Destined (Desolation #3) Page 12

  I tore my hands from Michael’s and covered my face. Tears, burning and swift, tore through me, through my chest, ripping my heart out, and flying from my eyes like a million thoughts on scissor wings. Michael placed his hand on my back, but it was Odin who spoke.

  “When you are ready, tell us what happened, my daughter.”

  “I—I can’t.” I fought the sobs that threatened to overcome me as I thought of Aaron and what he had done for me. “I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want to cause anyone anymore pain ever again.”

  “Oh, my love,” Michael soothed.

  I felt Odin’s presence in my mind then, felt it fill me like warm honey, like liquid sunshine. Felt him whispering, It is all right, my daughter. It is all right.

  “He gave everything he had to me,” I said, raising my face to Odin’s. I felt more exposed in that moment than I can remember ever feeling. Here was my king, my creator, and I was about to tell him I caused the eternal death of one of his sons. An Ascended One—a child of Odin’s who had received the highest exultation. And now he was gone. Because of me.

  But I forced myself to meet Odin’s steady gaze. To open myself and let his blue eyes see more than what was written on my face, but what was written on my heart. “He gave it all until I shone so bright and there was almost nothing of him left. And then—and then—” I choked on the tears that flooded my throat and it took me several heartbeats to push them back down. All the while Michael’s hand on mine grounded me, and Odin’s focus never wavered.

  “A soul eater . . .” I didn’t say it. I’m sure I didn’t need to. Everyone knew the soul eaters prey on any unprotected living thing.

  Though he didn’t move, didn’t look away, I felt Odin’s embrace as surely as if he physically held me in his arms. I squeezed Michael’s hand tighter, my whole body trembling with the weight of my emotions. “And what of Lucy?”

  Odin’s Lucy. I saw the flicker of pain as it crossed Odin’s eyes. Felt it mirrored in my own heart

  “She left—long before the soul eater got there. She went to tell you where I was. To send help. I’m positive she should have found you by now.”

  We sat in silence while everyone tried to figure out what to say to the girl who caused so much sorrow, so much death.

  “Desolation—” Odin’s voice was a distant rumble, a coming storm. I snorted. Even after all Aaron and Lucy did for me, I still was no better than my name.

  “Lucy’s gone, isn’t she?” I glared at Odin, at every single one of them, even Michael, daring them to deny it. Michael flinched when his eyes met mine. “Taken by a soul eater, or lost among the stars—it doesn’t matter. Because gone is gone.” Even lit up like a star, all golden sunshine, I still knew how to drive in the knife. How to twist it deep.

  “I’m sorry.” I jumped to my feet so suddenly my chair toppled over. “I’m sorry,” I said again, apologizing for the chair, for my cruelty. For Lucy. For causing the death of two of the most beautiful people in all the worlds. Aaron and Lucy died for me. People were always dying for me. My mother. Aaron and Lucy. James.

  I took no thought for direction as my feet carried me away. My mind lurched into a constant loop of Mother, Aaron, Lucy, James. Mother, Aaron, Lucy, James.

  Over and

  over and

  over and

  over.

  I found myself in the garden, kneeling with my forehead pressed to the ground while my fingers cramped around fistfuls of grass. I watered the earth with my tears. I cried my sorrow out to it, with the heady fragrance of Lily of the Valley wrapping all around me. Mother, Aaron, Lucy, James. Mother, Aaron, Lucy, James.

  Mother, Aaron, Lucy, James.

  A flash of light, all golden sparks, then Michael said my name.

  He sat beside me. After rubbing my back for a moment, he pulled me onto his lap, cradling me like a child. I pressed my face against his chest, gripped his ocean-blue tunic, and cried hollow, dry tears. His consciousness slipped into my mind, gently coiling around my thoughts, my sorrows, embracing all of me, inside and out.

  I wanted to reject him. To punish him for being so good like I’d always done in the past. But the truth was I was tired. Tired of being the cause of so much sorrow. Tired of hating myself. Tired of being alone. And so I let him hold me until the darkness around us matched the darkness behind my eyelids. I finally opened my eyes, having cried the last of my tears long ago. Michael’s cheek rested on my head and he was so still, so quiet, I thought he must be sleeping.

