There was no greater feeling than absolute power. No greater feeling on earth. To feel as if the world was clutched within your fist, like the people were your puppets, was enlivening.
And Angel was as happy as her endorphin-deprived brain could be.
Why shouldn't she be? Though her sister continued to elude her grasp, it was only a matter of time before the little twit broke apart and came to her. She would make sure of it. One could only go so far until breaking, and after one broke . . .
Angel smiled.
Plus, since abstaining from using her powers, she was the picture of perfect health. The glow was back in her skin, her hair shone, and she'd gained back the pounds she had lost. Having people do the dirty work for her without force was a good choice. She would have to act on it more often.
Heck, she even enjoyed the view of this pathetic Nebraskan landscape. She up and left, wreaked havoc where she sought to, but decided to return. After all, she had a prisoner to keep alive for assurance purposes, and she found herself quite attached to the place.
"That should be the last of those pathetic safe houses," she muttered, as Rex entered her room. She'd acquired a two-story ranch home near the decrepit barn where her prisoner was kept. The older couple had been a nuisance clearing out, especially without her powers, but it had been done.
Angel set down her comb and peered at Rex through the mirror. Her most faithful servant. Her most loyal ally. There wasn't even any manipulation anymore; now he helped her think up elaborate schemes to torment those in her path. And, oh, how she loved it.
"The guards are posted and ready," he said, lowering down to the edge of her bed. "How should we proceed?"
A coy smile twisted Angel's lips. She stood from her chair, dropping her robe, strutting toward Rex in the crimson mid-thigh-length dress she chose for the evening. It was celebratory, of course. She was winning. Always winning. Why not have a little fun?
"Send them away," she cooed.
Rex swallowed hard. "But-"
"Maybe you didn't hear me." She straddled his lap, shoving his chest, and the big, lumbering man went down as if he were light as paper. "Send. Them. Away."
As he retrieved his phone and barked orders, Angel shimmied her way up his long body, nipping his ear. One meaty hand gripped her waist in a bone-cracking hold, but she liked it. Liked it rough.
"It's done," Rex gasped. "That's less protection, Miss Angel."
"You're all I need."
And it was true.
With his brawns and her brains, the two of them were unstoppable.
~*~
Satisfied.
That's what Angel was, from all angles and aspects, as she lay in her bed. The sheets tangled around her bare body, and she held a glass of commemorative champagne. Because, why not?
She would win.
Angel always won.
The lump of blankets stirred beside her. Rex pressed a kiss to her shoulder, fingers trailing up her thigh, and she groaned. "Stop it," she mumbled. "I'm trying to enjoy my champagne."
"Screw the champagne."
Angel cast him a droll look. "You've been screwing me for the last hour."
"Who said I was done?"
She rolled her eyes, tossing back the rest of the bubbly liquid. After setting the glass on the stand by her bed, she stood and pulled on her robe. "There's much still to be done, Rex."
"Nothing that can't wait for tomorrow."
"Stop. Your confidence turns me on."
The bed creaked as Rex pushed his thick body to a sitting position. Angel righted her hair in the mirror, applying a fresh coat of red lipstick. She always looked her best, even for a round of bedroom gymnastics.
"Mal said he saw her, in the house," Rex stated, as Angel returned to the bed and draped across the pillows.
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yes. She was quite ill, apparently. Something happened during the Prophet invasion of the motel and she left with an infection. Nearly killed her."
"You tease."
He grinned. "I do not tease, Miss Angel."
"Then that's just more good news, huh?" she handed him a champagne glass, and refilled hers, and they clinked them together on a toast.
"To us," he said.
"To us," she repeated, and they drank.
It was like drinking liquid power.
~*~
The sky was white.
Everything was white, actually. Or different shades of grey. Really just all a part of the same bleak color palette.
There was plenty of time to make this observation, and similar ones, as I lay face-up, feeling the wetness from all the snow seep through my gown and freeze my body. Or maybe I was passed the point of being cold, because everything was strangely warm. I might have even been sweating.
Everything felt light and airy, like I was floating. My skin itched, but my limbs refused to move to appease the itch. My mind was a scrambled mess, and I couldn't organize anything into coherent though. Everything jumbled together, and then my brain started to form sentences that didn't make even a little bit of sense. But it didn't matter. What mattered anymore?
Nothing.
A giggle escaped my lips. Completely nonsensical, and nothing was even funny, but I couldn't help it.
