I LOVE THIS CHAPTER!
I lied, earlier. I'm going to update, anyways. Because I really, really love this chapter. I actually only just finished writing it...
A couple of people asked, in reviews, about Payn's story-- who the angel that he saw killed was. I decided to have a crack at it this evening, and this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy reading, as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)
Oh, and 'Wysdem' sounds like Wisdom, in case that wasn't completely obvious.
I just realised. I haven't written, like... any disclaimers for this story. Oops. So, here goes.
DISCLAIMER: I own Devyne, Destinee, Faite, Payn and (sort of) Wysdem. At least, I own Wysdem's real story. And now I'm going to shut up, because otherwise, I'll give the whole thing away...
Angelic—A Story of Payn.
He couldn't move, couldn't speak. He was bound here, by some unnatural force. Something inhuman; completely unexpected. This had been a routine run to the surface—he had been testing the waters, so to speak, with his companion and best friend, Wysdem. London, Sixteen-forties. They'd been joking, laughing—why not? They were invisible to humans, after all.
Actually, that was a good job—the clothes they were wearing were completely anachronistic, dangerously so. They would have stuck out like a broken thumb.
But they were invisible. So that didn't matter.
They'd been sent here, just another mission. Completely risk-free, she'd told them. No chance of anyone being hurt. Nope.
A tiny cell phone had rung, and Payn had answered it. It was Destinee.
"Payn, Wysdem… You have to get out of there! It's not right! You're going to be—"
She'd been cut off, but it was enough. The two angels were immediately on their guard, silvery eyes searching wildly.
The sky was darkening; Payn even heard a roll of thunder far away, too quiet for human ears. He shivered. Something wasn't right.
They kept walking, swiftly now, glancing around, nervous. The phone was broken. They could get signal anywhere—on the earth, or above it. Why wasn't it working now?
Then they rounded the corner.
A large group. They wielded burning torches, pitchforks. They were moving fairly fast for humans; excited, some nervous, others downright terrified. No-one appeared to be leading them. Their eyes, though, were alight with a savage sort of hunger—they were eager for blood, for revenge.
Then they stopped.
The two angels could not work out their focus, what they were so determined to do. So they stayed, and watched. Curious, for the most part.
A man appeared. If he could even be described as a man.
Pale skin, dark hair. His movements were catlike and graceful. At first glance, he was young… but then the angels saw his eyes, and shivered. Black, with just a hint of crimson. Inhumanly beautiful, but terrifying. Ancient eyes. Eyes that caused physical pain when they followed you. The angels were pinned in place, entirely helpless.
The humans were still eager, though a little shaken. With a united shout, they surged forward. Chasing the beast.
The monster looked away, and they were released from the spell. But they followed. Curiosity.
He ran. They could tell that, had he chosen to, he could have outrun the slow humans in a moment—but he chose not to.
He turned, his eyes locking once more onto those of the angels. Like he could see them. But that was impossible… wasn't it?
The humans' shaky bravado had disappeared. One by one, they turned and disappeared. But the inhumans remained.
"I know what you are."
The man. The man with the crimson eyes. He knew, he had known from the start. They were paralysed by the unseen force as he moved slowly towards them.
"I've been waiting a long time for this. You don't know how long. Angels. Demons."
He knew. He knew for sure. This was a disaster.
"I'm going to kill you, now."
His voice was calm.
He smiled, as he moved in for the kill. And then he changed direction at the last second, lunging for the exposed jugular in Wysdem's neck.
As soon as his teeth caught flesh, the spell was broken. In a moment, Payn had killed him, ripped him apart, and set fire to them without need of match or torch. But Wysdem had fallen, limbs thrashing wildly, screaming.
In three hundred years, Payn had never forgotten the screams.
He lifted Wysdem, and took him to the safest place he could find—a cellar, under a house, and buried his friend in potatoes, to hide him.
Because he had seen. He knew what was happening, because he'd read every last horrific detail from the vampire's mind, as he had killed Wysdem.
Or at least, tried to kill him.
As good as.
With broken sobs, Payn returned to the skies. He could do no more for his friend, he had Seen that.
But as he left, he bestowed a gift upon his friend; control, above all else. The repulsion for human blood. Because seeing his friend like that old vampire might just have killed him.
The new vampire awoke, after three days of torment. He had golden eyes, and a new past.
Carlisle Cullen was a vampire. And also, a Fallen Angel.
Payn woke in a cold sweat. He had not been asleep—for that was impossible. But he had been in the slumber-like trance that was as close as it ever got.
And he mourned his friend.