MJ’s right—Justin wasn’t really there. I understand that now. I’m safe. I have to move past what Justin did to me and focus on the good things.
Like MJ. His heart was beating. That shouldn’t be possible. But I felt it. And he said it was because of me. I want to know when else it’s happened—see if I can figure out what I did to spur that in him. It’s a miracle, and miracles always turn out good. They have to.
After dressing, I open the door to my room, letting MJ know he can come back in. He was waiting in the hallway. I told him to go downstairs and watch TV, but he didn’t want to. Ever since we got home from the bridge, he’s been hovering over me like crazy. It’s sort of annoying, though I also sort of don’t mind—not after everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. But I wish he’d tell me why. Now more than ever, I suspect he was lying at the bridge—someone was watching us.
MJ sits on my desk chair, watching as I fuss with my bed, trying to buy some time. I’m usually not this nervous about meeting new people, but my emotions are all over the place. Plus, they’re not exactly “people.”
Adding to my nerves is the unnatural silence in the house. I miss my family. I want to make good on the promise I made to myself yesterday to show them how much they mean to me.
“MJ, where’s my family?”
“I sent them out for the day after I compelled them.”
I flinch, then hope he didn’t see it. I was glad last night when he told me others were coming to compel the town and that he would compel my family so no one would remember Justin. I didn’t want my family especially to remember the awful things he made them do. But today . . . it just feels wrong to take away someone’s memories—even the bad ones.
When I notice MJ isn’t talking, I stop messing with my bed and glance over my shoulder at him.
“You and I need to discuss a few things before they return,” he says. “We’ll do that after you meet my team.”
I hold back a shudder. I’m already anxious for the upcoming meeting with his “team,” and now I’m also anxious about what he needs to talk to me about before I can see my family.
Suddenly he’s standing beside me, taking my hand. His essence rushes in, familiar with the space.
“Their memories of the last few days no longer match yours,” he explains. “But don’t worry. We’ll discuss how to handle that later.”
I give him a weak smile. Not wanting to think about how we’ll handle my memories not matching the rest of the town’s, I say, “Tell me about them—the Protectors. I assume you’ve told them about me, so it’s only fair.”
He sits on my bed, then tugs on my hand for me to join him. My stomach dips. Even though we spent the whole night together, it’s different now. I was still recovering and in shock; now I’m fully aware of him.
My gaze falls to his lips, and my mind flashes back to our kiss on the bridge. My lips are dry and my skin tingles, longing to be in his arms again.
We’re alone.
If we kissed here . . . what would happen?
On the bridge, I was lost in his essence—lost in him. The fire distracted me. Without it, who knows how far the kiss would have gone.
I blush, then sit beside MJ.
His knuckles graze my heated cheeks. My stomach rolls, and I fight the urge to kiss him.
“What do you want to know?” he asks.
I take a breath to calm myself. “I don’t know. What are they like? How long have you known them? Why are they here over all the other Protectors you know?”
He smiles. “Tamitha is the newest Protector in the group. She joined us three years ago. Her mortal life was very structured and organized—every detail planned out. That stayed with her, and it’s proven useful on many assignments.
“Sissy spent most of her mortal life caring for others. She became a Protector during the First World War. She’s undoubtedly the smartest woman I know.
“Alexander has been with me for over two centuries. He died protecting his town and has since gone on to help me protect millions of people. He’s my confidant. He helped me many times in the last week with you—including last night—and he’s very eager to meet you. He wants to thank you for changing my mind about being reborn.”
He smiles again, waiting for my reply, but all I can think about is how long he’s known them. I’ve been avoiding thinking about MJ’s past life. I’m not sure I want to know the exact number of years he’s existed. He looks somewhere between seventeen and twenty, but his soul is much older. Having seen the barbaric men who killed him and the living conditions in the village, I would guess he lived before even Shakespeare, but I’m not sure . . .
Being that people can be reborn, technically all souls could be as old as his, if not older—including mine. Because he’s an angel, MJ just gets the advantage of retaining many lifetimes of memories. And he uses that knowledge to save people. That should count for something.
“When did you—” I can’t say “die.” That would definitely make this weirder. “When did you become a Protector?”
His smile falls, and he turns away, staring out the window. “I’ll tell you that when we have more time. Right now, my team is waiting, which I believe is the real reason you’re stalling.”
I sigh and look away.
Not even a second later, he’s kneeling in front of me. His hand strokes my cheek, tilting my head so I can’t hide from him. “Do you think I would ever put you at risk?”
“No . . .”
I pause, trying to find the right words to describe how I feel. Angel or not, he can’t save me from everything. We learned that the hard way yesterday.
“Not if you had a choice,” I continue. “But I think you’re stuck now. You need help. And if you think this is a good idea, then I trust you.”
We stare at each other in silence. I want him to tell me I’m right, but he doesn’t. Instead his face shifts, displaying whatever emotions are rippling inside him. When his emotions settle, my jaw clenches as I recognize the look on his face—it’s one I do often enough. His face is taut, and humor has left his eyes. Whatever he’s thinking, he won’t hear any arguments against it.
“Don’t forget—you’re not just any mortal. You stopped me when I made the worst mistake of my life and tried to attack you. You fought off an abnormally skilled demon and saved your sister. As horrified as I am that you had to do that, I’m also glad you can defend yourself. Trust your gut out there with my team. If anything doesn’t feel right to you, squeeze my hand and I’ll take you to safety.”
His words are meant to comfort me, but they don’t. It sounds as if he too thinks things could go bad there.
“Come on,” he whispers. Mischief fills his eyes as he smirks. “Don’t make me dare you.”
