Page 42 of Wicked Angel
I gasped,the memory so vivid that for a moment, I swore I could feel the saltwater burning in my lungs, the agony of my torn wings blazing across my back.
The Reflecting Pool churned around my ankles, the water no longer silver but a deep, turbulent blue that seemed to be responding to my distress.
“By the light,” someone whispered from the edge of the circle. One of Kadriel's angels, his face pale with shock.
But the memory wasn't finished with me yet. The water surged, and I was falling again?—
* * *
Consciousness returned slowly,painfully. I was on a beach, the sand beneath me wet and cold, my body broken and bleeding. Every breath was agony, every heartbeat a struggle. But I was alive.
The dagger was still clutched in my hand, its blade gleaming despite everything it had been through. I tried to move, to push myself up, but my body refused to cooperate. The wound where my wings had been continued to weep blood into the sand.
I was going to die here, I realized. Slowly, painfully, but still having accomplished the one thing Soren had asked of me: I had kept the dagger from Rhodes.
Footsteps approached, crunching on the wet sand. I tensed, expecting Molraz or one of his demons, come to finish what they'd started.
But it was an old human woman, her weathered face creased with concern as she knelt beside me. No, not human—my fading senses could detect the subtle magic that surrounded her.
A witch.
“Easy, child,” she murmured, her hands gentle as she assessed my wounds. “You're safe now.”
I tried to speak, to warn her about the demons that might still be searching for me, but all that came out was a pained whimper.
“Save your strength,” she advised, her fingers hovering over the worst of my injuries. “I'm going to help you, but we need to move quickly. They'll be looking for you.”
With unbelievable strength, she helped me to my feet, supporting most of my weight as we staggered away from the shore. The dagger was still in my hand, and she eyed it with wary suspicion.
“I take that dagger is special,” she said. Not a question.
“It’s cursed,” I said, my voice coarse.
After the most painful walk of my life, we went down a sharp hill and reached a small cabin hidden behind it. The witch guided me inside, helped me to a narrow bed that smelled of herbs.
“Rest now,” she said, taking the dagger from my rigid fingers. “I'll keep this safe until you're strong enough to decide what to do with it.”
I tried to protest—the dagger was my responsibility, my burden—but darkness was already pulling me under, my body surrendering to the exhaustion and trauma of the day.
As consciousness slipped away, I heard her final words, soft with a compassion I hadn't expected:
“Sleep, Ariella. The fight isn't over, but you've won this battle. Sleep.”
* * *
The Reflecting Pool calmed suddenly,the turbulent blue fading back to silver, then to clear, still water. I staggered, my legs nearly giving out beneath me as the memory released its grip. Strong hands caught me before I could fall—Levi, who had apparently moved to the edge of the pool during the trial.
“That's enough,” he growled, his eyes blazing with protective fury as he glared at Maeve. “She's done. You've seen enough.”
The witch looked shaken, her blind eyes wide, her hands trembling slightly. “Yes,” she agreed softly. “More than enough.”
I let Levi help me from the pool, my legs unsteady, my mind still half-trapped in the vivid replay of that terrible day. Every sensation had been exactly as I remembered it—the pain, the fear, the crushing weight of failure and loss.
“Ariella.” Kadriel's voice cut through the fog in my mind. She had moved closer, her expression solemn but somehow gentler than before. “Are you all right?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak yet. Levi's arm around my waist was the only thing keeping me upright, his warmth a lifeline pulling me back to the present.
Maeve approached slowly, her blind eyes somehow finding mine with unerring accuracy. “I have seen many truths in this pool,” she said, her voice soft but carrying in the silence of the chamber. “Many souls laid bare. But never one like yours, Ariella.”
