Fallen Angel: Mythic Series, Book 2 (8 page)

She wasn’t hungry anyway. Opening the veil took a lot out of her, and all she really wanted to do was crash. But she forced herself to step into the shower and wash away any lingering scents from outside. She slathered on the vanilla body wash and honey scented shampoo, so that when she climbed beneath the sheets – alone – it would smell exactly the same. Vanilla and honey mixed with Jax’s lingering scents.

Ryssa toweled off, smiling when she saw Jax had left one of his T-shirts laid out for her. Pulling it on, she crawled into bed and snuggled her face into his pillow.

Only then did she allow the tears to fall. She was alone now. Again. It wasn’t the first time, though it had been long enough that she’d forgotten just how empty the feeling could be. There was no one to talk to, no one to tease her, no one to hold her through the daytime and keep her safe.

No one who cared more about her than what she could do for them.

This would probably be the last day she’d be permitted to remain here. Karthik had allowed it because he knew Jax looked out for her, but now...  He wouldn’t want to take the chance that anything would happen to her. There weren’t many like her. While she’d heard rumors of other Fallen, she’d never actually come across one.

Fallen weren’t like other Angels. They were the flawed ones, the rejects, the ones who didn’t have unshakable faith, the ones who questioned and didn’t blindly follow the rules simply
because
.

When Ryssa made the choice to save the young Fae girlchild from a life of misery all those years ago, she did so knowing the consequences of her actions. By voluntarily exchanging her life for the other girl’s, she had saved the child’s soul but doomed her own in the process.

Karthik and others like him could not destroy her; being Angel-born meant she had a natural resistance to the evil that worked its way into hearts and souls of others. No matter what they did to her, deep inside, she remained whole and intact, something that would not have been assured for the Fae child had she been left to her Fate.

It had been an impulsive decision, but even if she’d had time to think long and hard, the outcome would have been the same. Her brother, Zach, had been upset with her for a very long time. Ryssa still couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes. She knew that he pulled some strings to ensure that he was the one to come for those Ryssa helped whenever possible; just as she knew that he would never stop trying to get her to repent and ask for forgiveness.

What he didn’t seem to understand was that she couldn’t do that, because she was not sorry. If faced with the same situation, she’d do the same thing again in a heartbeat. That pretty much ruled out ever going back. The mortal plane was her realm now.

Maybe someday Zach would accept that, and she’d be able to look in his eyes again, at his purity and goodness, and not be reminded of what it was like to be beautiful and loved instead of reviled and used.

But not yet.

She’d reconciled herself to such a life a long time ago. It was what it was. She might be Fallen, but it wasn’t all bad; it had its good moments, too. She still got to help people in her own small way. And she got to meet nice people like Claire and Elizabeth. She certainly had a much greater understanding of what happened below the Heavenly realm; that was for certain. Knowing what she now knew, seeing the temptations mortals and immortals alike were faced with every day, it was a wonder anyone managed to make it through the veil with their soul intact.

David Corrigan’s image suddenly appeared in her mind and she sighed. The man had a strong soul, but he carried a lot of weight on his shoulders. His mother had confided in her that she worried for him; that he took too much upon himself and shouldered too much responsibility. Elizabeth told her of how he often worked eighty or more hours a week, but insisted their employees took every minute of their vacation time. How he often paid off hospital and doctor bills for those who were having trouble with what the insurance didn’t cover. Of the anonymous donations that he made that paid for scholarships, after school programs, and untold meals for the homeless.

Ryssa was quite sure that David had gotten his penchant for philanthropy from his mother. Elizabeth Corrigan was an amazing woman who, for all of her tough business acumen, had one of the biggest hearts Ryssa had ever encountered.

Of all the people Elizabeth cared for, her son was at the very top of the list. Elizabeth’s biggest worry was what would happen to him after her death. He would be alone and vulnerable, and there would be no shortage of women ready to move in and take advantage of that.