I drifted in and out of consciousness. At least, I thought. Or maybe I was always awake. Maybe I slept the entire time. Maybe I was already dead and this was the weird in between state.
It could be anything, I supposed.
Although, that everything was a dream became the plausible option when a blotchy face that looked like Blake appeared in my vision, gently sliding his hands beneath me. I tried saying his name, but it sounded like absolute gibberish, I was sure. With one fluid movement I was airborne, and my heart sped up to a dangerous pace.
Not good, I thought.
Not good.
Everything seemed to happen in fleeting snippets, like clicking rapidly through a slideshow. Some things I was aware of, others I completely missed. My body transitioned through different environments, and I think at one point somebody removed the wet clothes from my body and replaced them with another silk slip; one that was drier. That was the extent of my linear thought. The rest was wallpaper.
Weird dreams assaulted my head. In one of them I was running through a field with a bunch of ponies, and oddly, we could talk. They knew perfect English. We were just running, and then I tripped and fell, and they started laughing at me and insulting me. Before my very eyes the ponies all morphed into people: Angel, Tia, Muffy, Lana. All of them, just pointing at me and jeering.
Then I was stuck in this box, banging on invisible walls, suffocating in the all-consuming blackness. There was no escape. Absolutely none. My throat closed up and my head buzzed, and my eyes felt as if they were bugging out of my skull.
Not good.
"Ellie."
The voice called to me, a strangely familiar voice, seeping in the cracks of my hallucinating mind. I latched onto the word, trying to distinguish the owner, but there was nothing.
"Ellie, baby, come on. Wake up."
The box around me crumbled, turning into dust that scattered from an unseen wind. The voice seemed louder; amplified. Calling to me from every corner.
"Ellie, please."
With everything in me I grabbed onto those two words, holding on for dear life, letting them pull me from this horrible sea of darkness.
Ellie, please.
Two hands. Up and up and up I seemed to climb, until my head broke the surface and I could breathe. I could breathe.
Ellie, please.
"August."
His name slipped off my tongue as easily as the oxygen from my lungs. Natural. Right. I said it again, and then one more time, as I pried my heavy eyelids apart and focused on my surroundings. There was this clashing sensation of cold and warm, and shivering, and pounding. Pounding in my head, my heart, whatever thing I lay against. Numbness tingled along my body. My head ached. Everything ached, actually. It was a stiff sensation, like my body was defrosting.
And I guessed it was.
Everything came back to me. The safe house burning, me barely getting out, and spending an indefinite amount of time out in the cold. Surely I had some form of hypothermia? Surely there was some thread in the universe that wanted nothing more than to keep me alive. Before I would have shaken my fist at this obscure thread, for prolonging my pain. But now, I had to be thankful. Because what better option was there than to live?
Simple.
There was nothing better.
"Augie," I breathed, eyes focusing on his bare chest. Something wasn't adding up. I was pressed tight against him, and he seemed to be nearly completely naked. Upon further investigation, all I wore was a silk slip. There were three blankets wrapped around us, encasing us in a secure cocoon of warmth . . . what?
"Ellie . . . hey, Ellie." His fingers skirted across my temple, and I flicked my gaze up to his.
"What happened?" I asked, trying to calm my wild heart beats. "Wh-where am I?"
"Don't talk. Don't talk." His forehead pressed hard against mine as each hot breath fanned across my face. "Save your energy."
I was confused, though. There were so many unanswered questions, and so many loose ends that didn't add up in my head. I needed some clarification.
Trying to move was futile. Lethargy consumed my body and will. "It's c-cold," I mumbled, drawing comfort in the way our bodies were aligned. Our foreheads and the tips of our noses touched. His strong body enveloped mine. It was as if I were a part of him. The feeling was sensational.
"You were so cold," August whispered. "I'm sorry. This was the best way I could think to warm you up."
He didn't need to apologize. I wasn't complaining.
There was a lot of explaining to do, but for the moment, just that one moment, I didn't care. Because all I wanted to do was lie in his arms and believe for a second that everything would be okay. Pretending hurt, but sometimes, it was just better than the truth.
Better, all the way around.
"Ellie?"
It was Blake, shuffling into the room with a sheepish look on his face. Everything about his posture was apologetic. My brain could identify why; because he had left me. I needed him with me, and he left.
He wasn't supposed to leave.
But I couldn't place all the blame on him, because back then at the safe house, I had been okay with it.
