Chapter One
Paige doesn't seem to want to leave Beliel's husk of a body, for reasons beyond my comprehension.
Even now, beneath the heat of the noonday sky, she stands sentry over the carcass. His leathery skin now reeks sourly, and what little fluid had remained in the hollow hide has seeped away into the forest soil. The glassy eyes now rot beneath the sunlight, the stench undoubtedly attracting undesired predators to our makeshift camp.
Last night had been unrestful. Raffe had slept with his snowy wings lain beside him, slumbering a fair distance from Paige and I. However, I'd slumbered with my little sister nestled in the crook of my body, conserving heat against the bitter cold of the night. Our hilltop camp had even allowed for a small fire, summoned from the twigs and leaves littering the woods by Raffe. Even the fire couldn't chase off Paige's unease, however, and nor could it mine.
I watch Paige as she plucks at a few weeds from the ground at her feet, slender fingers sifting through the grass absentmindedly. The vivid purples and crimsons of her stitches are forever a reminder of how the angels had broken my little girl my little girl. At least they hadn't ripped th doelike lashes from her eyelids, or ripped her eyes out, for the matter.
The idea of having to live with her like this is slightly repulsing, though guilt heavies my heart to even think of such matters. I no longer fear my baby girl, no longer shy from her touch or slide my gaze away from hers, but I long for the child in the wheelchair I knew so well before. Now, everything will be different, strange, alien. My mind baulks at the possibility of her becoming hungry again; hopefully, Paige's stomach will remain satisfied for a while.
The emeralds and jades of the forests that Paige's scorpion army had delivered us to are slowly starting to ebb into golds and oranges. A masterpiece has been painted over the canopies of the forest, as if God had taken a paintbrush to the green and began highlighting all the crevices of the leaves. The blanket of foliage shed last autumn is soon to be refreshed by this new battalion, spiraling gracefully from the limbs of the trees. It will be the first fall of World After, and soon following will be the first winter.
Burdened by these thoughts, I sneak a glance at Raffe. He crouches with his back to me atop a boulder pockmarked with glossy moss, black wings partially splayed to the sky. We haven't spoken much since he first set me down; almost instantaneously, he'd refocused his attention on preening through every last feather of his reclaimed wings. The reverent intimacy he'd regarded them with had been heart-wrenching. My cheeks warm slightly and I look away, a memory of me crouching beside Raffe to briskly straighten a feather caught in disarray before rising and marching off reviving in my mind's eye. Just as I had been then, I'm not sure I want to know how he'd reacted to the act of generosity.
Shaking my mind free of its heavy focus of attention, I rise from my position by the dying fire, abandoning the dim glow of red embers and fluttery ash. The dull pain awakens in my limbs the moment I arise, like an old monster waking in my bones. The dust swirls around my feet as I go to sit beside Paige. Her eyes lift to meet mine, but, otherwise, she does not react.
My legs fold, sending my weight shifting uncomfortably. The rocks jab into the palms of my bruised hands, but I tenaciously lean against them, all the same. Paige blinks once, twice. Her gaze is still trained on me, a question in her eyes.
"Hey, baby, why are you sitting around Beliel's body?" I pluck a strand of mousy hair from her scarred face, tucking it behind an ear. "Why don't you want to move on?"
Paige watches me with sorrowful eyes. Her shoulders move in the slightest notion of a shrug; the stitches restrict her movement to the point where my Paige can't even shrug without pain.
I don't want to see what she'll be like on the long road ahead of us.
Despite the feral beauty of our surroundings, I'm actually pretty anxious to move on, away from this desolate place. The scorpions had taken us to a national or state park somewhere, judging by the wide expanse of trees and cruel wilderness encompassing our. It wouldn't be that bad of a place to camp out if I knew the first thing about hunting – mule deer thrive in these forests, the ones buried this deeply in once-protected lands seemingly unafraid of humans. But why should they be? We aren't kings of the food chain anymore. We're prey, too.