Sadly, Elizabeth was probably right. David Corrigan was handsome, intelligent, powerful, and insanely wealthy. Beneath his prickly exterior, Ryssa’s angel heart recognized great potential. The man was capable of tremendous love for those he chose to allow past all the shields and into his heart.

Yes, David Corrigan could make the right woman very happy indeed.

Despite her harsh words to him nearly every time they met, she did not hate David Corrigan, nor did she harbor any real animosity toward him. In his own misguided way, he had only been trying to protect his mother, and Ryssa understood that. It would have been nice, though, if he had looked past the second-hand clothes and seen
her.
If, for just one moment, he could have seen her as something other than an opportunistic ragamuffin who schemed to take advantage of a sweet, compassionate, dying woman.

Ignoring the sudden and unwelcome twinge that thought carried with it, Ryssa offered up a silent prayer that David Corrigan find his intended soul mate, the one who would be able to reach his suspicious heart and relieve him of some of his burden. All sentient beings had a soul mate, though so few actually found each other.

She had no way of knowing if her words held any weight anymore, but it couldn’t hurt.

* * *

T
he funeral went well. The service was lovely, or so everyone said. It was well attended. Lots of people came: business associates, members of the community, acquaintances. They shook his hand, placed a well-meant comforting hand on his shoulder, or in some cases, hugged him. They murmured platitudes and clichés and expressed condolences. Just as he had done when he hadn’t been the one sitting in front of the coffin.

The last few days were a blur of making arrangements and writing checks, but now it was all over. There was nothing more left to plan, to do, to choose. Now he could allow himself to grieve in private, away from all of the disingenuous suck-ups and, even worse, the women who wanted to worm their way into his wealthy, successful life by offering comfort and consolation.

They all wanted something from him.

He sat in the cemetery, beside the white marble headstone bearing both of his parents' names. The engraver would add Elizabeth’s date of passing sometime in the next few weeks. Multitudes of flowers in every color of the rainbow spilled over the grave, the soil still soft beneath the temporary sod. It would all be replaced, reworked in a couple of months when the dirt had a chance to settle.

It felt strange to be here. Like so many people, he’d come to the gravesite with the hope of feeling close to his mother. It didn’t work. Though the ornate coffin containing her remains sat below the ground in that very spot, she wasn’t really there. It was only her body, her frail mortal shell that remained. He’d seen her – her spirit, her essence, her
soul
– walk into the light with an angel and look back at him with that beautiful, radiant smile.

At first he’d thought he’d imagined it; that the whole thing had been a delusion caused because his grieving mind was unable to accept his mother’s death. Now he wasn’t so sure. Random snippets of conversation had been coming back to him, drifting into his thoughts at random intervals.

She has a gift.

She can see between the realms.

She speaks with angels and demons alike.

She has given me peace.

She showed me what is waiting for me, David. It’s beautiful. And your father is there. He looks just like he did when we first met, all young and handsome. Ryssa said I’ll be young and beautiful again, too.

Ryssa.

It seemed too incredible; David had never really been the type to believe in the supernatural. He believed in God, sure. Angels weren’t such a big stretch from there. So if he accepted that God and angels did exist, then why not accept that there might be some who were capable of directly connecting with them?

What if Ryssa really could see past death?  He’d been so convinced she’d been trying to scam them, he hadn’t considered it a serious possibility. But she hadn’t asked for a dime. Wouldn’t even accept the small token gift Elizabeth had bought for her, a delicate white and yellow gold chain of intricate Celtic knots. The one that was still in the tiny box in his suit jacket. He’d been carrying it with him everywhere, hoping she would come.

She hadn’t. Not to the funeral. Not to the house.

If he was truly honest, he might even dare to admit that he wanted to see her again, if only to have her tell him it really had happened the way he remembered it. That he
had
seen his mother walk into the light with an angel. That Heaven did, in fact, exist, and that death was not the end. She was the only one he could talk to about this, the only one who might be able to understand and give him some much needed insight.

The only one who didn’t want anything from him.

