Twenty three

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AN: Ignore the stupid formatting. Wattpad does annoying things when you copy/paste.

Cael is quiet when he finally emerges from the bathroom, his eyes swollen from tears, and his voice hoarse from the strain of crying. “I’m alright,” he says to nobody in particular, as he sits down next to Sam on the couch and pulls his nephew by blood in close for a hug. I can see the resemblance now, the messy hair, the shape of their eyes.

He hardly says a word, as Liam and Vicky explain their plan to awaken my soul. They will teach me as much as they know, and Cara will help in any way she can now that she knows the stories her father told were true. They will show me how to fight against not only angels, but Nephilim too; potentially even rogue Fae. My soul will have to figure the rest out.

When we leave it’s snowing lightly, not enough to really warrant heavy jackets so we’re fine with our sweaters – everybody except Vicky who is now complaining about the cold.

“Tinkerbell,” she says, addressing Cara. “Gimme your sweater. You don’t need it anyway do you?”

Cara flails her arms dramatically. “Well no, not really. But I love this sweater, it’s fuzzy and comfy.”

“And it’s mine,” I remind her, though I don’t actually mind since we’re always borrowing things from each other.

She rolls her eyes. “That is beside the point! It’s a sweater that I am enjoying the comfy-ness of. Damn it!”

“Oh just take it off,” says Tristan, peeling his own sweater off and rolling his eyes. “I’ll give you mine.”

“Ach,” says Vicky, making a gagging motion. “You guys are sweeter than syrup.” But then she stops walking altogether. “Everybody go back to the house,” she commands. “Now!”

All of a sudden, just as Cara is about to complain, growling comes from behind our car. Cael, who’s been quiet since we left, narrows his eyes and looks around as if he’s sure there’s something he’s missing.

“Camael,” Vicky whisper-shouts. “You need to get your girlfriend inside; pronto.”

Cael nods and turns to me with panic displayed clearly on his face. “We need to go back in,” he says, his voice still thick, from crying and lack of use.

Cael clears his throat. “Come on,” he says, taking my hand and leading me back towards the house. 

 All of a sudden the back of my neck tingles, and the feeling of being watched, that feeling I’d almost forgotten about, is like a punch straight to the stomach. Damien. Douma. He’s here.

The growling grows in intensity, and Cael breaks into a run, towing me along with him, Cara and Tristan not far behind us. As soon as we reach the back door, he shoves me inside, and Cara and Tristan follow. He opens his mouth to say something to me, but a scream from Vicky stops him, and he shuts the door then runs off at an unnatural blur of speed.

“The house is protected,” says Liam from behind us. “Nobody can come in unless we want them in here.”

“Well do you want him in here?” shouts Cara, pointing at the door where Damien is standing, bloody and dishevelled, fighting to open the door.

Abruptly, Vicky is behind him grabbing him by the throat and squeezing savagely, yanking him away from the sliding door. She too is covered in blood, and her lip is burst and seems to be healing at a very slow rate.

“Get away from there,” Liam says gently. “You don’t need to see this.”

Cara and Tristan listen, and go into the living room with him, where Lisa is sitting on one of the couches, cradling little Sam in her arms. But I don’t follow. As Vicky and Damien disappear from sight, I begin to panic. Where’s Cael?

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