I can't hunt, however, and the flourishing population of the deer only seems to drive that home. Besides, there's something else here, something that I can't put my finger on… and it's unnerving. Like I'm being watched by eyes that know the world in a different way than I do. Like I've stepped into an elaborate trap lain before me. I've kept an eye out for any hellions, and I'm sure Raffe has, too, but my gut says they're not the culprit. Raffe's insistence to constantly scan the area from his boulder throne means I'm not the only one feeling it, either. Even Paige seems on edge, the way she hovers over Beliel's husk.
"Is it something he'd done to you?" My hand brushes her hair from her face. She shakes her head. "Is he… a food source?" My throat dries, but the words aren't choked or raspy – to show her that I find that new attribute revolting would be unwise, considering how hard she's trying to be normal. Thankfully, though, she shakes her head again.
Sick curiosity mounts with each question Paige nulls. "What is it, then?"
Paige's mouth creaks open, her bruised lips parting. A lively spirit dances in her eyes. The ghost of speech awakens on her tongue.
And yet, she never says a word.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid as Raffe leaps to his feet atop his proud boulder. The shadows of his wings mar the diamond sky. With a single bound, Raffe leaps from the stone, using his leathery wings to glide slightly on a current. He hits the ground running, wings tucking and hands forming blades. The intensity of his sprint jolts my bruised muscles into action. I rocket from the ground, pivoting around to see what had startled him.
My heart splutters in my veins and jaw drops open. A flare of panic sharpens my vision.
Raffe appears, his wings slamming out to their full length in a gesture of protection over both me and Paige. He bows into a low crouch, arms and feet wide to face any threat the beast poses. His posture is that of a tiger – lithe and agile, yet forged with power.
If Pooky Bear still responded to him and still answered to her rightful master, I'd be more than happy to let Raffe ward off the beast lounging beneath the trees. However, as it stands, Pooky Bear still only answers to me – even if she's ticked off by that fact herself.
Pooky Bear hisses as she slides from her scabbard, a sound like a reveling snake. I can almost feel her ecstasy, her eager tongue awaiting the taste of blood. Her blade glints in the sun, a fair warning to any who may pass. Paige huddles against my legs as I shuffle around her, placing my body between hers and the beast's. Raffe's wings hinder me shuffling forward and standing beside him, those scythes gleaming in the daylight like fishhooks.
"Raffe," I growl in a soft voice. "What is that?"
At first, Raffe doesn't utter a word; his gaze is glued to the beast stirring in the shadows. His taut muscles only tighten further, hands curling into fists. Paige, responding to the fear stagnant in the air, retreats a few steps worriedly, her eyes wide. Her sharp teeth gnash together, the sound chilling my bones. The metallic clicks only draw the eyes of the beast. Two ears swivel to focus on Paige.
"Get close to the fire," orders Raffe, his voice low and powerful.
I'm not sure what his plan is. An averagely sized predator could easily outrun me and Paige, never mind this beast, and Raffe can't carry us both. To respond to the flight instinct rattling erratically within my pulse would be suicide. I suppose, backed against a wall, I could fight it off – but killing an angel had not been easily done. Burnt and the others had left me with bruises mottling over my body in clouds of bitter purple, green, and yellow. Aches that can't facilely be ignored accompany the visible wounds.
My legs scream in protest as I grab Paige's arm, attempting to be mindful of her own bruises as I drag her to the fire. Though somewhat confused, she follows willingly, feet plodding heavily after me. She stumbles slightly, my grip the only factor keeping her propelled over the grassy hillside.
My abrupt halt at the circle of stones catches Paige off guard; her body crashes clumsily against mine, a few stitches hooking on my clothes. She yanks back instinctively, grimacing as those few stitches pop and ooze blood. Gently, I nudge her behind me, keeping one hand on her hair. Pooky Bear sings for death in my other hand, her blade adjusting to my angle.
Raffe is only half a step behind me, his wings still splayed protectively. I catch a single glimpse of his grim expression – Raffe seems to be just as unhappy with our situation as I am. A slight tremor runs through his demonic wings, quivering in the way porcupines show off their spikes to a larger predator. His fists ball and his back arches, feet sliding apart into their ready position. The sight of him preparing for a fight clenches my muscles, and excites Pooky Bear even more.