Ryssa, with her delicate feminine features and those big grey eyes, who had stood toe to toe with him and told him off. She hadn’t been the least bit intimidated by him. Not by his size, his wealth, or the stare that’d had grown men cowering on the other side of the boardroom table,
nothing
. She was a fierce little thing. The thought of her glaring up at him with fire in her eyes made him smile.

Ryssa, who cared enough about giving his mother peace to keep coming back and put up with his bullshit. His smile faded, replaced by a sense of shame at how he had treated her.

She was tough. She’d taken everything he’d thrown at her and then some, giving back as good as she got. Another vision appeared in his mind, one of Ryssa dressed up in leather and chains, no longer looking like a waif but a full-grown woman straight out of his darkest, most private fantasies. His body tightened uncomfortably with a combination of guilt and lust.

Those images were replaced by those of her the last time he had seen her, looking pale and fragile, trying to hide signs of obvious physical abuse beneath her tattered, thrift shop clothing. Something dark and ugly clawed at the inside of his chest.

David shook his head, feeling uncharacteristically off-balance. How could one woman manage to make him feel so many things in the span of a few heartbeats?

The need to see her bloomed in his chest. Or maybe it had been there for a while, and he was only just now acknowledging it.

It had been more than a week since she’d held his hand while he watched his mother join the angels. Nine days since he’d heard her voice, or was stricken by the sight of soft, gray eyes staring up at him through thick dark lashes and wayward strands of raven-black hair.

Ryssa hadn’t come to the viewings or the funeral. She hadn’t stopped by the house, or sent a card or flowers. She had done exactly what she said she was going to do: she had disappeared the moment Elizabeth no longer needed her.

He couldn’t blame her. He’d been awful to her from the beginning. Why would she ever want to see or talk to him again?  Hell, she probably thought he’d make good on his threat and call the cops if she dared to show her face again.

What happened to you, David?

David winced as his mother’s voice echoed in his head. Yeah, he was a bastard.

He palmed the small box in his jacket pocket. It was the perfect excuse to see Ryssa again. Elizabeth had wanted her to have it, and if nothing else, might give him a much-needed sense of closure. He wouldn’t have to keep looking at the box, remembering how pleased his mother had been when she declared it the perfect gift. It wouldn’t keep bringing images of big gray eyes and shaggy black hair to mind every time he felt its slight weight shift in his pocket.

He might not have been able to promise his mother that he would look after Ryssa – he had a feeling Ryssa would have had as much of a problem with it as he had, but he could do this. And in the process, maybe he could find some peace, too.

David pulled himself up and brushed off his jeans, then headed toward his car with a renewed sense of purpose.

No one answered the door at her apartment. He drove over to the
Seven Circles
later that night, but the burly bouncer told him in no uncertain terms that he would
not
be getting in, and had offered several vivid depictions of how he might painfully drive that point home if David came back and tried again.

Tired and frustrated, David returned to his car and drove out of Southtown, back toward Brookside Heights.   Where was she now, he wondered?  Was she working?  Holed up in her apartment?  Helping someone else at the brink of death?  Had someone else sat atop the hill and chanted her name?

David stilled. He suddenly knew how to get the necklace to Ryssa.

“R
yssa... Ryssa... Ryssa...”

Several hours later, freshly showered, shaven, and dressed in jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt, David called her name. He still felt ridiculous, sitting once again beneath the massive oak tree at midnight, chanting into the darkness. Though admittedly, he felt less ridiculous than he had the first time.

The wind suddenly kicked up, and an icy cool breeze blew right through the thin cotton of his shirt.

“Why do you summon Ryssa yet again?” whispered a breathy female voice on the breeze. “She has fulfilled her duty to your mother.”

David looked around, twisting his body and head to the left and the right, trying to find the source of the voice. “Who are you?  Where are you?  Show yourself!”

A willowy white form glided up the hill. David paled. The form that appeared was breathtakingly beautiful, a figure wrapped in shimmery moonlight.
And he could see right through her
.