all.
The waves crashed against the rocks, churning white froth that broke apart and lifted into the wind. Dark clouds rolled in, blocking the sun before releasing rain in solid streams that soaked me in seconds. My fury frothed along with the water, but I was all build up and no release. No rocks to pound out my anger nor wind to send me floating toward the sky.
I tightened my fists until blood dripped from my palms. The pain wasn't enough to distract me, not nearly.
Thunder boomed overhead, echoing off the cliff face and up to the hotel.
"Couldn't have helped me the fuck out, huh?" I didn't know who I was screaming at. My chin pointed toward the black clouds. I snarled at the idea that someone, like Quinlan's archangel parent, was up there listening. I deserved the shit I got in my life, but Quin didn't. "He's part you, you know. Part angel. Do you not fucking care? Or is it only because he's mine?"
Lightning cracked horizontally across the sky.
"Yeah? That's your answer? Well fuck you. FUCK YOU!" I screamed until the words dissolved into no words at all. They'd melted together to create a single, tortured roar that drifted away on the ocean wind.
3
Quinlan
The blanket Jazz gave me was soft with a scent that was immediately soothing. With my nose shoved deep in the blanket's folds, I inhaled and sighed, lying back into the pile of pillows as my wraiths settled on either side of me. I couldn't recall the smell, nor place it to a source, but it made my pounding heart pound a little less.
Of course, the moment I let my guard down, this would all dissolve away, and I'd realize again that I was still in that room, under Pierce's control, helpless and hopeless.
Don't trusssst. Only ussssss. My wraiths vibrated. I felt their words more than I heard them. Trussssst nothing but ussss.
I shoved the blanket away from my face and gathered my legs tightly against my front. The others had left a while ago, telling me to get some sleep. They assured me they'd stay nearby, and some sense inside me told me that they were close.
When Jazz had asked me if I felt our connection, I'd been relieved to hear it wasn't in my head.
Liessssss. Trickssss. No trusssst. Only ussss.
It wasn't real.
It was never real.
But real or not, the things I'd seen clung to me like scabs that never healed. They only ever broke open, bringing fresh pain to old wounds.
If this wasn't real, then I had no reason to linger. Why pretend I was safe? Why pretend I'd found men who called me brother and made me feel safe on a soul-deep level? I reached for my whip off the bedside table and squeezed the familiar, worn handle. It was nice that one of them had remembered to grab it.
Be ready. Sssstay ready, my wraiths warned. My constant companions had sprouted from my chest the moment I'd realized my nightmares had come true.
They were right, like always. Already, I'd let my guard down.
I'd never felt this way toward anyone—not even the man who'd sworn to protect me—but, like everything else, this emotion could be fabricated. After years of not being able to trust what I saw or felt, I'd believed nothing could shock me anymore. I wasn't the same boy I'd been in the beginning, clinging to each fabricated image with hope, only to have it dashed at the end. Crying all day every day had been exhausting. This was better.
Being empty was better.
I ignored the connection that allowed me to know without verifying that Jazz was in the room to my right, Sitka was down the hallway, and Storri was in the room directly to my left. That was a weird detail to make up, and I couldn't quite figure out Pierce's angle, but he would have one. I concentrated on the things I knew that were real. Me. I was real. However unfortunate that fact had become, it was still true. My wraiths were ever-changing in form, size, and consistency, but they were real. My whip was real. I tightened my grip on the handle.
Everything else was debatable.
Let'sssss go. The wraiths slithered to the door. They trusted less than I did, which made sense since they came from me and had known only torture and despair. The days I'd been left alone in my room to stew and wither were as bad as the nights Pierce spent forcing image after image