Falling Sons (continued)

Previously...Delilah is on the run from Lucifer's bounty party, but while trying to escape Omar was kidnapped by a group of Fallen and held hostage for information on Delilah's whereabouts. In order to keep the rest of them safe, Gus faked their deaths in a mock car accident that almost took his life before Delilah, Gaven, Gus and Tatyana continued on to the safe house. This is how their story continues...

Chapter Ten: Hound

Hound couldn’t believe that he had lost the girl’s scent. It would have been so easy to catch them, all of them. He was so ashamed he couldn’t even bring himself to face Katrina.

The light rain pattered against the large, flat slab of wood that he had propped up on two, uneven boulders. Scout was close to his side, shivering. It was his fault, of course. He made them believe that he had a good lead and was catching up to the girl and Omar. But in reality, he lost it far before, back in the city. Hound only hoped that he would find it again before the rain came, but he failed at that too.

The young half-breed, Leif, lied asleep on the ground. A stack of dry leaves shielded him from the dirt. He used his arms as a pillow.

Katrina seemed relaxed as she leaned her back against one of the human-sized boulders. She twirled a stick between her fingers. He could feel her eyes on him, but it was almost like her gaze prevented him from lifting his head.

Scout finally fell asleep just before the rain stopped. Katrina still twirled the stick.

Long moments of silence passed between them before she finally sighed, dropped the stick and got up. Once she was a safe distance away, he turned and watched her spread her gorgeous midnight wings. The moon light almost made them look blue. Her beautiful hair framed her face and he loved the rain boots she religiously wore. He felt his heart stop every time she laughed or smiled. He only wanted her to be happy.

They had always been friends and just that. He hadn’t realized how he truly felt until she picked Wesley. Hound never felt a greater jealousy than when he would see them together. It hadn’t been because they were happy and he wasn’t. Or because they had someone and he had nothing. It had been because he didn’t have her.

But he had been a good best friend to Wesley and let him have Katrina to himself. Hound simply became a supportive friend for both of them.

Now that Wesley was no longer around, Katrina needed someone to take care of her.

He exhaled slowly as he stood nervous; he always was around her. He came to her side with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, hood still up.

“Moon’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She whispered in reply.

His back went rigid, the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up. “What?” His voice cracked. Did he know what he’d been thinking? Had she known all along?

“You lost her scent hours ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He sighed in defeat. “Katrina, I—” He couldn’t finish. How could she understand? Even to him, they only seemed like lame excuses.

“What?” She turned to him.

“Nothing.”

“Hound, what’s bothering you?” She lightly touched his arm.

A pure rush of excitement nearly made his heart stop. He longed to hold her hand and if not, she could simply leave her hand on his arm for the rest of forever. He wondered if there was more than just a touch behind her gesture, if she felt the way he felt.

“Hound?”

He had zoned, even stopped breathing momentarily. “What?” He pulled in a breath.

“I was saying it’s ok that you lost her scent. After the storm passes, you can try and find it again. I’ll keep this between us.” She smiled. Her lips curved perfectly around her pearly white teeth. He knew if it were a true smile she had a unique, singular dimple on her left cheek.

He gently touched her cheek, smooth to the touch.

“Hound?” Her voice shook, eyes uncertain.

The desire to hold her was over-powering and he felt like this was a dream, one constantly played out so many times in his mind. He leaned forward, gently grazing her lips. They were so much sweeter than he had imagined. The softness was intoxicating. It was short lived, but amazing and definitely worth it.

Her eyes were huge and she stood as stiff as a board.

He waited for some sort of a response.

Hound feared that he had been horrible and she didn’t enjoy it at all. God, he wished he could take it back. Why hadn’t she said anything? Was it that awful?

Then she smacked him.

It was that awful. His heart sank to his stomach.

He opened his eyes to face the worst. Tears streamed down her face as she deeply breathed. “How dare you. Wesley just died. Don’t do this to me.”

He didn’t know what to say.

Did that mean that she fairly enjoyed it? Or was everything really that bad?

She smeared the tears across her face before hurrying back to the small shelter they had.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the night.

Or the next morning.

Or the next week.

Hound tried to exchange a smile and other friendly gestures, but she gave him nothing. She refused to return his good morning and good night. She even had Scout side with her, resulting in Scout giving him the silent treatment as well. This left him with Leif, the silent half-breed. He was so terribly lonely.

He tried apologizing near the end of the second week of silence, but Katrina seemed to be uninterested in anything he had to offer.

So he focused on tracking down the girl.

Hound would find a fresh scent to follow, but then it would suddenly disappear as if someone had completely erased it. He tried over and over again to find it. He had to find it.