The beast snorts once. Dappling over its coat in aimless patterns, the light sways with a breeze that dances through the clearing. With the wind ruffling its pelt, the beast steps into the sunlight, each step measured and regal. It seems like a god emerging from its domain, a true guardian angel's first few steps into the light. The deep power of its gaze captures my attention, the rapturing shades of hypnotizing copper and red swirling together. The beast pauses a few strides from the forest shadows, pricking its ears. Even Raffe seems entranced by its mysterious gaze, his muscles softening.
The beast drops the stick in its mouth.
The moment is broken.
The beast whines like a dog and crouches before the stick, smile over its black lips and rear end in the air. A mischievous gleam glows in its reddish brown eyes.
Pooky Bear wavers in air slightly. Paige peeks from behind my leg, her cold hands against my thighs. Raffe freezes, his sculpted body pausing. My brow scrunches, my sweaty palms loosening their grip around Raffe's sword.
The beast tosses its head up in the air and releases a yowl, one that deepens into a playful growl. Pink tongue waggling, he nudges at the stick, then glances up at Raffe expectantly.
The beast looks like a wolf. It's massive, head larger than mine, but it doesn't seem particularly threatening. Ruddy brown fur resembling the color of cinnamon frames its body, sleek and scruffy, not thick and fluffy. Around his neck is a chest plate, layered with pieces of engraved gold and bronze metal. The chest plate links to a leather saddle positioned on its shoulders, with a girth tracing behind his front legs. His legs are perhaps the most peculiar aspect – all four of his forelegs are abnormally long, and slender. Though the rest of the beast's leg is elongated, the forelegs are particularly slim and disproportionate to the rest of his body. It would've reminded me of a horse's legs, if the limbs had not been tipped with lupine paws and canine in structure.
At the sight of the wolf, Paige scurries out from behind me. I catch her before she can squirm beneath Raffe's wings, hand closing sharply over her shoulder, but still, she seems reluctant to back away from the canine. The beast releasing another whimpering cry and shoving the stick slightly closer to Raffe doesn't help my plight any.
"It's a dog," I state blandly, casting a quizzical glance in Raffe's direction. "A dog with some sort of saddle. What are you? Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?"
Raffe's glare informs me that I'm insufferable, the daggers in his eyes worse than poison in his tone. "It could be a demon mount," he speculates darkly. "And besides, all humanity's culture is derived from the fear of the Big, Bad Wolf. You should be cowering."
Hostility rises in my heart to meet his bitterness on the field of battle. "Yeah, well," I point out, "we depicted angels as innocent cherubs, so obviously, something's wrong with the textbooks."
Cocking his head to look me in the eye, Raffe scowls. "You mean you can't picture me as a chubby winged baby? Why the hell not?"
"You wouldn't be chubby." My mind's eye shies from the thought of mini Raffe in a diaper. "You'd be… narrow."
He shoots another abasing glance at me. "Your fantasies are quite flattering; muscled from infancy does seem to be in my character, doesn't it?"
"I said narrow because 'sickly' and 'scrawny' are cruel," I chastise. "Your head can carry you even higher than your wings."
"Anything's better than being grounded here with that attitude," he mutters darkly beneath his breath. The rest is a discord of mumbles, drowned out by yet another howl of the Big, Bad Wolf.
"I'm going to throw that stick." Pooky Bear's complaints are vulgar, but I sheath her all the same. With one finger, I poke the leathery skin along his demonic wings. "Move, please."
Raffe's eyes blaze again. His head cocks to mine permanently, and his jaw clenches. "That is quite possibly the worst idea you've had since I've known you. Penryn, that's saying something."
"I don't know." Best keep him talking, whilst hatching a plan to evade the tarplike wings pinning me against the fire pit. "Sticking around to help you fight Beliel around the scorpions was pretty awful."
My viselike grip on Paige's shoulder loosens. Her eyes dart up to mine briefly, a portrait of understanding painting her stitched face.