Our first date flashes through my mind, and I try my best not to grin. “You wouldn’t.”
“Why not? I’m on a winning streak.”
“You won once. That’s not a streak.”
“I wasn’t just talking about bowling.”
Confused, I lean back.
He leans in, running his nose along mine.
My entire body tingles. If I weren’t sitting down, I would have collapsed to the floor.
“I won you,” he whispers, and I feel his words on my lips.
“Haven’t you figured out that I’m unlucky?” I ask, barely recognizing the breathless voice that comes out of me.
“Luck has nothing to do with it, Maddy. You are a courageous, selfless, brilliant, cunning, gorgeous woman. I thank Father every day for the choices I’ve made that led me to you. When I say I ‘won’ you, I don’t mean you’re some prize or trophy. I mean I feel as if I won the test of a lifetime, and the gift of having you in my life is my reward. You are my true salvation.”
“MJ, I—” I’m at a loss for words. I’m not . . . what he said. But telling him that would do nothing but start another fight. Instead I say, “Let’s go meet your friends.”
. . .
We hold hands on the way to the park across the street. After all the heavy discussions we’ve had this morning, the farther we get from my house, the lighter I feel. By the time we reach the corner, my mind is clear.
I swing our joined hands as I hop over the curb. I like holding hands with MJ. My skin tingles, butterflies nervously flutter in my belly, and I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. I feel giddy and excited. That’s surprising, knowing what I’m about to do. But I suppose meeting your boyfriend’s friends is supposed to be nerve-racking. Take away the fact that these friends might kill me, and this is something most couples deal with in the beginning.
As his essence increases inside me, I get the feeling he isn’t holding my hand just because he likes to. He’s monitoring my emotions and trying to keep me calm. I’m smiling, and the sun is shining. So far, I think I’m doing well.
We round the curve in the parking lot and stop as three people materialize where Ben and MJ fought on Monday.
They’re all dressed similarly to MJ in jeans and white shirts. On the right is a slender woman. She’s the shortest of the group, though she still has three inches on me. She has olive skin, the most dazzling chestnut eyes I’ve ever seen, and perfect wavy brown hair. Not a single strand is out of place even with the light breeze.
Next to her is a guy with spiked brown hair, calm brown eyes, and a timid but friendly smile. He must be Alexander. He’s stocky, more muscular than MJ, but looks more like a teddy bear than a brute.
The last one has me fighting an urge to step back. She’s gorgeous like the other two, with pale skin, brown eyes, and curly auburn hair. She’s smiling, but it seems forced. It’s not the smile, though, that makes me wary. It’s her eyes.
While Alexander and the brunette angel alternate between staring at me and MJ, she’s fixated on our joined hands. As if she’s waiting for the exact moment MJ lets go.
Before I can panic, a burst of heated energy flows into me. It rushes up into my heart, filling the space easily, as if it’s always belonged there. Then it spreads to the rest of me. My senses sharpen as muscles all over my body tighten and twitch with excitement.
I’ve felt this before—when I’ve perceived a danger of some sort. This, whatever it is, makes me feel whole. It helped me defend myself against Justin, Ben, and even MJ. And just as I did those times, I find a desire growing.
A desire for the angel to attack me so I can fight her.
The new energy searches out MJ’s essence, pulling it away from every place it’s lingering inside me. Then, without warning, the new energy forces MJ’s essence out of me.
“Ouch, Maddy.” MJ pulls his hand away from me and shakes it. “What did you just do?”
I want to tell him I didn’t do it, but before I can answer him, a flash of red moves in the corner of my eye. I turn. The redhead’s running at me.
Time slows as MJ dashes in front of me using his angelic speed, but this time I can see ripples in the air behind him.
The other two Protectors follow the redhead—rushing at me.
I think back to my lessons with Duane, trying to pick a fighting stance to defend this type of attack. I know nothing may work against an angel, but I have to try.
But suddenly my body moves on its own—shifting and bending until I’m standing at an angle with one hand held back ready to attack, the other outstretched, waiting to block her.
Bright light flashes in the sky as thunder crashes. The ground rumbles underneath me, causing all the Protectors to halt in their tracks.
They turn to me.
The three new Protectors’ faces range from apprehensive to shocked to furious. MJ’s furious too, his eyes that frightening shade of red that belongs to demons. The redhead betrayed him. She betrayed his trust. She hurt my MJ.
The energy inside me changes from a buzzing excitement to fury.
A ripping noise, louder than all other sounds, echoes through the air as if thick fabric were torn in two. Jagged lines cut through the pavement, stretching from one end of the parking lot to the other.
The redness leaves MJ’s eyes, and his jaw drops.
The ground shakes with such force that it takes everything I’ve got to stay upright. Once it settles, I look back at MJ, only to find a seven-foot gap separating us.
MJ and the redhead glare at each other for a moment, then they each race toward me.
My hands rise again in defense, acting again on their own. Heat builds in my palms, growing so fast it feels as if they’re immersed in flames, though I feel no pain. My hands lift to the sky. A moment later, massive flames burst out of the ground.
My left hand slices through the air. The fire follows the movement, swirling around me. Just as on the bridge, I’m encased in a flame tornado. This time, without MJ and his protective bubble, I feel the heat. It feels and smells wonderful. As if I’m sitting beside a bonfire. It’s familiar, for some reason reminding me of . . . home.
I may not know what’s happening, and I don’t want to be separated from MJ, but I’m glad for this. I’m glad I—or this unknown source of energy—saved myself from the angry angel.
Once she’s gone, and MJ and I are safe, I’ll figure out what—or who—is overtaking me. I need to know how to control this. Until then, I’m not taking my eyes off my MJ.