After two days of searching, finding and losing and the lack of sleep, Katrina stopped them.

“I need rest.” She met his gaze for the first time in days.

For a brief moment, he thought she meant he needed rest. Despite the fact that the others had taken cat naps, he had gone sixty-one hours without a blink of sleep. Even with a Fallen body and the black magic they’d been dosed with, their bodies still had limits.

He only nodded before flying up the nearest tree, claimed the largest, sturdiest looking branch and was out cold within seconds.

He woke from a dream that he couldn’t quite remember. Though, he knew it must have been good because it left him feeling warm on the inside.

Hound sat up only to see Katrina sitting on the nearest branch, watching him. Once their eyes met, her cheeks burned red and she quickly turned away.

Knowing she probably wouldn’t listen to whatever he said, he dropped to the ground.

Leif came running up, breathless.

“What is it?”

“The girl was spotted at a breeding house.” He gasped. “I’ll show you the way.”

Hound had heard rumors of the Breeding Houses over the years. They were meant for Fallens to “hook-up” with humans. It was the only offspring they could produce because female Fallen couldn’t have children. He never thought they were real until now. Despite the fact that the majority of Fallens were heartless masochists, there was something unpleasant about sleeping with a kidnapped woman—not all of whom were brainwashed into submission.

The Breeding House was in a small, empty town. The motel used as the Breeding House looked as if the inside had been struck by a tornado.

“Start looking for cloth fragments or hair.” He told Leif.

It didn’t take long before Hound found a ripped piece of flannel fabric stuck on a broken step.

He took a sniff and his senses went wild. This was the strongest connection that he had found yet. It was almost as if a cookie crumb trail had been left for him to follow.

His heart pounded in his chest as his excitement elevated. He wasn’t about to fail Katrina again. He was going to capture this girl even if it killed him.

Chapter Eleven

They had been living in the tiny cottage for several weeks. Delilah shared a room with Tatyana that had a king sized bed. Due to the lack of shared space, Tatyana finally learned how to keep her things in order somewhat and tidy.

But four days after being trapped in their own personal hell with crappy food and no communication to the outside world, Delilah caught Tatyana and Gus in a heavy make-out session in their bed. Delilah had to do everything in her power to not think of the other unspeakable activities that went on in that bed, so she moved to the couch. It wasn’t a bed, but it was pretty awesome. It smelt like flowers and she used a quilt that was probably made by a grandma who had all of the time in the world.

The only problem was that the sun came in the window that faced the couch, drowning me with sunlight every morning. The early wake up had created a routine. She got up, made coffee, pull on a sweater and sit outside listening to the silence and the morning bird calls. It was peaceful.

Her body ran on clock-work and she woke five minutes before her usual “schedule.” She folded the quilt and stacked it in the corner with her pillow resting on top. The house was so silent she almost thought that she was alone.

The coffee machine clicked as it began to brew.

Delilah’s mug sat on the counter next to the machine along with the sugar and a spoon. Her black wool sweater was draped over a chair. The chairs were a dark wood that matched all of the cabinets. The counter top was a grey marble with a dull grey fridge and oven to match. She pulled her sweater on as she waited for the coffee. The tap water here was well water, but the coffee worked away most of the unwanted flavor of minerals and dirt. It wasn’t anything special, the coffee. A strange off-brand of instant coffee. It wasn’t awful, but it was far from being good.

The morning was beautiful, almost extra special in some way.

She sat pretzel style in the same spot she did every morning. It was warm from the sun as the tips of the grass blades tickled her thighs. She was mostly healed, but her legs still had greenish-brown bruises from where the breaks had been the worst. She closed her eyes and lifted the mug, taking a long, deep breath. Nothing was better than steaming coffee at seven in the morning.

Once her coffee was gone, she set her cup next to her, laid back and stared up at the yellowy-pink sky.

“Hi.” She whispered. “It’s me. Again.” She thought of her parents. “I know I’ve been asking a lot, but Omar…could you give me a sign if he’s…” she could hardly think the word. “We need him and I miss him. I want to make sure he’s ok. And…Gabel.” She paused, just staring up at the sky. “Know that I’m thinking about you.” She smiled as it seemed the sun shined a little brighter.

She could almost fall asleep in the grass. With the sunlight beaming down on her like a warm blanket.

A twig snapped from not far away.

Her eyes flew open.

She had seen several deer pass through this area, but she was convinced people were still out there looking for her which made her restless and paranoid. But wouldn’t that happen to anyone?

There came a moan from within the woods. She sat up. “Hello?”

The rustling of leaves answered her.

She stood. “Is someone there?”

