Chapter 48 #2
“So Heaven is real? Like in the Bible? Is God real?” I couldn’t stop the questions from tumbling past my lips, one after the other.
“Not quite like in the Bible. Heaven is a real place, though, yes. God is…real, as well. Not in the way you think.”
I furrowed my brows, waiting for him to elaborate.
“Imagine the Abrahamic religions were half-right and Greek mythology was half-right—in all the things they believed to be true. That’s how everything actually works.”
A sudden moment of clarity struck me and panic speared sharp through my brain—only to disappear after an instant. I couldn’t feel panic…at all. And if I wanted to panic about that fact, I still couldn’t.
“Please move,” I said with as much force as I could muster, tightening my hands into fists. “I can’t fucking think with you like this.”
Micah dropped his hands from the wall and backed up one step, giving me just enough room to walk around him.
I didn’t turn back to look at the wings, choosing instead to stalk straight through the kitchen into the living room.
I grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the couch then tossed it over my head, curling up into a ball on the leather armchair, the blanket blocking out the world.
I heard Micah enter the room a few moments later, and I was pretty sure he was just standing in the middle, staring at me under the blanket. My breath was warm on my face against the knit, the leather cool under my cheek.
“What is the gold?” I asked, voice slightly muffled.
“Ichor,” Micah answered. “It’s what angels’ power comes from.”
I blinked into the darkness. “…Power?”
“There’s more to an angel than just wings.”
“Okay,” I responded slowly, choosing not to linger on the mention of other powers. This was too much for me to wrap my head around, and I was still confused by my complete lack of panic. “Are you immortal?”
“Yes.”
A chill moved through my bones.
“How old are you?”
“Ninety-something.”
My lips pressed together and I stared wide-eyed at nothing, my eyes unfocused on the inside of the knit blanket. “Mason?”
“About the same age. A couple years younger.”
Okay…
“Can you die at all?” I didn’t even know what I wanted the answer to my question to be. Probably yes, so I knew they weren’t entirely invulnerable.
“Yes. Angels need to breathe neon the way humans need to breathe oxygen. That’s it.”
I took a good minute to process that information, then I carefully pulled the blanket off my face, lifting my head up to look at Micah standing on the rug.
The black wings were still framing his powerful body, like living shadows surrounding him.
It was strange, the way my body could feel a little afraid but my mind couldn’t. I still had a pit in my stomach.
“I don’t know what to make of any of this,” I informed him, sitting up and pulling my knees to my chest, the blanket wrapped around my shoulders. “I feel like I’m having a nightmare. Do your wings actually work?”
There was another rustling sound as he extended them, the blackness stretching across most of the room. They were huge.
“Yes. They work. Do you want to touch them?”
Not really.
I want you to tell me you’re joking and this is some elaborate Halloween costume, then we can go back to normal. I wish this wasn’t real, because how am I supposed to ignore it?
But I didn’t say any of my thoughts aloud. I tentatively stood up, the blanket falling and pooling around my feet on the rug, then took a few steps towards Micah. He was holding perfectly still, save for the rise and fall of his chest, and his silver-blue eyes tracking my every movement.
I approached and stood in front of him, then carefully reached over his shoulder.
My fingers brushed over his feathers and feeling them, feeling their solidness under my fingertips, made cold sweat drip down my spine.
I needed to get the hell out of this house, but I knew Micah wouldn’t let me leave.
I could see it in his stare. Tears welled in my eyes and I did nothing to stop them, allowing the salty drops to quietly spill over my lower lashes.
He is nothing I should want now that I know this.
But every time I told myself to leave, I only leaned nearer.
Micah tucked the wings in closer to his body again, so I walked around behind him to see them more clearly. Confused, angry, upset, scared, needy tears continued their descent over my pale cheeks.
Stupid prey, walking further into his forest, unable to stop.
I so desperately wanted him to be my sanctuary in this moment that I’d sacrifice my own physical safety for it. He takes care of me. He protects me.
He rolled his shoulders, his strong muscles moving fluidly beneath his warm skin, flexing and tightening around the thick base of each wing.
Fingers trembling, I touched one of his wings again, skimming my touch over dozens and dozens of rows of smoky feathers.
I sniffled, an ache building in my chest.
“What am I supposed to do?” I whispered, barely audible.
“Keep my secret.” He pulled me around the front of him again, cupping my face with one hand, steadying me even as he shook my entire world apart. “Can you do that?”
“Of course I can do that.” I wiped my eyes.