"Son of a bitch," August muttered, before ripping the covers away and leaping up off the couch. He strode toward Blake wearing only a pair of plaid boxers and promptly decked the blonde man across the face. Blake crashed to the ground, holding his nose. Despite my swimming head I shot up, eyes widening at the scene.
"You stupid, stupid moron!" August shouted, holding Blake down to drill another fist into his face. "One job. You had one fucking job, and you almost got her killed!"
Blake held his hands up in a meager attempt to ward off some of the blows. "I'm sorry, man!"
Smack. Another punch. "How good would your sorry be if she was dead, huh? How good would it be, then?"
I scrambled off the couch, stumbling toward them on shaky legs. "Stop," I tried, shivering at the cool draft. I missed August's body heat. I grabbed his fist with both my hands before he could deck Blake again, drawing his movements to an abrupt halt. "Stop, Augie."
The bloodlust from his gaze cleared as he looked down at me. "You're shivering again," he noted.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
"Dude," Blake piped in, "I'm bleeding down here. Heavily."
Adrenaline gone, August crawled off Blake, grabbing his shirt to haul him to his feet. "You'll be fine."
He snorted, and then winced. "Says you."
"You deserve it, though."
"I know." Blake turned to me. "I'm so sorry, Ellie. I should have been there for you. There is no adequate excuse to offer for letting them get to you."
Footsteps padded out of the kitchen, preceding a strong flowery smell. Jessica.
"If you would both stop being a bunch of testosterone-junky jackasses for just a second, can we please focus on the key issue, here? And making sure Ellie doesn't have any permanent damage?"
Ryan stood behind Jessica, and I realized all attention was freshly focused on me. I wrapped my arms around my middle, shivering uncontrollably. "I'm f-fine."
She rolled her eyes. "Right, because that's definitely not a lie." She set the mug of cocoa down on the coffee table. "This is to warm you up inside. Drink it. As for you," she said, glaring toward Blake, "come in the kitchen with me and Ryan. We'll patch your dumbass head up."
And then they were gone, and it was just August and me.
The hot chocolate was steaming, hazy billows of smoke curling into the air before seeming to dissipate into nothing. My toes and legs tingled as full feeling worked its way through my bloodstream. I couldn't remember wanting anything more than I wanted hot chocolate in that moment.
"I'm sorry," August spoke, scratching the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have . . . I just sort of lost control."
I nodded, glancing around the cabin-like place. It reminded me of the one back in Schenectady, where August took me to get the bullet out of my leg. "Where are we?"
"Still in Denver, I think. Jessica and her family used to come here on vacations. It's perfectly safe."
"Oh." Another crisp draft breezed through the room. A window with the curtains parted let me know it was still snowing strong. "The safe house burned down."
"I know."
Tears welled in my eyes for some reason. "I'm sorry, August."
Confused, he approached me with furrowed brows. "Why are you sorry, Ellie? You did nothing wrong."
"But it was me they targeted. It is my fault."
"Don't say that."
"But-"
"Just shut up, okay?" he snapped, and I did, pressing my lips tightly together. August released a frustrated breath, digging his fingers into his temple. "Christ, Ellie, I-never mind. You're shivering; you need to keep warm."
"Okay."
I returned to the couch, about to wrap the blankets around my body, but August slid in behind me before I could. His skin against mine sparked tiny buds of heat, enough to have me plenty warm enough in seconds. One of his arms hooked around my stomach, drawing me back against him, and with the other he tucked the blankets around us. I grabbed my hot chocolate to sip tentatively, trying not to think about our position, but it was all I could focus on.
"You're really warm," I ended up saying, the complete opposite of what I wanted to come out of my mouth.
But he chuckled. "And you're really cold, so I guess it's okay."
My head lolled to the side, resting against his arm. The heat from the mug seared my fingers in the best way possible. "August."
"Mm."
"Why have you been avoiding me?"
His body stiffened slightly beneath me. "It's complicated."
"I shouldn't think so."
"Well, of course you wouldn't. But it goes deeper than literal stuff on the surface. I can't-I'm trying to figure some stuff out, and I just needed some time."
"Away from me."
"Yes."
"Oh." I wasn't sure how I felt about that. "Okay."
Neither of us said anything more, so I sipped my hot chocolate and closed my eyes, focusing on the steady way his chest rose and fell behind me. Comfort personified.
"Are you uncomfortable with me?"
"What?"
