Page 56 of Commanding Flame and Shield
“Born to heal, but honed to kill. Gotta shake your head sometimes, don’t you?” Alec shrugged as if to say, ‘what are you going to do?’
“Christ,” Ansel muttered. “Shield. Lightning. Guardian. Healer. Is there anything the fucker can't do?”
I found Alec's eyes, but he didn't seem to have any more answers than I did. On the end of a long breath, I asked, “Have either of them woken?”
“Not yet. You’ve been out for a few hours. We didn’t expect to see you for days. That was…a lot.”
Ansel and Lana’s bloodshot eyes were on me now, but it was the former that demanded, “Can August be The Great Commander while Aren lives?”
“Yes. Aren submitted his will to him, so August could heal him. There’s no battle between them.”
“You’re sure.”
“Of course. Ansel, you know how much I love Aren. August won’t hurt him. Quite the opposite. He is the key to our survival.”
Ansel nodded, and then let out a huff, and Lana rubbed his arms in comfort. Fae's head was settled casually on her shoulder, but the stiff hold of her muscles and set of her lips was anything but. I might have loved Aren the most, but Ansel was a devoted soldier. He would not turn from his Commander. His loyalty would carry one of them to the death.
TWENTY-FOUR
TEQUILA
AUGUST
The Grayshell Nephilim honored their fallen soldiers like the ancient Norse honored their Kings. Their peace in knowing their souls would return to new, uninjured vessels when the timing was right, and their knowledge of demons possessing the dead made bringing the bodies to Grayshell impossible, and burning them essential. As The Great Commander, it was expected that I would help Aren prepare our fallen soldiers and place them in their boats. With Aren still healing, Alvara and I did most of the work. She bathed and dressed Sky. Alec, Aren and I prepared Sebastian’s body. Cleaning his wounds, washing his hair, and slipping him into the telltale white spirit armor.
Night fell, and we placed our final gifts in the greenery surrounding them on the small canoes. Some brought flowers, others stones, or energetically charged crystals, and others still, brought them coins and treasures. Photos littered the bottom of their canoes, and Fae carefully placed their blades on their chests, and crossed their arms over them. A procession of goodbyes lasted over an hour, each warrior kneeling at the edge of the sea to pray over the departed soul.
Until we meet again.Over and over, the farewell was spoken. Aloud, and internally. But the goodbye meant something very different here than it had when I’d heard it among humans. Because, as Nephilim, we would likely meet again. In this life or the next.
Saraya, the leader of their coven, gave the eulogy. I didn’t know the fallen healers, but grief still ate at my chest, and Alvara’s pain and guilt seemed to radiate through me. Our hands tightly intertwined through leather gloves, she squeezed my fingers as the boats were pushed off to sea by their coven.
As two of the hierarchy’s best archers, we joined the others, knocked our arrows, lit their flames, and on Aren’s command, loosed them into the boats. A chill ran down my arms as the flames grew around the bodies. And what felt like an impossible memory tugged at the corner of my mind.
We waited until the canoes were fully engulfed before members began the jump home. Alvara was rooted to the spot, her face glittering in the moonlight. I gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, and even through the gloves, felt the dampness there.
I was why she had been gone. Why she didn’t hear them in time. Likely why she had missed that demon coming through the shadows after Aren. And I had not wanted to speak my suspicion until I was certain. Until it was too late. It seemed my instincts in this existence were much more pointed, and I ought to trust them. Studying Alvara's grief-twisted features, I resolved to do just that.Trust your gut.
I wanted to strip the gloves from my hands and soak her fallen tears into my skin. She deserved so much more than what I was giving her, deserved to be touched and soothed without reservation. My fingers flexed, hands buzzing with the need to be that source of comfort—to find out what she felt like against them.
Sensing my trepidation, she turned to me, glistening eyes as fierce as ever. Our gazes locked for a long moment, and then she looked briefly to my lips before closing her eyes and leaning into my gloved hand. The tears came faster then, and I wasn’t sure if I was helping or hurting. But nothing felt more important than showing her she wasn’t alone. That she didn’t need to hide from me. And somehow, I knew in my gut, I needed to stop hiding from her, too.
* * *
The hall wasquiet in the weeks after we’d lost the souls. Alvara was quiet too. She turned inward and there seemed to be some aftermath to her outburst there. The damage of the storm in its wake. It wasn’t until the approach of Samhain, that low chatter began to return to the halls. It wasn’t anticipation that hung in the air, as it did among our mortal counterparts, but apprehension.
“The veil is thinner. Which means we need to go back to Ivy Springs, and increase the protection on your family,” Alvara said one evening as the day of the dead drew closer. I nodded, not fully understanding.
“So, all the Hallows Eve, Halloween, Day of the Dead stuff—”
“Is founded in truth. They don’t fully understand our world, but they aren’t stupid. The veil is thinner, leaving mortals more vulnerable, spirits more restless, and demons more ambitious to take advantage of the ability to cross over the lines of dimensions. Grayshell is even vulnerable this time of year.”
Not liking the sound of that, I stayed tight on her heels. We didn’t fully understand what was entailed with being The Great Commander. I still didn’t know if I believed all the lore that surrounded the subject. Ansel and Lana had glumly told me it couldn’t be possible, as a first hierarchy demon had shredded The Commander’s soul in two. Alec insisted God could heal all things, and as always, would have used the fall of The Commander for glory.
I didn’t feel like agreatanything. Certainly not a Commander of God’s army between worlds. Certainly not wiser or stronger than Aren in his nearly seventeen hundred years of wisdom and practice.
We agreed we would return earth-side a few days before October thirty-first, to place stronger wardings on my family’s homes, and so that I could pay a visit to Sam and James. I’d given them the same mid-life crisis excuse for my absence that I’d given Layla for our breakup. Fat chance that James would tolerate that line for long.
Aren, still healing from that damned cursed blade, would stay behind and call us home at the first sign of trouble.