"Yes." Raffe shakes his head distractedly, eyes distant. "That most definitely takes the cake for worst idea. Ever. In the history of the Young family."
My grip on Paige's shoulder releases.
She darts beneath the row of scythes, before Raffe truly comprehends the situation. Some part of me resents that I've released my little sister to greet a two-ton wolf, but I know that she's taken down greater foes than that mutt.
Raffe growls, his eyes widening in surprise. His head swings around to watch my little sister, and the wings blocking me from approaching the creature falter. I shove against the barriers, shouldering my way around Raffe to get nearer to both my sister and the beast. Raffe's guttural groan of frustration is amplified.
However, contrary to my intentions, once I've hustled my way around Raffe, I don't draw that much closer to my sister – instead, I watch from a distance, eyes round with awe. Paige has her gaze locked on the wolf's; she's gradually crouching down, fingers roaming the grass to select the stick. When her tiny fingers close around the coarse bark, she hefts it high above her head. The wolf's eyes become as large and reflective as a pond, his jaw dropping open to reveal rows of teeth glistening with drool, drool that beads over his tongue and slavers from the corners of his mouth.
Paige lifts the stick high, waving it about, her expression stern.
The wolf whines, and collapses into a sitting position.
Paige's expression hardens further, cold as marble.
With an impatient whimper, the beast sinks to the ground, his belly scraping the floor and his plush tail thrashing violently from side to side.
Paige's hand swishes back the twig, and flicks it in the standard throwing procedure. The churning flight of the stick is turbulent and sloppy. My heart tugs as it sails not even ten feet to her left before hitting the ground with a dejected thud.
The wolf rises all the same with a yelp of joy, scurrying after the bone. He snaps it up playfully, the crack of its teeth on wood jolting my heart-rate only slightly. Convulsing as he shakes the stick around to "kill" it, the beast prances forward proudly. Despite the weak throw, he drops it before Paige again, and sits obediently.
Paige had visibly deflated, seeing the distance her toss had gone. My baby girl's never been that strong an athlete, even with full use of her legs. But now, with stitches devouring her flesh, she can barely walk without her eyes watering with tears. Throwing a stick must've been immensely painful for her. And yet, instead of ignoring Paige and dismissing her as an awful thrower, the beast crouches before her again, faith bright in its red eyes.
Paige's lips pinch slightly, her version of a broad grin. The closest thing to delight I've seen in a long time shines in my baby girl's eyes. A smile spreads across my face as she stiffly bends down to pick the stick up, flicking it over her head again. It goes an even shorter distance, but still, the wolf enthusiastically picks it up and totes it back to Paige, lying down before her and waiting for my baby girl to throw it for him again.
I glance triumphantly over my shoulder at Raffe. "See? No demon mount to be found!"
His expression is sour with disbelief. "You let the sister you risked the aerie for approach this mutt without a whim on how it may react."
My brow cocks. "She took out Beliel, something even you can't manage. She befriended the giant wolf, something you didn't have the guts to."
"A giant wolf friend isn't exactly wise," sighs Raffe wearily. "Stealth missions will be impossible if it ends up following us."
"Who says we're going on stealth missions?" I challenge, eyes narrowing.
"To find a new physician, we will be." Raffe crosses his arms over his chest, lip curled in an argumentative gesture.
My throat goes dry, as if it's been lined with sandpaper. Gaze deserting Raffe and instead scraping the horizon, I mutter, "Who says Paige and I are going on stealth missions?"
Raffe blinks in disbelief, his arms falling back to his sides. The words leaving my mouth seem surreal to even I – the thought of breaking ties with Raffe is simply impossible to conjure. But my sister comes first to me, even above the Wrath of God's precious wings. I don't want to leave Raffe – having someone to watch my back has been almost magical, and even the thought of being without him makes me feel barren. But I will do what I have to in order to keep Paige safe. Safe as she can be, at least.
