Ignite (29 page)

“Bastard,” I say, my voice tight and quiet.

“Pen?”

I freeze, not believing what I hear.

The sound of footsteps makes its way down the street, coming closer to me.

“Pen?” The voice is sad and golden and I must have been killed because this can’t be real.

I turn around slowly, scared of the face I know I will see.

Michael stands a few feet away from me, his silver wings still open wide behind him. He looks at me, his icy blue eyes both worried and hurt. He glances down at the dead bodies, his gaze bouncing from one man to another, landing on all five briefly. I watch him, holding my breath, and when he looks back up at me, I see he is disappointed.

Something in me breaks.

I drop my dagger to the ground and it hits the road, the blade scraping against the rough pavement. I look behind me at Danny one last time and then back to Michael. I take a tentative step forward.

“I…” My voice fails and I snap my mouth shut, staring up at him with wide, startled eyes. I wrap my arms around myself, the blood on my hands seeping through the ripped elbows of my jacket.

“I just came to see the stars,” he says simply. “You… you wanted me to see the stars.”

Chapter 24

Everything around me is too still, too quiet, and too harsh. I’m frozen where I stand, lips parted, eyebrows knotted together. Every shallow breath I take hurts as my broken ribs pinch into my side.

Michael stands a little bit down the road, watching me intently. I stare back at him as a panic so absolute swells up around me. It’s like the world beneath me has fallen off its axis and we’re about to drop out of orbit. My knees are weak and I feel like I’m going to pass out, but, by some miracle, I don’t. I remain standing, trembling so violently that I have to wrap my arms around myself. Somehow, I find my voice again, however weak.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” I ask shakily. “How did you… It’s after your curfew.”

“I snuck out,” he explains, stepping forward and drawing in his broad wings.

I continue to stare at him in shock. “H-how?” I ask again.

“It was easier than I thought it would be. The angels—they’re distracted.”

“Why… why are you here?” I’m so dizzy and covered in too much blood. I just want to fall to the ground, to shrink away from Michael until I completely disappear, but my knees are locked. I’m frozen in pain and terror, surrounded by blood.

Blood blood blood.
It’s inescapable.

“I came to see you,” he answers carefully. “You said you wanted me to see the stars.”

I tear at the bottom of my lip with my teeth. This is not what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t how I thought I would see him next, coated in blood and surrounded by five slain humans. Monsters, really, but he doesn’t know what happened. He didn’t see the glint in their eyes that I did.

My chest is tight, and I clutch at it desperately with hands covered in slick, red blood as the corners of my vision blur into darkness for a moment before returning to normal again.

“I—I didn’t mean to.”

I back away from him, tripping over the body of the first man, Danny. I fall back onto the road, splashing in a shallow pool of blood. I catch myself with the heel of my hand, scraping the thin skin across the rough asphalt.

Michael steps forward, as if he’s going to reach down to help me, but he pauses, his arm halfway extended to me, unsure of what to do. Cradling my hand to my stomach, I look back up at Michael.

“I didn’t mean to,” I repeat pitifully.

I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself.

He watches me, concerned, ignoring the bodies scattered around me, and seems to make a decision. He leans forward and offers me his hand. I hesitate before I take it.

Gently, he helps me to my feet, and when I let go, I leave a small red handprint across his large hand. I’m going to be sick.

“Sorry,” I mumble, desperately trying to wipe my bloody hands clean on my jeans. Instead, I manage to coat my hand in even more of it that stains my jeans a burgundy so dark it’s nearly black.

He doesn’t make any move to clean his hand though. He just continues to watch me, leaning his head down so he can meet my eyes.

“Are you okay?”

I stare back at him blankly. “Okay?”

“Are you hurt?

“Am I…” I trail off unbelievingly. I run my hands down my shirt, smearing more blood as I straighten it to lay at my hips, and answer him, my voice high and shrill. “I’m sorry, are you asking me if
I’m
okay? You do see the five men that are lying in the street, right? Or did you miss them? Maybe I’m hallucinating.”

“I see them,” he assures me. “There’s not much I can do to help them now. But if you’re hurt, I can help you. If you’ll let me.” He steps forward, his face inches from mine. “I’ll ask again. Are you hurt?”

I shrug, hugging myself to stop the tremors that shake my bones. “A few cracked ribs, bruises. I think my wrist is broken, and maybe my elbow too.”

“Which arm?”

I hold up my left wrist for him. He takes it delicately in his hands, his long fingers carefully skimming over my paper-thin skin. A warmth trails after his fingers, and I can feel the splintered bones fusing back together. His hand slides up to my elbow and I feel a warmth begin to spread there, too. He lets go, and I roll my wrist once and extend my elbow, letting the bones snap back into place.

“And your ribs?”

“They’re just cracked.”

When I speak, I feel a sharp twinge in my side, the fractured bones of my ribs piercing me with each breath. I concentrate and try not to breathe as deeply, but the pain is excruciating, and I can’t hide my agony from Michael. He sees it, clear as day, played out on the twisted features of my face.

“I don’t care if they’re ‘just cracked.’ Please, Pen. Let me help you. You’re hurting.”

I consider him for a moment, but I’m too tired to argue the point.

Slowly, I slip my jacket off of my shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. It’s ruined anyway, ripped at the elbows and across the back, stained just as badly as all of my other clothes. I keep my eyes on his as I raise my shirt to just below my chest, exposing the green and blue expanse of bruises that stretch above my ribs like a morbid patch of flowers.

He places his hands on my hips and slides them up my side, spreading a warm sense of relief through my ribs that elicits a soft sigh from me. I watch as the bruises slowly lose their color, the blue fading into the green before the green disappears into yellow which vanishes completely.

