FREED (Angels and Gargoyles Book 2) (8 page)

“No,” Dylan said. “I won’t be used.”

“You don’t have much choice,” Demetria said.

It was too much like what Lily had said. That sense of sliminess was back, coating her throat so that she thought for a moment she wouldn’t be able to speak again. She cleared her throat as she took a few more cautious steps backward.

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” Dylan said. “I have all the choices I could want.” She waved her arm around herself. “I can run. I can go back to the resistance. I could go back to Viti—”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Donna broke in, her voice filled with skepticism.

Dylan focused on the girl she had once considered a sister. “And what happens when they win? When Luc and Lily are gone?”

A little uncertainty filled Donna’s eyes as she glanced first at Demetria and then the gargoyles. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m sure we would be free to do what we chose.”

“Will we?” Dylan gestured toward Demetria. “Do you really think that they will want abominations roaming the earth after their humans are free to repopulate it? Do you think they will want our blood mixing with that of the humans? Do you think they want to risk the idea of us rising up against the humans one day?”

“Dylan,” Demetria began, but Dylan shook her head.

“Nothing you can say will change the reality of what is happening here.” Dylan waved her hand around, indicating all the people there, human, gargoyle, and hybrid. “You have a single purpose. And that purpose does not include me or my kind.”

Even as Demetria bent her head to agree, Donna began shaking her own. She reached for Dylan, grabbing her arms and forcing her body close, holding her against her chest like a mother scolding a child.

“Do you really think your friends have plans for a better future?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Do you think Davida would plan my eventual execution?”

Donna’s eyes widened. “Davida?” she asked.

“Yes, Donna. Davida is with the resistance. With Wyatt’s father and all the others who are fighting against Luc and Lily.”

Dylan could see the emotions playing over Donna’s face, could see doubt begin to wiggle its way into her thoughts. But then she kind of shook her head, a small movement that was not really a shake but couldn’t be described as anything else, either.

“We have to do the right thing,” Donna said.

“I agree,” Dylan said. “But I don’t think the gargoyles are going about it the right way.”

“And what is the right way?”

Dylan looked over Donna’s shoulder at her companions, her friends. Wyatt was watching her, his feet spread wide as though he was ready to rush to her aid at less than a second’s notice. Her cowboy. The one person she could count on in a moment of peril.

“I don’t know,” she said, focusing on Donna again. “But it can’t include the complete destruction of a whole group of people just because of their genetic makeup…whatever that is.”

“Dylan—”

“No, not even for you, Donna,” Dylan said, the pain in her chest almost overwhelming as it burst over and over again with the hurt she could clearly see in her sister’s eyes.

Donna studied her for a second. Then her grip on Dylan’s arms tightened just enough to hurt before she let her go. “You do what you need to do,” Donna said, so quietly Dylan had to strain to hear her. “But if you think they haven’t lied to you, that they aren’t going to use you in the same way, you should stop burying your head in the sand.”

Donna turned back to Demetria and shook her head with more energy than might have been warranted by the situation. Demetria focused on Dylan, her eyes narrowed. “You’re making a mistake,” she said. Then she snapped her fingers, and the other gargoyles disappeared. Demetria morphed back into her gargoyle form, grabbed Donna under the arms, and disappeared as well.

“Goodbye, Sister,” Dylan whispered as her knees failed her and she fell to the floor, the adrenalin of the last hour leaving her with nothing but her grief.

“I think you should leave me behind.”

Wyatt and Sam both looked as though she had told them the sky was green.

“We’re supposed to meet up with Davida soon,” Wyatt said at the same moment Sam said, “You can’t survive on your own.”

“It’s too dangerous for you to be with me.”

They were standing by a small stream a few miles from the ruin where the gargoyles had confronted them. Ellie and the others were resting under a grove of trees a few dozen feet away, far enough to be out of earshot, but close enough that they could reach them should trouble come.

Wyatt crossed his arms, eerily similar to the way Donna had done in that room. His eyes were narrowed as he studied Dylan, doing something she had seen his father do a few times in the week she had known him. Funny how people tended to copy those they loved and respected. Dylan had noticed the same thing about Donna. The way she tilted her head when she heard something she didn’t like. That was all Davida.

“You need us,” Sam said.

Dylan crouched down and picked up a tiny stone she saw half buried in the mud beside the stream. She dug it out and cleaned it off in the water, using it as an excuse to keep from looking at the two boys who wanted so badly to decide her future for her. Two boys who wanted to be a part of that future.

Wyatt, whose kisses made her body burst into flames.

And Sam, whose calm was always a gift in moments of vulnerability.

“The only reason we’re in danger is because of me. I can’t keep putting everyone at risk.”

“So we divide the group,” Wyatt said.

Dylan looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I go with you. Sam takes the others to rendezvous with Davida and the others.”

“No.”

This time it was Sam and Dylan who spoke at the same time.

“You can’t put yourself in danger like that,” Dylan said.

“It’s my choice.”

“And what about your dad? What would he say?”

“He told me to keep you safe.”

“That was before.”

“It still applies.”

“Hey, guys,” Sam said, “why don’t I get a vote?”

Dylan tore her gaze from Wyatt as she slowly stood, that small pebble still between her fingers. “What do you think, Sam? You want to die for me, too?”

“Yes.”

She glared at him. “You are both idiots,” she said, turning away.

Sam grabbed her arm and forced her to face him. “We care what happens to you. Why does that make us idiots?”