  When I sighed, he stirred. “I’m awake,” he said, and despite myself, I smiled. Of course he knew my thoughts. Of course.

  “But we should sleep. Odin asked that we gather at the Door tomorrow afternoon—there’s time, yet.” Time for what, though, I didn’t know. Time for us? Time to sleep? Time to forget? He helped me stand, then stood himself. “Your mother’s rooms—” he cleared his throat. “The Valkyrie have prepared a room for you—but you’re welcome to stay with me.”

  I waited a beat, trying to discern which he wanted. My heart told me he wanted to be with me, but my mind still denied the love he forever held out to me. He put his hands on my arm, dipped his chin so he could catch my eyes. And in that moment I didn’t have to read his thoughts to know what he wanted. It was clear in everything about him, so clear even I couldn’t deny it.

  “I don’t want to be away from you,” he said. Ever, ever again.

  The starlight reflected off the curve of his cheek while he smiled before leading me out of the garden. As we walked, the way became more familiar and I realized I knew this place—all of this place.

  I Remembered Mahria and the fierce gleam in her eyes while she taught me to fight with the staff. She was the one to suggest to Odin I’d like one of my own.

  I Remembered when she left Asgard, and the mysterious words she’d said. She told me she was going to prepare a place for me, and that I was to never forget she loved me. And never forget who I was.

  But even though I Remembered, Remembered all of it, it was still so, so hard to believe I could be the sum of all my experiences and not just a product of Father’s evil. How could I believe there was anything good in me when everyone who got involved with me suffered so much?

  Michael stopped and pulled me in front of him. “Desi.” His hands gripped my arms tight and when I met his eyes they burned with anger—and love. “You must stop this.”

  I opened my mouth. Stop what? I wanted to ask.

  “You wish to punish yourself—still—for the evil you have done. I—” his voice caught and he paused, looked down, “I know some of what you must feel, what you must think.” He swallowed against some emotion I recognized but rejected. How could Michael be feeling shame? What sins has he committed?

  “There was a time when I could only love you, when I didn’t understand the darkness in you, but had to hope, had to believe, you were still you. Glorious. Good. I believed it, and I wasn’t wrong.” When I looked away, he crooked a finger under my chin, pulling my face upward. “I wasn’t wrong. But—” Again he dropped his eyes. This was so unlike him, to be unsure, to be lost for words.

  “I understand now. The darkness, I mean. The temptation to think the worst of yourself. To expect the worst. To think the ones you love couldn’t possibly love you if they knew just how far you’ve fallen.”

  He pulled me to him, clasping me hard against his chest, burying his face in the hair at my neck. When he pulled back, unshed tears shimmered in his eyes. Gently he turned me around, stopping me when my back was to him. He leaned down, putting his face next to mine.

  I could feel his cheek against mine. Smell the sweet, tart smell of him. His hands softened on my arms and he moved so his lips were against my neck. “But, we are in Heaven, love. We are home.”

  My eyes opened wide, understanding and hope washing away the fear and doubt so swiftly that it left me weak. I sagged against him. He whispered against my neck, my ear, my cheeks until his words turned to kisses. He swept me up into his a
rms and carried me to his house.

  He lived in a small, single-story cottage made of stones I knew he had laid himself. At the green door I held out my hand, stopping us from passing through the doorway. I traced the knotted heart carved into the lintel and raised a questioning brow.

  “Always,” he said.

  He’d always remembered, while I hadn’t. He’d stayed faithful when I had forgotten him. He had fought for me, long after I’d given up. Always.

  He opened the door and I wrapped my arms more tightly around his neck. As we crossed the threshold I wondered, can we really let go of the past? Let go of our mistakes? Because whatever had come before, we were here now. No matter how much I’d forgotten, I remembered now. No matter how lost I’d become, how lost we had both been, we were found now. That had to count for something.