There was another moan and then the sound of something heavy falling to the ground.

“Hello?” Her feet carried her forward even though her brain screamed to run the other way.

Delilah didn’t have to go far before she saw a foot sticking out from behind an unbelievably wide tree. A small scream escaped her, but muffled with her hands. Is he dead? She nudged the foot with her own to check.

“Help,” came another moan.

She jumped before hurrying around the tree. The wings were bent at angles that were unnatural. The clothes were torn, tattered, dirty and bloody. But as soon as she completely stepped around the tree, she recognized the shock of blonde hair.

“Omar!” She gasped as she rushed to his side and gently tried rolling him over.

He wheezed with pain. “Easy Del.”

She managed to get him on his back, having his head rest in her lap. The majority of his shirt was stained with bright red blood. She couldn’t even tell where the wound was.

Her eyes burned with tears, barely able to say, “What have they done to you? This is all my fault. If I hadn’t gone into that stupid motel…if I had only listened to you…”

He looked up at her with his gorgeous crystal blue and light brown eyes as he slowly reached for her hand.

She gently squeezed it.

“Shh, I'm fine.” He hid a wince with a smile. “I’ve had worse.”

“No, you haven’t.” She managed a laugh. This line was something her angelic friends tended to use too much. “Let’s get you to the cottage.”

“I…I don’t think I can walk.” He could barely breathe as she helped him sit up.

“Then I’ll carry you, it’s not that far.”

He laughed which ended in a cough and a moan of pain.

“I could always leave you out here for a bear to eat.” She snapped, angry that her abilities were in question. Sure, she’d never actually carried a person before, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t.

He shook his head and reached for her hand. They pulled him to his feet and she leaned him against the tree.

Delilah took a deep breath before coming up next to him with her back arched. She pulled his arms over to her right side and felt him lean over her. She wrapped her left arm around his left thigh. Grunting, she straightened herself with him on her back the way she always saw the guys do in those military movies.

Omar’s heavy breathing panted in her ear, ruffling her hair. She could feel his hot, sticky blood seeping through my sweater. It was a good thing it was black. She’d probably never be able to get the blood stains out.

“Hold on Omar. We’re almost there.” Was all she could manage to say. “We’re almost there.”

She kicked open the front door and laid him down on the couch. He wheezed and coughed as she ran to the kitchen, frantically searching for scissors, string and a needle. They had to have those somewhere in this God forsaken place.

“Delilah?” Gus called.

She slammed through drawers, still trying to find scissors while clutching tightly onto the needle and thread.

“Delilah?” Gus’s voice came more urgently. She heard him come into the living room. “Omar?”

She gave up on the scissors and filled a bowl with hot soapy water and grabbed the clean rag next to the sink.

She tore apart the remaining blood drenched shreds of Omar’s shirt with her hands and frantically began cleaning away the blood, searching for the wound. She tried to ignore the thick scent of iron in the air that turned her stomach. As she wiped away the blood, it only revealed black and blue skin. Gus took the needle from her, mumbling something about how he needed to sterilize it. If he was worried about that, Omar was way worse off than she had hoped.

Omar’s eyes were closed and he sweat terribly, moaning as shivers coursed through his body.

“Here,” Gus handed her a cold rag to put on his forehead.

Omar flinched as the lesion on his chest swallowed up the soapy water from the cloth. She hastily cleaned around it before pouring a little bit of soapy water into the abrasion.

Omar screamed, his stomach muscle clenching.

The two bedroom doors flew open.

Delilah was so focused on Omar that she didn’t hear what either of her friends said. She could only see what was in front of her and could hear only Omar’s voice. She didn’t even feel the slimy blood on her hands. Her hands were steady with their work as if she had done this a hundred times.

She hurried her business as Omar’s breathe came in ragged. If only there was a way to give him a blood transfusion.

She tried to thread the eye of the needle, but her hands were covered in too much blood and soap. “Gus!” She handed them to him as they rapidly switched positions.

She took Omar’s hand as Gus whispered, “Sorry Buddy,” before beginning to stitch up the four inch gash on Omar’s lower right abdomen.

Omar held fast to her hand as Gus worked.

Then suddenly, Omar let out a gasp like she had never heard before and his eyes rolled back into his head before his grip went limp.

“Omar?” Delilah stared down at his face, his mouth slightly gapped. Her throat became thick with tears. “Omar?”

Her heart quickened as the seconds ticked by with no response. She put her ear over his mouth and nose, watching his chest the entire time.

Nothing.

She turned to him and began pounding his chest, not caring if it ruined Gus’s stitches. “Come on.” She huffed as she pushed down with her palms. “Come on!” She kept trying, but each effort seemed wasted. “Why won’t he wake up?” She demanded.

