Fallen Angel (Hqn) (24 page)

“They are nearly strangers,” she insisted.

“Jesus.”

He ran a hand through his hair. She could see the rage in his eyes. The confusion. There was no less confusion and rage within her. She couldn’t stand that he was so unable to see what she was feeling about this. That he was unwilling to. She felt frozen inside. Frozen and full of pain.

“I need…I need to be with Ruth.”

“Okay. I’ll call her, make an appointment.”

“No. I mean I need to
be
with her. For a while.”

“What?” His eyes were blazing, full of blue fire. It reminded her suddenly a little too much of Asmodeus, of the endless burning black of his gaze. A small shudder ran through her.

She said quietly, firmly, “I’ll call her myself. Have her come pick me up.”

“What are you saying?”

There was shock on his face. But she was too much in shock herself to take it all in. Tears were a hard, bitter lump in her throat.

“I need to go. I can’t stay here while you crow about the only family I’ve ever known being taken away. Punished. Suffering. I cannot do it. I won’t do it.”

He reached for her, but she rose from the chair and moved away.

“I need to go, Declan.”

He looked absolutely overcome, bewildered. He didn’t say anything as she went into the living room to call Ruth. He remained in the kitchen while she went to her room and gathered some clothes, took her toothbrush from the bathroom, stuffing everything into a pillowcase. He still hadn’t moved from the kitchen when Ruth’s old blue Mercedes pulled into the driveway and Angel walked outside.

Declan stood, stunned, in the kitchen. He couldn’t even look out the window, listening to the swing of the front door as Angel walked out, the slam of the car door. The tires crushing the gravel in the driveway as they pulled away.

She was gone.

He couldn’t comprehend it. He’d done everything he could for her. Protected her, cared for her, kept her safe. Done everything in his power to help reopen her case and hunt down these fucking lunatics who had taken a five-year-old child from her family and kept her locked up. Abused her. For sixteen years. Her whole goddamn life. And now it was as though none of that counted for anything. That crazy old woman’s pull on Angel was bigger, stronger, than the fact that they loved each other. And just like with Abby, with his mother, she was gone, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

Not again.

His whole body froze up, the chill creeping over him a little at a time. That same sense of being fucking paralyzed taking him over. He could not move.

He stood by the chair, his fingers gripping the back of it as the sun set, the sky turning dark outside. Liam settled on the floor at his feet. Declan stayed there until his knees ached, his fingers stiff from gripping the chair. And the whole time there were a thousand thoughts and images flying through his brain, like some sort of chaotic movie, playing itself out over and over.

His mother in the hospital bed, wasting away, while his father stood silently next to her. Abby’s face, the shock in her eyes, as she bled out in mere moments, into the Bahrain street. Angel telling him she wanted to leave. And through all of it, he was frozen. Paralyzed.

Powerless.

Fuck.

Mom. Abby. Angel.

Angel.

Finally he moved, and went to pull a bottle of bourbon from the cabinet. Poured two fingers into a glass, took a swig.

He wasn’t much of a drinker, and it burned going down his throat. But the sting of it helped to clear his head.

He didn’t have to be powerless, goddamn it. Not this time. He could choose differently. He could
choose.
He had to hope Angel would choose, too. That she would choose to let the bonds of her past go.

That she would choose him.

* * *

A
NGEL
LAY
ON
R
UTH
’
S
SOFA
in the dark, listening to the night sounds. They were different here than they were at home.

At Declan’s home.

She wasn’t sure it would be hers any longer. She wasn’t sure she could go back.

Ruth had talked to her a little in the car, but mostly she had let her be. Once at her small cottage, Ruth had made up a bed for her on the sofa and a cup of tea, and they’d listened to an opera together in quiet companionship before Ruth had gone to bed.

Ruth had told Angel she sensed she had to work this issue out for herself. She was grateful for Ruth recognizing her need for independence while offering the comforting solidity of her presence, as well as a safe haven. And she understood she had to figure this out on her own. Understood this was a crucial part of her growth, of creating her new self. With or without Declan. And either way, she knew it would mean saying goodbye to Asmodeus. Forever.