To avoid the blatant incomprehension in Raffe's eyes, I turn back to the wolf. He drops the stick before Paige once more, tongue lapping once up its rough length in an affectionate gesture. Inching forward, I lift a hand to the wolf. Paige snatches up the stick and backs away slightly, allowing the wolf and I to enjoy a bonding moment.
At first, the wolf follows Paige for a few strides, ears perked towards her and mouth grinning expectantly. Still, she backs away, shaking her head marginally. Refused by his friend, the wolf turns to meet me, jaw shutting and eyes glinting with childish curiosity. He tilts his head as I approach, black nostrils flaring.
The wolf does not falter. His gaze does not quaver from mine. Raw power circulates in the spheres of reddish copper, the layered slices of bronze and crimson and gold. His cinnamon fur ruffles in the sunlight as he sends a shudder through his pelt. A gruff woof resonates from somewhere deep within the wolf's throat.
After another moment of hesitation, it sniffs at my extended palm. The wolf's breath is like the dancing feet of a fairy over my skin, tender and delicate as winter's first crisp breath. He grunts and shakes out his mane, releasing a low howl of approval.
Dad had kept a German Shepherd around before Paige was injured. The dog became too much of a hassle to care for, though, when my little girl had her accident, so he'd been forced to sell the dog. The memories of caring for that huge pup still reside somewhere deep in the reservoirs of my childhood memories; I'd loved that dog with all of my innocuous heart. Rex, I think his name was.
Slowly, I lace an open-palmed hand through the silky fur on the wolf's cheek. After a moment of brief hesitation, it presses its head against my hand, eyes gleaming excitedly. It woofs, shaking out its mane again in a gesture I don't fully understand. I allow my hands to roam gingerly down its neck, massaging through the wolf's thick, coarse fur, until I reach the chest strap.
I suppose that this wolf could be a mount of some successful human or a bizarre breed of angels. The worn appearance marring the saddle leather proves that we are not the only beings the wolf has associated with. My question is merely what happened to the previous owners.
The warmth of the wolf's wiry fur is a sharp contrast to the bitter cold of the gold and bronze of the nameplate over the chest strap. My fingers wrap around the leather, gently pushing it up. I crane my neck down slightly, curious to read what name may have been engraved onto the surface for the regal being. Brow scrunching, I read aloud.
"Scruffy Mutt. Call me Scruffy." I tilt my head to one side to avoid bumping my forehead against Scruffy's chin. He proceeds to nuzzle my hair inquisitively as I read the smaller text, warm breath rifling over my scalp.
"If you're reading this, Scruffy is probably just out on one of his wanders. He'll return eventually, probably. Just throw something really far in the distance, so far he won't find it, and he'll be on his merry way. If you think he's actually lost, well, just search for a crowd of screeching fangirls, and you'll find me. Shouldn't be that difficult. XOXO, Hugo."
"Marvelous," grumbles Raffe, burying his head in one hand. "We've now got a side quest to go find 'Hugo,' the fangirl king."
I know my characterization may be a bit off – I haven't actually written that much for this fandom. If you have any polite pointers, CC is welcome!
So, here's how it's going to work! I only post every so often (I do have a very small social life, astonishing, I know), and although I try to make it frequent, I value quality above quantity of updates. If I ever rush something, you'll be able to tell. The first drafts are always crap.
There will be Raffryn, I swear to it – but not pointless Raffryn. They're my SUPER ship and all, but if, in every chapter, I had a new and exciting moment with them, it would wreck any storyline I may create. Raffryn will emerge when due, and I'll write it romantically in some areas and sexually tense in others, I promise. ;)
One thing I like from readers are reviews - seriously, if you want to send me a review about how your day sucked, I'll read it and respond to it. You guys float my boat. You're my boaty-floaties. I like figuring out your characters through reviews.
Alright, so, every chapter, usually, I have a poll. I'll do the same with this one, because it helps me gather a lot more feedback! Even one-line answers are appreciated! (Ahem, *cough* ghost-readers *cough*)
POLL: Did I capture the banter okay in this chapter? I feel it could be improved; I've never been that good at dialogue.
Ciao,
~wolfluvermh