“He must have lost too much blood.” Gus turned away.

“No!” She made a fist with both hands knotted together and brought them down again and again. “Please don’t take him yet. I need him!” Tears ran down her face. “Please!” She brought her fists down one last time and it was almost as if she felt his heart thump.

He moaned, gasping for air.

She flung her arms around him when all else she could do was cry. “Thank you, thank you.”

Chapter Twelve: Gabel

Gabel hadn’t shed a single tear. Not when the man he had called Father his entire life personally tore out his wings or when his new wings had grown in. No, he had only been depressed since his fall, a complete disgrace. He had failed Delilah. She’d never take him now, how could she? He almost killed her.

It had been nice when Omar came to talk to him. Gabel never replied, but it was good to know that Omar still thought he was worth something.

But then, so suddenly, he stopped visiting.

Gabel’s heart dropped to his stomach when he thought of something happening to Delilah. Last he had heard, she woke from her coma, but what if something else had happened? What if she was getting worse instead of better?

He forced himself to not think about that though. They probably just had to do the escape plan Omar had briefly mentioned once or twice. Omar had also made sure he didn’t leak any of the possible locations.

Gabel assumed it was because he was the “enemy” now and could switch alliances at any moment. Though, he couldn’t imagine ever hurting any of them. And yet he had done so, to Delilah, many times before. It didn’t matter that they were accidents. What mattered was what he was capable of.

He heaved a sigh and kicked a small stone as he leaned against the jagged, rock wall staring out into the forested region.

A bird left its nest, revealing five unblemished brown eggs.

He began to think back to the last time he’d even eaten food. His stomach grumbled angrily and he could feel its hollowness.

A long, tired breath escaped him. He could easily swipe the eggs, but he would have to make a fire and find something to cook them on—all too much work.

He supposed it was time to leave. Besides, he couldn’t stay here forever.

Gabel stepped out into the sun for the first time in almost a month.

The light burned his eyes which he shied away from with a hiss. Using his black wings to shield his eyes from the sun, he made his way to town.

Street venders sold sunglasses for the summer, umbrellas in case of rain and city souvenirs such as T-shirts, hats, jackets, magazines, postcards and mini Statues of Liberty.

At a busy vendor table, Gabel pretended to be interested in the merchandise as he swiped a pair of sunglasses. Half-way down the block, he tore off the tag and slid them on. At least it helped with the burning as it painted the world in shades of washed out greys. He began wondering how long it would take for his eyes to adapt. Perhaps it would be easier to become a night owl?

As he searched for a bite to eat, he passed a group of teenage boys who were arm wrestled, making bets. One boy had a stack of fives hanging out of his back pocket. Gabel easily reached out and snatched a few.

It was unsettling as to how natural all of this stealing was, but maybe, just maybe he had had it in him all along. He was simply never presented with an opportunity before.

One of the few food places that were open was a small coffee shop.

There was only a line of two and he figured he could wait.

The teenage girl at the counter messed up his plan order of black coffee and a bagel with nothing on it, three times. She nervously tucked non-existent loose strands of hair behind her ear. This reminded him of Delilah. It made his heart yearn for her and only made the girl’s apologetic flattery all the more irritating. He ended up leaving with his coffee—a size smaller than he had requested—his plain bagel, but with cream cheese and two stale complimentary blueberry muffins, probably from the day before.

On his way through town, he gave his muffins to a dirty man with a beard that could be used as a scarf and a sign that read homeless, need food.

After burning his tongue on his very bland coffee, Gabel ducked into a barber shop. He figured it was time to get a hair-cut.

“How much,” the elder, pot belly man questioned.

“All of it.” In his mind, all he needed was a new look to match his new life.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Fifteen minutes later, Gabel was turned in the chair and stared at his reflection. He almost didn’t recognize himself. The long jet black curtain he had worn since he was a young boy was gone. It had been replaced with an almost messy—yet not—style where the edges just grazed the tops of his ears. His forehead was covered with hair, almost falling into his eyes.

“Well?” The man questioned. “You want more taken off?”

Gabel’s lips slowly tugged up into a smirk as he slipped his glasses back on and shoved the leftover money into the barber’s hand. “You have a nice day.”

As he ran a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes, he couldn’t help, but feel like this new look was meant for him in some strange way.

He caught a group of young ladies checking him out and giggling at their café table. Gabel flashed a smirk like he had seen Omar do oh so many times and slid down his glasses to add a wink in for extra measure.

The blonde nearest him turned crimson as he passed.