I pulled out of his arms, setting the mostly-empty hot chocolate on the table. Interestingly enough, when leaving his lap created the pocket of air between us, I could breathe. Everything inside my head functioned so much better. "I just wonder if . . . I don't know. Nothing, I guess."
"Don't do that. I can't stand it when you do that."
My cheeks burned. The last remnants of ice trickled out of my veins, leaving my body entirely. "What do you mean?"
"Avoid things that you don't understand. Things that make you uncomfortable. Just spout it out."
"I don't do well spouting things out."
"Believe me, I know."
I pulled my knees into my chest, wrapping my arms around them. The blanket pooled around August's waist. I'd never been particularly aware of his physical stature before, but for some reason, his warmth called out to me. The familiar cocoon of his arms; the way my body folded into his. My head buzzed with the incessant demand to wrap myself around him and never let go.
It was maddening.
And this urge was so unlike me, but that meant nothing. Because it did naught to quell the rage and intensity of it. I'd never felt true desire before. Nothing like the red hot burst through my veins, and the itching in my fingertips to press them against his taught skin.
Stop. You need to stop.
But I couldn't.
I just couldn't.
Jessica, Blake and Ryan were whispering in the kitchen, but at my silence had also fallen quiet. I didn't even really care if they were eavesdropping. Just saved me from having to repeat anything later.
"People try to simplify things for me, because I don't always understand. Or step around the truth because they don't think I can handle it. I just . . . am I bothering you? I know we've been through a lot but I know that sometimes . . ." I didn't know how to finish the sentence, so I let it hang. August stared at me with semi-comprehension, lips parted slightly, and darn it, I couldn't stop staring at them. My eyes honed in on that one point and stuck there, like a lock engaged on my pupils, keeping them from moving. Those lips could express so many emotions; sadness, anger, confusion, longing. I didn't have to touch them to remember the feeling; soft and chapped. Languid; easy. Careful.
Stop it, Ellie.
But I could not.
"You don't bother me," those lips said. "How could you think that?"
Well, I thought a lot of things. Really, my mind was always going. Tossing in the worst possible way, churning out nightmarish possibilities, freezing out all the happy parts of reality. It was just one more natural wonder in the complex web of uncertain doubts.
A crash sounded out in the kitchen, along with a female voice hissing, "Shut up!" Silence blanketed once more. August reached out a hesitant hand to touch my arm, and I only jerked away because the feeling was static. Not because it was unwanted, but because electricity crackled over my skin and jolted everything within me to life.
Whoa.
August's lips pressed together, taking my rejection the wrong way.
Okay, I thought to myself. It's okay, just breathe through it.
Hard to do when your lungs refused to function.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," August muttered dryly, "but I guess we have our answer."
He jumped up and stormed from the room, and I opened my mouth to call him back, but found I had absolutely no idea what to say. So he left out the front door, into the raging snow. Where he would go, I had no idea. He had a habit of disappearing when he wanted to.
It was about that time the trio in the kitchen tumbled into the main room, gawping my way.
"I can't believe the guy's fucking self-control," Ryan said first. "I mean . . . how?"
Jessica shoved him from behind, casting me a sympathetic look. "Are you okay?"
Of course I wasn't. But still I said, "I'm fine."
Blake shoved his hands in his pockets. His nose was all crooked, and a white piece of tissue was shoved up one nostril. "Where did he go?" he asked, voice nasal and higher in pitch.
"I don't know. I never know."
Cue sorry glances.
"But I don't care," I added, feeling that familiar spark of irritation. Only August. Only August. "He seems confused and frustrated, so I'll let him sort out his issues."
"Ellie . . ."
"No, it's fine. I'm fine. If he comes back, tell him to forget everything I said." And with that, I dragged myself into the room on the other side of the main living space. It was my designated area, because hefting my beaten body up the stairs got old real fast, and it was just more convenient that way.
Curse August for being unable to make up his mind. For making me feel all these things and not giving me the freedom to experience them.
In fact, he made me feel downright guilty for wanting to want him.
You just need to stop it now, while you're ahead.
Except I wasn't ahead. I was so far behind, and powerless to catch up, and a vulnerable mess of things I was just beginning to understand.
In a fit of sudden anger, I grabbed the pillow off the bed and flung it against the wall. A single picture of the surrounding woodsy scenery rattled and shook, but I didn't care.
Of all the things to keep me up at night, it was August.
August.
Curse these stupid emotions.
Who needed them, anyway?