Wounded Angel (The Earth Angels) - By Stacy Gail Page 0,46
an ocean.
“Nate.”
Ella. Her voice was fast becoming his personal drug of choice, though he wasn’t about to let her in on his blooming addiction. After the hell life had put her through, the last thing she needed to know was that the mere sound of her voice both soothed his nerves and excited him as profoundly as an intimate caress. When that voice called his name, the troubles of the world melted away.
“Nate.” She was seated across from him in a fancy off-the-shoulder ball gown that was the same color as the night-darkened water around them. “We need to get to shore if you want to finish this.”
“I know.” And suddenly he did know. Every instinct he possessed screamed for him to move, move, move; the storm brewing within the glass box called his name. He dug the oars into the water and pulled with all his might; muscles strained and lungs burned with the effort as he rowed for what seemed like an eternity. But no matter how hard he pulled, the shore remained a distant impossibility.
“That won’t work.”
“I don’t know how else to do it.” He looked up to find Ella standing precariously on her seat, facing the shore and now dressed in her kickboxing outfit, complete with pink boxing gloves. “Get down from there, it’s dangerous. You’ll fall.”
“It’s worth the risk. The question is, what are you willing to risk?”
God, he hated it when dreams made no sense. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You mother was a coward, you know. She wasn’t willing to take a risk and live up to her full potential. It’s sad how you share that trait.”
Fury sliced through him. “That’s bullshit. I always embraced my gift. I tried my best to help people with it, though I was nowhere near as talented as she was. I never once denied what gifts I had.”
“But the moment things didn’t go exactly the way you wanted, you killed part of yourself, just like your mother.”
“I’m. Not. Like. Her.”
“Then why can’t you see what you must find?”
“I already found you. I don’t need to find anything else.”
At last she pulled her attention away from the shore, and a jolt went through him when he noticed the eyes staring back at him were a vivid cornflower blue rather than the dark brown he was used to. “Need? What you need to do is move, Nate. When are you going to cut free of your anchor?”
Nate bared his teeth. “I mean it from the bottom of my heart when I say that I don’t have time for this shit. What anchor?”
“Don’t you see it?”
“What...?” Automatically he looked around, only to discover a chain looped around his wrist and up his arm, winding all the way around his body. The other end trailed into the inky dark water, but it was still clear enough for him to see there were people tangled up in the heavy links. He recognized the faces of the family he’d found and returned to their deaths. Beyond them on another chain branching off from the original strand, floated Briella Fields and Gabrielle Litte, along with Jasmine Sims. They all stared back at him as if waiting for him to...
What? What was he supposed to do?
Avenge them.
“Let go of this anchor, Nate. It’s crippling you at a time when you’re needed the most. You need to find him before he’s ready. If you don’t...”
When Ella didn’t finish, he looked back to where she stood, only to find himself alone in the boat. “Ella?” More chains clinked over the boat’s side. Sick dread washed over him when he looked back into the water and saw Ella with the rest of the dead.
“Ella!” His scream echoed in his ears when he bolted wide awake into Ella’s arms.
Chapter Eleven
Ella squinted as she turned on the light over the combined kitchenette-living area, then stubbed her toe on the pullout sofa bed she’d been sleeping on when Nate’s yell woke her. She’d never been stellar first thing after waking, but being hollered out of a surprisingly sound sleep had her at a new uncoordinated low.
“Looks like water’s pretty much the only thing I can offer up.” After cussing out her stubbed toe and perusing the mini-fridge, she plucked up a cold bottle and moved to the king-sized bed she’d insisted he take. The very idea of him trying to fit on the flimsy sofa bed was snort-worthy, and after the information overload she’d endured she’d felt like she could sleep