meet in her aspect and her eyes.’

Byron
, I say, almost surprised.
You
have
read his poetry.

It wasn’t until I met you that it had any meaning.
He leans on his elbows and lifts away from me, his eyelids heavy and his cheeks flushed. “Now I understand.”

I search his eyes. They’re deep and glossy, the bluish steel of a midnight sky that burns cold. In his eyes, I find the courage to tell him what I was too afraid to say to him last night. At least, what I was too afraid to tell him when he was awake.

“I’m falling for you, too.” My voice comes out in a soft whisper that swirls between us. “I’ve tried to fight it, but it seems pointless. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I’m not sure I even want to.”

“Pen.” He says my name like a prayer. “My heart is yours.”

I rest my hand on his chest and feel his racing heart. It stutters once under my touch. “But I have nothing to give you back.”

“I don’t need anything back. I have you, here, with me. That’s all I need.” He hesitates before adding, “You’re all I need.”

A tightness in my chest releases, like a heavy weight I didn’t know I’ve been carrying has suddenly been lifted, and I let out my breath slowly. I feel warm and feather light, the coldness inside of me melting away, making me feel like I could float. But he holds me with him, anchored securely on the ground.

I can’t find any words to offer him, so I show him what I can’t say with another tender kiss. Like our last kiss, it starts slowly, his lips moving against mine softly as he reaches up and touches my cheek.

Then a fire spreads, and his lips move faster, more insistently, and my hips swirl under his. I arch up to meet his body with mine, shifting us so he is on his back, and I am pressed against him from above. Again, the world falls away beneath us. Michael is all that is real.

My pendant hangs down from my neck, the large stone resting on his chest. I feel my hands trembling slightly, shaking as I slide them up his arm so they can rest on his neck. He reaches up with a hand and undoes my hair, letting it fall around us like a small, dark curtain, hiding us from the stars for just a brief moment. We both smile as we roll again, Michael hovering over me.

Pen, where are you?

I freeze under Michael, and he lifts his head, looking around.

“What was that?” he asks, confused.

I look at him, eyes wide. “Azael,” I croak.

Pen? Are you there?

Michael sits up, his legs straddling mine. He watches me quietly, his lips swollen and blushed from our kiss.

I grab the stone of my necklace in my fist, crushing my eyes closed. What horrible, horrible timing Azael has. I don’t sit up when I answer.
Az?
I steady my voice and try not to sound as breathless as I feel.

FINALLY! I tried to call you earlier this morning, but you weren’t answering.

Yeah, I was sleeping, sorry.

And they say there ain’t no rest for the wicked. Shows you how much they know!

Who is this “they”?

You know… the collective they.

I take a few breaths and open my eyes, looking at Michael. He tilts his head to the side, listening. I mouth “Can you hear him?” and he nods.

What do you need, Azael?

Don’t be cranky, I’ve got big news.

I wait.

He continues.
Where are you?

Um, I’m near the Appalachian mountains. Why?
And by “near the Appalachian mountains,” I mean sitting on top of one with an angel straddling me. Horrible, horrible timing.

This is news I can only deliver in person. I’m close, like really close, so I’ll see you soon.

I sit straight, accidentally pushing Michael off of me.
Az, can’t this wait?

If it could wait, do you think I’d go out of my way to tell you tonight? No.

I’m dizzy and disoriented. Panic rises within me as I search out in the sky, looking for dark wings. But I wouldn’t see him yet, right? He can’t be that close…

I will see you soon, sister.
He hisses and it sounds like a vague threat.

With a snap, I can feel that he’s gone. I shiver.

“Pen?” Michael leans forward on his knees and rests a hand on my shoulder.

“You have to hide,” I say hollowly. “Azael’s coming.”

Chapter 28

The easiness of the night shatters apart as I repeat in my head,
Azael’s coming.

The sky now looks dark and jagged to me. The purple vein of stars looks like a bruise and the stars themselves appear eerie and cold.
Ghost lights
. The edge of the woods seems thick with shadows, and I’m paranoid I’ll see a pair of violet eyes staring out at me accusingly.