Broken Wings (An Angel Eyes Novel) - By Shannon Dittemore Page 0,88

head, ape-like, and lowers his sword. It’s just a momentary lapse, but it’s all the time Canaan needs. He shoots forward, grabbing the demon’s lowered scimitar in his left hand and shoving it upward. With his right hand, Canaan swings his own sword wide. Simultaneously, the demons are sliced through—one through the chest, the smaller one losing his head. Their forms hiss and smoke, but Canaan’s past them already, leaving Jelly’s and Main Street behind.

39

Brielle

Damien’s here, isn’t he?” Kaylee is huddled behind me, her breath ragged. “He did that to your dad.”

I nod. Afraid to do more than that. My fingers find the quilt on the couch, and I tug it toward me. It’s still wet with the blood from Dad’s head, but I find a clean corner and press it to his shoulder. He remains still. Deathly still.

My hands tremble.

“What do you want?” I whisper to the demon hanging over me.

I hate that my voice sounds subservient, hate that he’s reduced me to that. I hate his voice in my head and the simple answer he gives me.

“I want you. I want Jake.”

His chest is slick with fear. I’ve never noticed how thick it is on him. Is everything he does motivated by it?

I look at my dad’s face, white and clammy, hear Kaylee’s stifled cries, and I wonder what Damien sees when he looks at me. I wonder if the fear is just as thick on my skin as it is on his.

I’m afraid, but my soul is safe.

“I don’t know where Jake is,” I say. “But take me. Leave my dad and Kaylee. Leave them alone and take me.”

For a second I think he considers the option. Am I worth that much? And is this how I die? Maybe that’s why the ring disappeared from the chest. Maybe I won’t be alive to wear it.

But then his wings snap, all irritation and resolve.

“It may come to that, but not yet.”

“Not ever.”

I spin toward the kitchen, and there he stands.

Canaan, in all his celestial glory. Jake is there too, his face anxious, fear like pinpricks along his arms and neck.

“Elle?” Kaylee’s voice reminds me that she can’t see any of this. That her emotions are surfing on every move of my head, on every twitch of my face.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Canaan’s here. And Jake.”

She turns toward the kitchen, to the spot I stare at hungrily.

“I can’t . . . can’t see them.”

“I know, but I can.”

Jake presses against Canaan’s inner wings, his eyes as hot as ever, and I can’t help thinking of the first time I saw him. Of the chill that held me captive the day I caught him staring at me through Miss Macy’s window.

“Keith’s hurt, Canaan,” Jake says.

Canaan draws his sword. Behind me, Damien rises to his full height, the talons on his feet digging into the arms of Dad’s chair. He draws his own sword. And then something I really should have anticipated: he grabs the back of my shirt and lifts me into the chair before him. His massive arm circles my waist, and I feel the fear creep from his arms to my stomach. It burrows inside, turning my gut into a lake of frozen ice.

“Elle . . .” Kaylee’s sobbing now, shaking and staring at me. “Elle.”

From behind Canaan, a ball of frenetic black energy appears. Another demon? But no, her eyes shine bright and pure. It’s an angel! A very small, very dark angel. Silky wings propel her forward, and she lands on Damien’s chest. Her wings flap hard and fast, and I’m reminded of the time I came face-to-face with a confused bat while rock climbing.

She seems to have the same effect on Damien. He releases my waist, his hands flying high to fight the onslaught. The flat edge of his sword connects with her abdomen, and he swats her away. But it’s too late; I’ve tumbled to the floor now. I land on Dad’s shins and quickly push away, crawling as fast as humanly possible. I grab Kaylee’s hand and drag her with me behind Canaan’s legs, where we huddle beneath his outer wings.

Canaan’s mind speaks to Damien’s. “Your sight has been restored.”

“By the Prince himself.” Damien lifts his chin, puffs out his broad chest, but Canaan’s face shows only sorrow.

“The Prince’s hands no longer possess a healing that can last, old friend. I do hope you know that.”

Damien’s face contorts, and he lunges. And then I feel the hot wind of the Celestial blowing

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