Page 36 of Commanding Flame and Shield
Bows slung over our shoulders, we followed Alvara’s long stride as she led us further into the mountains.
FOURTEEN
THE CABIN
ALVARA
Tucked discreetly away, deep in the towering granite peaks of the Rocky Mountains, sat my favorite safe house. The cabin was so isolated, it could only be reached on foot, or in our case, through a jump, making it one of the safest places to rest our minds, renew our spirits, and to train a recruit as talented as August. Surrounded by treacherous terrain, thick woods, and a blanket of wildflowers, the log cabin subtly rose out of the vast blur of green and stone. With a river rock fireplace and foundation, it looked like a piece of history, perfectly preserved. The front porch still held four idyllic white rocking chairs, a red, southwestern rug tucked below them. Everything about it warmed me, a Norman Rockwell painting amongst a life lived in shadow and nightmares.
I glanced at August as we stepped into the tiny clearing around the house, watching this reaction as he took in the sun-soaked green field, speckled with yellow, purple and orange wildflowers. He took in the meadow, the cozy cabin, the picturesque log front porch, and he turned to smile at me.
“Just felt like a little getaway, did you?” He grinned.
“Of sorts,” I admitted. “This place is so peaceful.” He hummed in agreement, climbing the last fifty yards towards the house.
Alec and Fae had sauntered ahead of us, hands tightly interwoven between them, laughter carrying on the mellow breeze back to us. The three of us raised our free hands, and I closed my eyes as we approached, feeling the air and searching for energy that didn’t belong. In his usual lighting fast motion, Alec pulled the key from his pants pocket, and opened the front door with a long creak.
In stark contrast to the walls of Grayshell, the safe house was left as expected. The log walls were a blur of wood and mortar, light streaming through the aged windows, and dancing across the dust in the air above a rustic collection of leather furniture, and patterned, sage and burgundy wool rugs lined the floor. There was a heavily textured cream one with diamonds that was new—Fae, inevitably, had picked it up somewhere. The lingering scent of fire smoke greeted us like a wall at the threshold, and I soaked in its cozy aroma. Alec casually slung his bag and bow down on the tan leather sofa, and Fae followed suit before he could pull her curvy hips against his own. They exchanged a long kiss, and then told us they were going to nap, disappearing into one of the guest rooms in the back. Alec’s shield rose so high and strong, it cast an invisible wall between us that I was convinced would physically deflect me as well, and I rolled my eyes.
August wandered around the cozy room, eyes trailing from one framed image to the next as he walked slowly and deliberately. The pictures were all of members of the coven, all in different decades. It would look like we frequented themed photo studios everywhere we went, or perhaps we were simply a quirky group of Halloween enthusiasts, should a mortal ever stumble on our hiding place. August liked bouldering, hunting and fishing, and I had thought this place would feel so much more like home to him. Hugged by stone and forest, it should certainly feel more familiar than Grayshell had. Although, he didn’t seem to mind our little hidden dimension much. The natural unease faded quickly for him, and he had taken to most of the skills as seamlessly as climbing back onto a bicycle after a long season of snow. He hadn’t mentioned a desire to return to the human dimension, but I knew it was overdue. There were obligations to resolve here, and I wasn’t sure how he would approach them. The matter of his business, his family and his poor fiancé, who I knew would be so scared and confused, inevitably angry with his disappearing act. I tried not to think about Layla much, as I could only imagine what she was feeling. The letters August had written were concise, and provided little in the way of answers, outside of a mysterious business trip and his well-being.
Layla was beautiful, I’d give her that. But a possessive edge seemed to carve into my mind when I thought of August. Protective, perhaps, of the calling I’d hunted for over so many exhausting months. Tracking a soul whose mind is guarded was not my easiest feat. Layla felt like the only real threat of losing him to the world again. He belonged in our world now, or at least that’s what I told myself. He wouldn’t fit in hers any longer—his power was immense, and palpable, and it was only a matter of time before someone, or somethingcame to take it for themselves, or strike him down if unprotected. Beyond that, she would age, want a family, grow old…Die. And August would remain exactly as he was—strong, courageous, caring, and forever twenty-nine. But I couldn't help but wonder…would she be the first? The first mortal to believe the impossible words gushed out by a desperate, pleading partner? He said his memories were distant in Grayshell, but here...in her world, with Layla standing in front of him…It would be different. My stomach squirmed uneasily, and I told myself it was out of nervousness for August. For the inevitable conversation and ensuing confrontation he’d never asked for. For the innocent girl whose whole future was just tossed upside down. But there was a stirring in my core saying there was more to the anxiety than that.
What if he chose to return to her? To renounce his place in Grayshell, to deny his mission as a Nephilim soul? To abandon…me?
I watched August’s face as he studied the portraits on the wall, evidently fascinated with each image. He lingered on a colorful painting that was the consuming chaos of a battlefield at the revolutionary war, and I wondered if he spotted the likeness to Aren in the face of one of the rebel medics. We did our best to stay out of human history—but would involve ourselves where we believed good could come of it, most often as healers and medics. I did my best to keep my wall up—much easier to do in a place so quiet. I quite enjoyed his bright presence, and it brought the same kind of relief into my body as a jug of cool water, condensation dripping down the frosted sides, after a trudge through late summer desert.
The idea of him turning his back on all he’d learned in his days with us and returning to life as he knew it…left my mouth dry and mind just as panicked as if I was crossing the sands of the Sahara.
Breathe, Alvara.If history had taught me anything, it was that we were far more resilient than we ever believed ourselves to be. We would move on, turn our cheeks to the absence of a soul built for our group. Continue fighting for what was right, and good and light, always. But there was a cruel rock in my stomach when he finally spoke, snapping my attention to the painting in front of him.
“Is this…is this Notre Dame?”
I looked up and smiled. “Yes. Aren painted that, many years ago. Why?”
“It tugs on my memory a bit. Like I should know it.”
“It would make sense. It would have been erected before the timeline you share with Alec, if I remember correctly. I think you would have been a three-day ride from Paris. Less, I suppose, on an excellent horse, or if you could change mounts.”
He nodded slowly, lips pressed together, and eyes narrowed as he studied the grand arches Aren had captured so perfectly with his brush strokes.
“What is this place?” He gestured now to the room around us.
“One of our safe houses.”
His eyebrows hiked a bit, “Safer than Grayshell?”
“Nothing is safer than Grayshell. The angelic wards are strong, so our safe houses go largely unnoticed by mortals, and it would take one hell of a demon to make it past our defenses. But sometimes we need somewhere safe to go on Earth. Either to stay close to a mission, or somewhere safe to bring a braid or an ally. To train a rookie…” I winked.
He grinned and nodded as though that made perfect sense.
“This is Aren’s home, technically. His safe space. It’s my favorite one, though. We each have them—easier to keep a cover if we have somewhere to take people if we’re on a mission. Can’t exactly go babbling about half-breed angels to everyone we save.”
“Braids?”
“Yes, or sometimes we clash with dark forces who have corrupted humans, and there are mortals that serve God too. They need somewhere safe to go when they’ve been targeted.”
“Makes sense.”