“Because it could get you killed.”

“That’s our choice,” Wyatt said.

She jerked from Sam’s touch and backed up until the heels of her boots began to sink in the soft mud. “You heard what they said back there. Everyone wants me because of what they think I can do for them. More of them are going to come for me.”

“And we’ll be there to fight them off.”

“Wyatt…” she whispered, the memory of his kisses too much for her to think clearly about this. She just wanted him to be safe, for him to live. Why was that so much to ask?

And then there was Stiles.

She felt the familiar breeze wash over her before his voice whispered in her mind.

We need to talk.

No kidding.

Meet me behind the big oak tree.

An image of a huge tree with beautiful green and gold leaves filled her mind. She dragged her fingers through her hair, frustration beginning to make her fingers shake and her head ache. The splinters in her back were no longer a problem: she had managed to calm herself enough to heal the places they had invaded, but the memory of them hurt as she stretched a little.

“If we do this,” she said, studying both Sam and Wyatt’s faces, watching the fear and excitement dance in equal proportions in their eyes, “we do it my way.”

Wyatt stiffened. “You don’t—”

“My way, or I disappear in the middle of the night and you never see me again.”

He threw his hands up, as though throwing away a huge burden. “Fine,” he snapped.

“Sam and I leave this afternoon.” She pointed a finger at Wyatt as he began to object. “You take the others somewhere safe, and we meet up in three days.”

“How will I know where to find you?”

“You’ll know,” Dylan said, remembering how she and Davida had communicated through him. If that was possible, it had to be possible for her to communicate directly with him.

She hoped.

Wyatt shook his head. “I don’t like it,” he said.

“We have to make sure the others are safe,” Dylan said. “It’s not enough for us to separate. They have to go somewhere where they can defend themselves from another attack.”

“Why can’t Sam do that?”

Dylan looked at Sam at the same time Wyatt looked at him. Wyatt backed up a little, crossing his arms over his chest again. He seemed to come to a conclusion after a moment because he said, “All right. I don’t like it, but if this is the only way—”

“It is.”

“I’ll keep her safe,” Sam said, patting Wyatt on the shoulder.

Wyatt didn’t acknowledge the gesture. Instead, he marched off, wandering farther down the stream before stooping to pick up a few pebbles to toss into the water.

“Thanks for trusting me,” Sam said, moving closer to Dylan. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Dylan looked over to where Ellie, Carver, and Bobby were sitting in the shade. “I’m more interested in keeping them safe.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. There was hurt in his voice. She wanted to apologize, but she wasn’t sure what to say. Wyatt knew the area, knew where he could take the others where they would be protected. She was only taking Sam with her because she knew Wyatt wouldn’t let her go off alone. She suspected Sam knew that.

“I should go check on Ellie,” he said after a moment. Dylan just nodded.

She watched him walk away. He seemed to have a connection to Ellie. Dylan didn’t think there was much to it, just a sister-like connection that stemmed from the fact that they had found one another while wandering alone in the desert after the people of Genero abandoned them there. But, still. It was a connection.

He and Wyatt. What was it about Ellie?

Dylan was still thinking about it as she walked toward the trees. Just as she moved out of sight of the stream, Stiles stepped out from behind a tall, thick tree.

“Hey,” he said, as though nothing had happened that morning.

She punched him in the chest.

“What was that all about?” Dylan demanded. “Did you know about Demetria? That they were coming for me?”

“No,” he said, leaning back against a tree as though this was just a normal, ordinary discussion. “I was just as surprised as you were.”

“Where were you?”

He shrugged, but when he did, she saw a flash of blood at the bottom corner of his shirt. She snatched it up before he realized what she was doing and tried to stop her. A gash, a long, wide gash, marred his pale skin from just above his hip to below his belly button.

“Stiles, for goodness’ sakes,” she muttered, slipping her fingers over it. It wasn’t bleeding as much as she might have thought something that long, that wide would. In fact, it was hardly bleeding at all. It was as though it had already begun the process of healing. But her touch made it disappear.

“Some guardian you are,” she mumbled as she dropped the hem of his shirt and stepped away.

Stiles shrugged. “I can’t be everywhere at once.”

Something about his tone annoyed Dylan. It made her anger rise again.

“Are you working with Demetria?” she asked.

He straightened at that. His eyes studied her. “I’ve helped you,” he said.

“Why?”

That only seemed to make him mad in a way her punch to his chest hadn’t. He turned away, kicking his feet through the twigs and leaves that littered the ground. “It’s a very ungrateful thing to do to question someone who has helped you.”

“I’m sure you understand my side of things,” Dylan said. “I need to know who I can trust and who I should be wary of.”

“Well, I’m definitely not the latter,” he said.

“Then tell me why I should trust you.”

He huffed a little as he again kicked at the ground. “Davida knew what you were from the beginning. She saw it when you were born, saw it again when you healed yourself of some childhood illness.”

“I didn’t—”

Dylan began to object, but then a memory niggled at the corners of her mind. A high fever. Sore throat. Achiness in her joints. She remembered the concern on Davida’s face, the fear that mingled there. And then she remembered a dream in which she was playing in the grass, a dream so intense that it couldn’t compare to anything before or after, except maybe the dream in which Lily walked with her.

“Davida made contact with the resistance. I have connections with them.”

“You work with Jimmy?”

Stiles laughed. “No. Jimmy would never tolerate someone like me working with the resistance. He barely tolerates you.”