She was anxious now to reach the dream place where she would see him, tell him what she must do. But she also dreaded it, making it official. It felt so finite to her. So far sleep had eluded her, but she’d been lying in the dark for several hours and her eyelids were growing heavy. Still, she fought it, afraid to make that final commitment.

She plumped the pillow, turned over and closed her eyes. She knew what she had to do.
Had
to do. Come what may. She would be strong enough to handle it. She
was
strong enough.

She forced her eyes to close and it felt good. In her mind she imagined her garden, all her growing things, the happy sounds of the birds. She pulled in one long, slow breath after another, willed her body to relax, her nerves to calm.

This was necessary. This was what she wanted. What she
chose.

The garden was lush and green. Flowers grew among the herbs and vegetables. The scent of the earth was all around her, the warm scent of a summer sky. She reached out to stroke the long, narrow leaf of a corn stalk, that lovely deep velvet-green, inhaled the soft air.

It grew dark, bit by bit. There was nothing threatening there, only that summer softness fading around her. When the garden disappeared, she knew she had him.

Asmodeus.

She felt his striking heat before she saw him. Felt his unhappiness like some viable aura.

“Asmodeus.”

“You call, and I come. I am ever your faithful servant.” His voice was as deep and rumbling as ever, like a heavy thundercloud.

“I don’t want you to be. Not anymore.”

“Yes. I always sense what is in your heart.”

“What do you see there now?” she asked him, some part of her wanting him to
know,
so she wouldn’t have to say the words. But she must be braver than that.

“This man. Your connection to him. To the earthly plane. A parting of ways for us.”

“Yes.” Her heart was heavy. But she knew this was right. “This has been coming, Asmodeus. We’ve both known it, you and I.”

“It makes it no less painful. I will cease to exist in your reality. Perhaps altogether.”

He sighed, and steam blew out in a hot breath from his perfect nostrils.

“Asmodeus, I have to tell you, I have come to understand how you are a manifestation of my own fears and dreams. I must accept that in order to be free to be my own person. To put my past behind me and move on, move forward to whatever my future might hold. I am coming to see for the first time that I truly have one.”

“You have always had a future. Time moves, with or without our noticing.”

“That’s too vague for me. I want a
specific
future. I want a life of my choosing. I want a
life.
I thought I’d chosen before, but I didn’t know enough. I knew nothing of the possibilities.”

“And now you do.” Another sigh. His sadness radiated from him like energy, like an electric crackling in the still, dark air.

“I will never fall with you again, Asmodeus. And my heart is broken. But I know I will recover. I know what I must do. I must say goodbye. Here. Now.”

One tear fell from his coal-black eyes, gleaming blue as it traced its way over his golden cheek. So hard. So utterly perfect. He nodded. She reached out to him, but he began to drift from her, farther and farther away, until he disappeared altogether.

The pain was a small searing in her chest. It spread and the pain melted, turning to a pure light that was nothing more than a brilliant, piercing ache. But bearable, something she knew would fade in time.

She would have a life now. She was her own person, finally.

Her mind drifted, into the simple dreams of one who did nothing more than sleep, who had no larger task than to rest. Her anger and confusion drained away and left in its place a certainty she had never felt before.

She would be okay.

* * *

H
E
’
D
LET
A
DAY
GO
BY
. He wanted Angel to have the opportunity to talk with Ruth, to let Ruth get her calmed down.

Declan had spent a sleepless night without her in his bed. Had finally gotten up and sat in the amber glow of the porch light, Liam at his side, working a piece of wood. Working some of the frustration and regret out of his system, his mind turning everything over, searching for clarity. Facing some hard truths about himself.

