Page 83 of Destined for Dreams
“I don’t have your mental resources, but I will endure.” Caius pulled his shirt off and scooted around. “I can only hope you work faster than I did.”
Bartol rose onto his knees and took hold of the nephilim’s shoulder. “Concentrate on your breathing—in through your nose and out through your mouth—and think of a time in your life when you were happiest. You must push back the pain and live in that pleasant moment.”
Caius took in a deep breath and let it out. “Easier said than done.”
Bartol wouldn’t tell his old friend how it had taken months of torture before he began to find that place. Eventually, though, the mind learns how as a means of survival—or it breaks.
Ignoring the agony still raging along his own back, he began cutting into the nephilim’s skin. The other man gasped, but otherwise, let out no signs of pain. Bartol recalled from personal experience how to remove layers deep enough that it would rid his friend of the mark. He cut carefully and cleanly. Caius groaned and grunted, his muscles tightening.
“It hurts more when you fight it,” Bartol said, pausing his work. “You must loosen up as much as possible.”
The nephilim growled. “Go to Hell.”
“I’ve been close enough, my friend.”
Bartol waited until Caius finished cursing, understanding it was best to let him vent for a moment before continuing. The rock shard wasn’t as sharp as he would have liked, but he managed to remove one strip at a time until there was nothing left of the jagged skin along his upper back. The symbol was gone, and to his surprise, he sensed the power tether breaking off. He must have missed it happening to himself since he’d been too focused on Cori.
Bartol set down the rock, noting his hands were covered in blood. “I’m finished.”
“Took long enough.” Caius collapsed, lying sideways on the ground. “I’m just going to rest here for a while.”
Bartol scooted away, avoiding the mess they’d created, and found his own resting spot. Already, he could feel a hint of his strength returning. The demon couldn’t draw power from him anymore, but it would be a while yet before he’d fully heal or be able to flash.
Knowing sleep was the only thing that might speed up the process, and the clock was ticking before Haagenti might return, he allowed himself to rest. Bartol’s eyes closed, and he thought of Cori. She would be worried sick about him by now. The thought of having someone who missed him—unlike all those years in Purgatory when few even cared what was happening to him—it gave him some comfort to think he had a woman these days who did. She might not be perfect, and their relationship was still not on firm footing, but in the darkness she gave him a lifeline and hope.
Bartol couldn’t say how much time passed as he lay there sleeping fitfully. More than once he accidentally turned onto his back and shot upward in agony. It took several minutes of breathing and thinking calming thoughts before he could close his eyes again.
Around the fourth or fifth time, he inadvertently woke himself, a brilliant flash of light appeared in the cavern. After so much time of living in complete darkness, he could not hope to handle the sheer brightness of it. He covered his face with his hands and decided this must be a horrible dream.
“I’ve come to rescue you,” Remiel said, irony in his tone.
Bartol peeked between his fingers, relieved that the archangel had turned his brilliant light down to a soft glow. “It took you long enough.”
“You’ve been missing for nearly a week. You were hidden from me for all of that time until now.” He moved toward Bartol and took his arm to help him up. “I assure you this is the soonest I could have found you.”
“The demon marked us to drain our powers.” He went on to explain to the archangel what they’d had to do to rid themselves of the symbol. “We are only beginning to heal.”
“There is a spell over this place as well. I could not locate your signatures until you regained enough strength,” Remiel said, gazing around the cave in annoyance.
Bartol nodded. “I suspected as much.”
“Brace yourself, and I will heal you,” the archangel commanded.
He waited for Bartol to turn and press his hands against the wall. Then he pushed his healing power into him without even touching him. Remiel’s warm glow ran over Bartol’s body in gentle waves. It wasn’t every day one got healed by an archangel—or ever that he knew of—and it was far less uncomfortable than any other way he’d experienced. In a matter of moments, his back was fully restored and whole. Bartol still didn’t have all his powers back, but at least he wasn’t in pain anymore.
“Thank you,” he said, turning back around. It was the first time he’d ever said such words to any angel, but he meant them. He and Caius might have waited days to regain enough strength to escape on their own.
Remiel’s voice came out gruff, “It is the least I can do.”
“Have you found Tormod yet?” Bartol asked.
The archangel shook his head. “I’m afraid not, but we can discuss what happened to the three of you later. For now, we must hurry.”
He turned toward Caius, who still lay on the stone floor, and healed him next. The nephilim was up on his feet moments after it was done, stretching and testing his body. There was something to be said for an angel healing.
Caius grabbed his shirt and pulled it on, reminding Bartol he should do the same. “I’m ready when you are. We suspect the demon will be back for us soon, and I don’t want to be here when he does.”
“Agreed.” Remiel glanced between them. “Since the demon orchestrated a massive attack in Germany two days ago, he’s been in hiding, but he could surface again at any time.”
“What happened?” Bartol asked.
“I will explain everything soon enough.” The archangel took hold of both nephilim, careful with Bartol since he was aware of his sensitivity to touch. “Let us leave this place first.”
Speaking of which. “Where are we now?”
“Deep in the Scandinavian Mountains of Norway.”
