Page 37 of Wings of Death

He places his hand on my arm, his lips tight. “Yes and yes. There’s nothing to worry about except your own recovery. You hit your head pretty hard, and your body is still weak from the wire.”

I reach for a pillow to prop myself up, and Amaros takes over, pulling me forward by my hand and places several pillows behind my back.

“Better?” he asks as I lean back against them, and I nod.

“How long have I been sleeping for?”

His brow furrows, as if he is hiding something from me.

“Amaros?” I press him.

He sits down on the edge of my bed and runs a hand through his dark hair. “Two days, approximately.”

My eyes grow wide. “What? How is that possible?”

He reaches for a glass of water next to my bed and hands it to me. I drink the entire thing, still thirsty when I’m done.

“Your body was very weak. It needed to recuperate. It makes it easier for you to heal yourself when you’re asleep.” He takes the glass from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine.

We lock stares for a moment before he clears his throat and looks away. I think about the clearing and what happened back there. I remember the Zelons coming to my rescue, protecting me. My heart aches as I picture what Zalore did, killing the male Zelon so needlessly, as if it were nothing.

“Did any of the Zelons survive?” I ask, my voice not much more than a whisper.

He sighs, his shoulders slumping. “They killed several, but most of them healed themselves and ran back into the forest.” He pauses for a bit. “They have special healing abilities too, so long as their injuries are not fatal. No one, angel nor creature, can bring themselves back from death.”

Wow, that’s fascinating. I know little about Zelons, but it didn’t surprise me. They are magical creatures. I can certainly believe they would have special abilities too, being the protectors of the Dark Forest.

“I rode one,” I say, and Amaros abruptly turns around to face me.

“What? How?” he asks.

I laugh. “I’m not sure. It just came up to me in the forest, rubbed its face with mine, and lent down so I could climb up onto its back.”

He stares off into the distance as if reflecting on something.

“I’m sure others have ridden them before,” I add, feeling a little uncomfortable by his reaction.

He softly smiles. “I only know of one other angel who has ever ridden one.”

I knit my brows together. “Who?”

His gaze finds mine. “Your mother.”

How is that possible? Is that just a coincidence, that the only other angel he has ever heard of riding a Zelon is my mother? Something inside tells me no, it’s not. I have learnt more about my mother in the past week than I have my entire life.

“Are you all right?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, it’s just… Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

He picks up my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, but doesn’t let it go. I find it comforting, although I only hope Astelle or Hethenos don’t walk in. All hell will break loose if they know he’s holding my hand, as ridiculous as that sounds.

I pull my hand back, giving him a small smile.

“I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?” he asks, his features laced with concern.

“No, you didn’t. It’s just, I don’t know what’s going on with Astelle, but I don’t want to get in the way of anything. She hates me enough as it is. Hethenos, too.”

He gets to his feet and paces the room.

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