CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
Even beaten, starved, and tortured, he is beautiful.
Not in the conventional sense—his features are far too sharp for that, too otherworldly.
But there is something about him that makes my heart ache.
Maybe it’s the way his lips are cracked and bleeding, or the dark circles under his closed eyes, or the way he looks so utterly broken and yet somehow still defiant and powerful.
But it’s those striking eyes that stare at Jenna that pull at my heartstrings. They are pure molten gold, burning with an inner fire that seems at odds with his physical state. And they fix on Jenna with an intensity that makes me take a step back.
“You,” he rasps, his voice like gravel over broken glass.
“Yes, it’s me, Gabe. It’s Jenna,” she informs him before pressing her lips to his.
I watch in horror as his head snaps back, and he glares at her. “You… you’re not real.” he spits out, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “She’s gone. You. Are. Not. Real,” he repeats to himself.
“I’m real,” Jenna assures him, her hands coming up to cup his face. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
“She’s dead. You’re dead. I watched you die, over and over,” his pained voice repeats. I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or us. Fuck, I’m not even sure we aren’t dead, and this is just a last-ditch hallucination before my brain goes offline.
“I’m real,” she repeats as she fiddles with the shackle around his wrist. “And we’re going to get you out.”
A laugh bubbles up from Gabriel’s throat, bitter and raw. “Oh, so it’s this game again. An oldie but goody. No one… gets out. She won’t… allow it.”
I can only imagine what he has had to endure during his time here. Not only the breaking of his body, but also the breaking of his mind.
“Well, she’s not here right now,” I interject, stepping forward to examine the chains, nudging Jenna out of the way. “And we’re very determined. Sorry about the circumstances, but we’re kind of on a time crunch to get the fuck outta here.”
Those golden eyes swing over to me, and I feel pinned under their gaze like a butterfly in a collector’s case.
“Human? You’re new,” he observes. “Why… why would a human… come be here?” He laughs, and his head again drapes forward as if all the strength he had left to hold it up is now gone. “None of this is real,” he repeats.
The medical professional in me understands what he’s trying to do. He’s built up walls to protect his mind from cracking under what I can only assess as the most intense psychological torture imaginable. He believes Jenna and I are just another form of torture to break him down further.
“I ask myself that at least three times an hour,” I say as I grab the shackle around his wrist and examine it. “But here I am. Now hold still while we get you down.”
“The chains,” Gabriel warns. “Enchanted. Can’t… be broken.”
“Good thing we’re not planning on breaking them,” Jenna mutters. “We’re just going to persuade them to open.”
As she works to persuade the lock to somehow open, I move closer to Gabriel, trying to assess his injuries. It’s hard to know where to start. There are so many. Burns, cuts, what looks like acid damage, and bruises in every shade from fresh purple to sickly yellow-green.
“How long have you been here?” I ask gently, falling into my therapist voice without thinking.
Gabriel’s laugh is hollow. “What… is time? Could be… days. Could be… decades.” His eyes fix on me again. “She wants… me to love her. To say… the words. To mean… them.”
“Pestilence?” I clarified, though I already know the answer.
“Once,” he begins to elaborate, and then something crosses his face—pain that has nothing to do with his physical injuries. “Once… I would have… hell, once I did. But that was… a different life. A different… me.”
I watch Jenna’s hands still for just a moment, and I see her jaw tighten. Whatever history Gabriel has with Pestilence, it is clearly complicated. And from what I know about Pestilence and Gabriel from the stories I’ve heard, that is putting it mildly.
“Got it,” Jenna announces as the first chain clicks open. Gabriel’s right arm drops with an unceremonious thud, and he lets out a sound that is half-gasp, half-sob. The blood rushes back into his limb, and I watch as the pain etches across his face.
“Easy,” I soothe, moving to support his arm. The moment I touch him, I feel that same electric pulse I felt with Reaver. Something that speaks of a power barely contained, even in this weakened state. “The other one,” Gabriel begs. “Please.”
Jenna works faster on the second chain, and within moments, it too clicks open.
Gabriel’s full weight should have crashed to the ground immediately.
But the sound of flesh ripping echoes through the chamber as his wings tear from their spikes.
Jenna and I both lunge forward, catching him before he can hit the ground.
Even emaciated and beaten, he’s heavy—all muscle and dense bone structure.
“I’ve got you,” I assure him as we lower him to the ground. “We’ve got you.”