  In the morning I woke to golden light dappled over the bedcovers. Michael had slept on the couch, tucking me into his own bed late last night—I didn’t even remember saying goodnight, I’d been that tired. Now I stretched and drew a deep breath through my nose, relishing the scent of him everywhere. I closed my eyes and drank in the happiness, the peace that whispered through me, in sync with the shimmering light all around.

  After a time I heard Michael moving about in the other room, and smelled the unmistakable scent of coffee—though I knew it wasn’t a drink normally found on Asgard. That simple thing made my heart rush with love for this man who knew me so well and would do even the smallest of things to ensure my comfort.

  I dressed quickly, and for half a second thought about doing my hair as Fahria wore hers—in a sort of braided knot that sat low at her neck. But in the end I’d opted for a ponytail. I couldn’t change everything at once. Before I left the room, I stared at my skin—no longer as pale white as I’d been for so, so long, and my eyes were no longer the endless ebony black of a demon. Now flecks of gold swam in their dark depths making me a hundred shades of relieved.

  But I knew what I was. What I still was. No amount of sunshine skin or flecks of gold could undo the half of my DNA that belonged to my father. But I also knew I had been through a refiner’s fire. With Aaron’s help and love, most of the darkness had been burned out of me, the bad changed for good, the evil cast aside to make room for the golden spark that no longer resided in my heart alone, but permeated every single cell of my being.

  I knew what I was. And what I was, was glorious.

  I am glorious.

  So when Michael reached for me, every hope and all his love laid bare on his face; when his eyes hungrily devoured me and searched my eyes . . .

  I knew what he saw in me.

  He saw what I wanted to be.

  Desolation. The end of Father’s reign. The end to the evil he constantly levied on the innocent Gardians on Midgard. I no longer despised my name, but embraced it. I would be the weapon my mother hoped I would be. I would be my father’s undoing.

  What am I going to tell Miri?” We walked hand-in-hand down the street, smiling at the people we passed. They greeted me happily, their faces reflecting their joy, their hands reaching to touch me. I had a brief flash to the wanters and needers in Hell and all the many times I plowed through them as though I were a rock and they the stream that rushed past. I had despised their touch, their need to take something, anything, from me. But in Asgard everything was different; the people gave, asking nothing in return. They gave their blessings. Told me how glad they were to see me. How much they loved me.

  I felt like two separate persons walking among them—there was this part of me, the part they remembered, the part that remembered them. This was the part of me Aaron had sacrificed himself for. But there was another part—the part I knew best. The girl who let her friends down. The girl who had abandoned a most brave and generous guy to the clutches of an evil goddess. The girl who had to tell her best friend that she’d left the love of her life behind. What could I possibly say to make it okay?

  “What do you remember? Of this place?” Michael gave my hand a gentle squeeze, pulling me out of my reverie and grounding me in the moment.

  Small shops, their colored signs hanging over the doors, lined the quiet street. A statue of the Æsir god—Odin’s father—rose tall and glorious from the square opposite Odin’s palace. The figure reminded me of Heimdall—larger than life with a wavy beard and hair. He held his right hand high, a lightning bolt clutched in his fist.

  We’d stopped walking as I stared up at the giant statue. I suddenly had the feeling of déjà vu—standing there with Michael reminded me of the times we’d stood like this beneath the stony gaze of a cherubic statue in St. Mary’s cemetery. Of all the times I’d wished for an answer, for some indication there was more in the universe—some hope or guidance beyond the usual.

  What if there is? A voice, like a forgotten part of myself, whispered in my mind. What if we aren’t really alone? What if the gods do still exist?

  “Desi?” Michael squeezed my hand again.

  I shook my head to dislodge the strange line of thought that had taken up residence in my foggy brain. “I think I remember most of it.” We stood in a little park with green grass, stone benches, and flowers of all variety and color. When I tipped my face upward to see Michael, I found him smiling at me expectantly. “I remember all of it.”

  His lion eyes lit up, all golden sunshine and dark chocolate, and his lips quirked into a delicious smile that made me want to cover it with kisses.

  And so I did.