When he reaches my shirt, he stops, his long fingers wrapped around my side and stretching to my back. Before he takes them away, I notice that his hands are trembling slightly.

“You’re freezing,” he says, watching my face.

“I told you, it’s a common misconception that Hell’s hot. It’s completely—” I take a shaky breath. “frozen.”

My ribs don’t snap anymore, any my words come easier.

“The same ice of Hell runs through my veins,” I tell him. My voice sounds uneven, and I can’t tell if it’s from him touching me or from my remaining injuries. Probably a combination of the two.

He drops his hands and leaves them hanging awkwardly at his sides.

I lower my shirt again, looking down at my feet self-consciously, and take another breath, this time slower and deeper. It’s easier to breathe now, not as painful. Instead of the pinching of my ribs, I feel the heat remaining from Michael’s hands, like he left a permanent mark on me.

“Thank you,” I say seriously.

“You’re welcome.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he reaches out and takes my hand in his, guiding me around the fallen bodies, out of the street, and onto the sidewalk. He leads me carefully, as if he’s worried I’ll break. We lower onto the curb together. Silently, I look out at the street, still clutching Michael’s hand.

He lets me cling to him unquestioningly. I must look incredibly broken for him to be treating me so delicately. I’m covered in blood, scratched, and bruised, and my hair is tangled and falling out of the knot I tied it in. There’s blood on my hands, my face, my body…

My eyes are still open wide, like giant saucers, and my dry and cracked lips are parted. I probably look terrified, like I’m about to run away or scream or breakdown. I can’t seem to bury my distress. I’m still in shock about the five men—men I didn’t want to hurt, men I hadn’t meant to kill—and about Michael’s sudden appearance.

“Are you all right?”

I’m not, not really, but I nod anyway.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I just wanted to fly, to stretch my wings. When I was on my way back to where I’m staying, these five men—” I feel a sharp pain pierce through my chest and stop short, falling forward and curling in on myself. I rest my chest on my knees and suck in air, panicked. It’s like something in me is broken, unhinged.

I’ve never felt this kind of fear before, never known what it was like to experience pure panic about something. Not like this. The last time I felt something even close to what I’m feeling now was in the war when I thought Michael was going to kill Azael.

But this isn’t Azael I’m worried about now. It’s me.

Michael leans towards me, alert with worry. “Pen?”

I put up one hand. “Wait,” I say through a hysterical hiccup. “I’m fine. Just, wait.”

He does. He’s patient, resting his hand on my back until I calm down.

I sit up again and take a deep breath. “They attacked me,” I say hollowly. I don’t look at him, don’t want to see the way he’s looking at me. Will there be pity in his eyes? Disgust?

He repeats what I said, slowly forming the words with a confused tongue. “Attacked you? How?”

“Four of them were drunk, but the main guy, Danny,” I spit his name, “he wasn’t. He knew what he was doing, he understood, and he was enjoying it.”

Finally I look over at him. He’s silent, watching me with his lips pressed in a hard line. But there’s no pity in his eyes, no disgust—at least none directed at me. All I see is concern with a flash of something hotter underneath. Anger?

“Danny told the others to…
pin me down
.”

Michael tenses, his hands curling into tight fists. I look away, bile rising to the back of my throat.

“Needless to say,” I continue, “they never got the chance.”

“Because you stopped them.” His voice is deep and even.

“Killed them,” I correct. “They never got the chance because I killed them. And they’ll never get the chance with anyone else again.”

“If I was just a few minutes earlier…” He stands up suddenly, his posture rigid with anger.

I blink, taken aback. “You would have stopped me?” I ask in a whisper.

He looks back at me. “No. I wouldn’t have stopped you. I would have
helped
you,” he says fiercely, predatorily. He kneels in front of me, looking into my eyes, his hands resting lightly on my knees, like he’s afraid if he touches me—really touches me—I’ll crumble. “I know you don’t need anyone to save you. You are much stronger than even you realize. But I wasn’t here, and if anything had happened to you…”

Impulsively, I grab his hands in mine. He looks down at my small, scraped hand in his and knots our fingers together.

“I may not need you to save me,” I say in a whisper, “but I think I still need you.” Heat rises to my face and I swallow hard. I just admitted something I hadn’t meant to. Not yet, anyway.

This is not where I want to have this conversation, but the adrenaline that is coursing through me is making me reckless. I’m scared and excited and shaky, and all I can do is talk. All I can do is bleed for him, tell him a truth I have been trying to deny for far too long.

He tilts his head, not understanding what I’m telling him. “Why would you need me?”

“There’s something about you,” I say, unable to stop myself. Well, there’s no turning back now, no hiding. “I’m stronger with you next to me. I feel like my darkness is more manageable with you, like I’ll even be able to defeat it one day. I have hope that things can change, that
I
can change. I may be heartless—”

He shakes his head. “You’re not heartless,” he says quickly. “When you care too much, it’s easier to ignore your heart, pretend it’s not there. It’s safer to ignore it so you can protect yourself from being hurt.”

“Michael, remember when you told me that choosing to do the right thing, choosing to be good, was like waking up?”

“Of course I remember. I remember every moment I’ve ever spent with you, Pen. In this lifetime, anyway. I remember
everything
about you.”

I search his eyes and find a peace inside of them I hadn’t realized I was searching for. In his eyes, I see the blue of the pond, the brilliant shine of the stars. It’s him I’ve been waiting for this entire time, and I finally found him. And he found me. I lean into him, resting my hand on his warm chest, and kiss him. Around his lips, I whisper, “You woke me up.”

He places his hand at the nape of my neck, under my hair, and pulls me closer to him, wrapping me in his strong embrace. I hear his voice in my head, bright and brilliant.
You woke up.
I push away from him and he looks up at me with surprise.