He was beginning to have a clearer understanding of what Angel must be feeling. And his own insensitivity to her. Why hadn’t he brought the news to her with less of the victory in his tone? He could have kept that to himself or shared it with no one but his father. But the whole being-her-protector thing had gone to his head.

He had to get over that shit. Had to get over the lousy job he’d done taking care of his mom, of Abby. Angel was not either one of them. He wasn’t the same person he’d been back then, either. Hell, he’d practically been a kid.

He had to start looking at the fact that part of the protector thing was natural, but for him it was also about control. That role made him feel like he had some control over his life, and it was fucked up to lay that on Angel.

Time to deal with his issues, he’d realized while his knife bit into the wood in his hands, while the crickets sang in the darkness and Liam snored softly. Why was it the still and lonely night was when people usually had this sort of epiphany? Didn’t matter. It was long overdue.

In the morning he went to work exhausted. But he’d gotten through the day somehow. The minute he was done he’d jumped into his truck and called his father.

“Oran Byrne.”

“Dad, it’s me.”

“Hi, Dec.”

“I guess you know what’s going on. That Angel is with Ruth.”

“Yeah. Ruth called me last night to tell me.”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“I thought Angel might have a bad reaction to the news—that’s why I suggested you wait and have Ruth there when you told her. I don’t mean to rub your face in it. Just to tell you I think this is normal, under the circumstances.”

“I should have listened to you.”

His father was quiet a moment. “I never thought I’d hear you say that, Dec.”

He almost smiled. “Yeah, me, neither. Look, Dad, I need to go and see her. I need Ruth’s address.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, son? Maybe you should call.”

“No. I need to see her. Face-to-face. I know Angel, Dad.”

“All right. Ruth lives out by Noyo Bay, up Highway One.”

Oran gave him the address and they hung up.

He sat in his truck for several moments. As anxious as he was to see Angel he really did not want to blow it. He owed her an apology, at the very least. Owed it to her to let her know what had been going through his head all night, the conclusions he’d come to. He sure as hell wasn’t the type to open up, confide in anyone. But everything was different with Angel. He wanted to be different for her.

He turned the key in the ignition and the truck started with a low rumbling purr. He pulled onto the highway and headed north.

He’d driven this route dozens of times when Angel was in the hospital. Hundreds, maybe, over the course of his life. It was familiar. Comfortable for him. He’d always liked the comfort of being in a familiar place. Physically. Mentally.

Emotionally.

He was way the hell out of his comfort zone now. But he had to break out of it or he’d end up alone.

Without Angel.

Not acceptable.

He found Ruth’s place easily and parked on the road in front of the small yellow cottage. He hardly noticed it as he got out of the truck and swung the door closed. Until he was on the porch. Then it hit him—the scent of roses. He looked around, and in the dying light of day he saw that the place was surrounded by roses. White and lavender and pink. Coral, peach and dark red.

In the past he would have been annoyed by this similarity to his mother. Now it pleased him somehow. But he had more important things to think about. Like Angel.

He lifted his hand, his pulse racing.

He’d better make this damn good.

He knocked and Ruth answered the door. She smiled when she saw him, which surprised him.

“Declan, hi. I was just on my way out to see a client. An emergency of sorts. Angel is in the living room. Go on in. I’ll be back in about two hours, so you’ll have the place to yourselves.” She smiled again, put a hand on his arm. “It’s good you’re here,” she told him, her voice low. Her dark eyes were sparkling.

“Is it?”

“You two need to talk.”

He nodded, unable to say more. She seemed to understand, just gave his arm another pat as she moved past him, car keys in her hand. He went inside.

It was warm in the cottage. When Angel came into the living room, his breath stuttered in his chest.

She was so beautiful. He could never get over it, the purity of her face. Her blue, blue eyes. The cascade of hair like golden silk swinging almost to her knees.

And right now everything felt so damn important. Fucking crucial.

Calm down.

Angel stopped with her hand on the back of Ruth’s floral sofa for support. She had heard him arrive, had taken a moment in the kitchen to calm herself, to breathe.