He made it about another block before feeling completely drained.

Tired, he looked for a spot to rest, even if it were for a couple minutes, when he realized that he was standing outside of Delilah’s apartment.

There was a large pile of bills, letters, magazines and store advertisements that had accumulated outside of the door. He sensed no one inside, but tried knocking anyway. “Delilah?”

“No one’s come or gone from that place in nearly two months!”

He turned to see a little old woman with snow white hair hunched over a thin, knurled cane.

“Are you a friend of Delilah’s?”

He bobbed his head. “Yes ma’am.”

“Well you look like a nice young man.” She smiled a toothless grin. “And Delilah gave me a spare.” She waddled down the hall to a half-open door on the left. A small grunt came before she came back and gave him a small shinning silver metal key. “Now you make sure I get this back. If I don’t answer my door, just slide it under.” She waved goodbye.

The apartment looked like it had before, but had some remodeling. Clearly, there hadn’t been any form of struggle, but they had left in a hurry. There were dishes in the sink and a moldy half-eaten bowl of something on the coffee table.

He thought about going to sleep in Delilah’s bed, but thought better of it. It would smell of honey and milk the way she always did. Gabel didn’t think he could bare much more heartache at the moment.

He settled for the couch, but that too smelled like her.

Gabel woke up in a cold sweat to a dim room. He closed his eyes and tried calming his heart from the nightmare. In the dream, he’d been in the dark with nothing to see, smell or touch. It had only been the taunting voice of his Lucifer calling his name.

The sun was just dipping below a black horizon, turning the sky a navy blue with smeared reds and oranges.

After returning the key, he went to the roof with an invisible glamour and jumped.

It felt good to stretch his wings after such a long rest. The moonless night filled him with such a thrill; he believed he could fly forever.

As he flew toward the Gate to Hell, he suddenly felt the presence of a second, closer entrance. He landed near the holy pools, now empty and had been for years and neared the largest one. The aura of dark power was so strong he couldn’t help, but step into it.

The ground unexpectedly opened and swallowed him.

Frantically he reached for the surface, but the space closed shut just as his fingers grazed it. He opened his wings to catch him before he plummeted to the bottom.

The only way was down. There was no light and no smell, though the air tasted of metal and dust. He had no sense of direction, but he figured he’d find ground eventually.

Suddenly, his face smacked into the ground without warning. He moaned as his body fell behind him.

A soft, low chuckle echoed off of the walls.

Gabel got to his feet and faced the glowing red eyes as the earth above opened to give a small spot of light. “Lucifer.” Gabel’s back tense.

“Gabel, so nice of you to drop in.” He snickered.

“A phone call would have sufficed if you wanted to merely mock me.”

“Never,” his voice was suddenly serious. “I need a favor.”

“What makes you think I’ll do anything for you?” Gabel’s hands curled into fists an unspeakable rage coursing through his veins.

“So bitter,” Lucifer tsked. “I’ll give you what you want if you give me what I want.”

“I’ll never bring Delilah to you.” Gabel sneered. How could he think he’d betray her like that?

“Did I mention that I like your new look? Black definitely suits you.” Lucifer whispered into his ear.

Gabel ignored the compliment, not sure if it was on his wardrobe or his wings, and turned to face his father as Lucifer snapped his fingers.

Small lights flickered on around the room. They were in a small stone room with a king’s thrown chair in the middle made of skulls and bones, adorned in red velvet. Several tunnels were cut into the walls. In between those were lit torches.

What surprised Gabel was his father.

Lucifer had withered.

His black hair had thinned and was streaked with grey and age. Wrinkles etched his face like cracks in cement. His skin appeared almost grey with a clammy texture. And he showed to be having a great deal of trouble with remaining upright.

“You’re the first one to see me like this.” He sighed tiredly. “It seems that when I preformed the ritual with your precious Delilah, she took my immortality and I took her weak, mortal form.”

Gabel didn’t reply.

“I'm dying son.” His eyes looked sad, defeated.

Gabel took a step back from him. He didn’t want this man—this monster—calling him son.

“I have to have her to switch back.”

“Take mine.” Dying didn’t seem too bad to Gabel. He could barely live with his shame. And if his last act could be one to save Delilah, he could die with a little peace knowing he might still be a little good.

“No, it must be her.”

“I won’t do it.” Gabel turned to leave.

“If you do this for me, she’ll be human again.”

“And fragile and mortal.” Gabel hissed. “I couldn’t have her. I wouldn’t take the risk. She would age. I’d have to watch her die when I still have years of my life.”

“But if you do this for me, I’ll give you mortality too.”

To be continued...

(Thank you for reading!)