  He stumbled a little in surprise as I leaned into him, pressing my lips to his. I felt him Become, felt him wrap his arms around me, and then his wings. Felt nothing but joy and exquisite release as he transported us from the public square to the quiet, fragrant sanctuary of our garden.

  And still we kissed, his lips both soft and demanding, pulling out the best of me, claiming every wild beat of my heart.

  It had been so long since we’d been together like this. No more tender kisses full of hope and fear. No more fleeting moments of love. No more restraint. And absolutely no more doubt.

  Michael felt alive with fire beneath my hands, beneath my lips. He held me so close I could hardly breathe. I wanted to breathe with him, be one with him. I pulled myself closer and felt his body respond to mine. Our kisses grew more insistent, until all I could think about was Michael.

  His taste.

  His touch.

  His love.

  Oh, love. Glorious. Everlasting. Complete.

  Sometime later I lay snuggled in the crook of Michael’s arm, gazing up at the blue sky above us.

  “I wish we could stay here forever,” I said. I closed my eyes and tried to push the world away, tried to concentrate on this moment, on right now.

  “I do, too.” He traced his fingers over the golden whorls on my arm, following their course from fingertip to shoulder. I shivered beneath his feather touch. “So much is the same and yet—nothing will ever be the same again.”

  He brushed the hair back from my neck and let his hand rest there. I opened my eyes and found him gazing at me. “I knew, even before we actually met, that you were destined for great things. Did you know it? Back then?”

  I closed my eyes and willed myself to Remember. To truly examine what I knew and not just what I dreamed or imagined. “I suppose there were clues all around, weren’t there? The way Mahria trained me harder than any of the other Valkyrie. The staff Odin gave me from the Tree of Knowledge.”

  I tugged myself tighter to Michael’s side and breathed in the smell of him. “Mahria came to see me before she left. I was warming up in the courtyard, waiting for her to spar with me. I’d been planning a new move to try on her. But she refused my invitation.

  “I think she tried to explain, tried to tell me what she was doing, but words failed her. Instead she hugged me—only for a second—but enough to leave me reeling as she left.” I smoothed my hand down Michael’s strong chest. Felt the warmth and life of him, even my fingertips thrummed with love. “I think I kne
w, then, that I’d never see her again, even though I felt pretty sure our paths would somehow cross.

  “I think I knew all that and maybe even more—but I never once thought I would be any kind of hero. I thought I was a good soldier—and maybe I was. That’s what Father and Akaros used against me for so long, anyway. Wasn’t it?”

  For a long time Michael said nothing. Only the steady beating of his heart, the rhythm of his breath, told me he wasn’t asleep. When I glanced at his face, I saw him staring up at the sky.

  “Loving you hasn’t been easy,” he said. Everything in me stilled, as if each cell of my body held its breath. “All of us—we knew from the moment we laid eyes on you that loving you would be a journey fraught with danger. Lucy, Aaron, me and Mahria. Even Longinus, Cornelius, Miri and James—all of us. We all knew you. Before. The way you shone, the way you glowed with love and life—you were always bound for greatness.

  “And like most great things, we knew your climb wouldn’t be a golden staircase. We knew there’d be a cost to loving you, a price to pay.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words skimming across his chest. He squeezed me to him.

  “Oh, my love. I am positive not one of us would change a thing. It’s only that you are unlike us. You are like a lioness, beautiful and glorious, but fierce. And just as a lion loves his mate, he also knows she is greater than he.”

  I breathed with him for the space of three heartbeats. “I don’t want to be greater than you. I don’t feel greater. I want to be loved and cared for, doted on and spoiled. I don’t want to be running into danger every five minutes, seeing the people I love die, feeling them ripped away by my enemies.”

  “Love, you know Loki is not your enemy only.” He twisted toward me, making certain our eyes met. He radiated sureness, his words ringing with confidence. “You do know this, don’t you?”

  Tears filled my eyes so I ducked under his chin and snuggled close. “All I know is that I’ve done a lot of bad things because of Loki. But I did them—not him. If I’m so great and glorious, wouldn’t I have known better? What of all the people who’ve lost so much because of me?