“Why?” Gabriel asks, and those golden eyes search mine with an intensity that is unnerving. “Why would you… risk this? You don’t… know me.”
“Because Jenna saved me and gave me hope,” I simply say. “And because no one deserves this. Not even a fallen Archangel who apparently destroyed the world once already. Besides, we have nothing better to do.”
That gets a real laugh out of him, though it turns into a coughing fit that sprays blood onto the stone floor. “You know… about that?”
“I’m a psychologist,” I say with a shrug, tearing strips from my shirt to use as bandages. “I’ve heard worse in my office. Trust me.”
“I doubt that.”
“You’d be surprised.” I begin wrapping the worst of his wounds, trying not to wince at the damage.
Some of these cuts looked like they were made with surgical precision, designed to cause maximum pain without killing.
“I treat all manner of beings in my practice, or at least I was starting to, before…” I let my voice trail off, not wanting to admit that Pesta tricked me and brought me here.
Gabriel stares at me for a moment, then lets out another broken laugh. “The world… has changed.”
“Well, at least mine has over the past few years, that’s for sure,” I admit. “Do you think you can walk?” I ask, hoping he has some strength left.
I take a step back as he tries to push himself up, but he immediately collapses back against the stone wall. “No,” he answers, his voice laden with defeat.
“Well, shit,” I look at Jenna, my mind racing, trying to figure out how we’re going to move him. “We can’t carry him out of here. He’s too big, and we have no leverage,” I say, looking at Jenna as she wraps her arms around him and nuzzles her cheek against his.
“Then I’ll walk,” Gabriel insists, again trying to stand. This time, he makes it to his knees before his legs give out. “Fuck!” he screams out in frustration and anger, banging his fists against the ground, his head falling forward.
“Stop being a stubborn ass,” I snap, falling back on the technique that always works with my more difficult clients—aggressive compassion. “You’ve been tortured for God knows how long and your body is in shock. You need to let us help you.”
“I don’t… need—”
“Yes, you do,” Jenna interrupts, moving to wrap her arm around his waist. “And we don’t have time for your martyr complex right now. Kennedy’s right—you can’t walk. So let me help you, you stubborn ass.”
She places her hands on Gabriel’s chest. “You need to drink,” Jenna states, and for a moment, I’m unsure about what she means until she tilts her head to the side, offering him her neck.
At first, nothing happens, Gabriel has no reaction, almost as if he doesn’t understand.
Then his eyes widen, and he inhales deeply, taking in her scent.
I watch in horror as his fangs descend, and he bites into Jenna’s neck.
Gabriel’s eyes widen with recognition. “Jenna,” he says as he pulls back, and I can hear and see the smile on his face, cracking through the dirt, grime, and fresh blood that covers his face.
“Shhhhh,” Jenna says, attempting to reassure him. “I may be a Harbinger of Death, but death is… complicated. It can take, but it can also give, just a little, just enough, and only for the man I love.”
I watch in fascination as color returns to Gabriel’s face. Not much—he still looks like hell—but enough that his breathing is eased and some of the worst cuts begin to heal.
“That’s amazing,” I breathe.
“It’s only temporary,” Jenna warns, and I remember when Michael saved Salem with his blood. “And it’s going to hurt like hell when it wears off. But it should get you mobile enough to move,” She reassures him.
Gabriel looks at her with something akin to awe before wrapping his hand around her head and pulling her down, his lips pressing against hers. I feel as if this moment shouldn’t be shared, but there is no place for me to go without them.
“I didn’t want to hope,” he admits as he presses his forehead to hers. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry I couldn’t—”
“Stop!” she cries. “Let’s focus on getting out of this place. Then we can spend the rest of our lives forgiving each other. It’s a conversation for later. Preferably somewhere that doesn’t smell like a septic tank had a baby with a slaughterhouse.”
“Poetic,” I note, holding my hand out and helping Gabriel to his feet. This time, he stays up, though he has to lean heavily on both of us.
“I try.” Jenna glances over at the door. “Ready?”
“No,” Gabriel and I say in unison.
“Perfect. Let’s go.” Jenna says as she takes a few small steps forward, testing out Gabriel’s ability.
There is no doubt that it will be slow going.
But having seen them together, I can feel how much they love each other.
And it makes my heart ache for Reaver even more, because I do love him, and I’ll do anything for him.