I sat silently. I hadn’t known Angels existed—well, not outside of myth at least. But then, I had thought the same of Vampires until a few years ago. To the best of my recollection, I hadn’t ever come across an Angel. I trod carefully with my next question. “If you’re an Angel, shouldn’t you be in Heaven?”
“Angels don’t ordinarily live on Earth, that’s true, unless the Angel is fallen,” he answered. “If Angels choose to fall, they lose their connection to our world; their gifts cease. Rendered useless on this plane, they become mortal. Seldom is that choice ever made.”
“But if choosing to fall means you become mortal, then I don’t understand. You are the same as in my dreams, you look the same?”
“That’s because I didn’t fall. My situation is a little different,” he explained.
“And these Vampires … Jonah? Are they somehow part of your different situation?” I pushed.
“Yes and no. I have been on Earth a long time and I have freed a number of Second Generation Vampires. They were human once; the life they have now was forced upon them. If I see a chance to grant salvation, I take it.” He paused thoughtfully before continuing. “Jonah was, well, a special case. When I came across him, he showed through his actions that he was capable of change. I offered him his freedom, and I try, just like with the others, to help guide him back to some sort of humanity.”
“How long has he been with you?” I asked.
“Not long enough. He needs more time, and there are others involved—It’s not that simple. He remains loyal to me in gratitude of my help. When he is able to leave, and if he wishes to, I will let him go.”
He must have known I was about to pursue the conversation further as he quickly changed the subject. “How’s your hand?” He peeled away the towel, raising my palm toward him. He met my eyes, disbelieving, when he saw that it had healed already. “How is that possible? You were—are—mortal.” He stumbled over his words.
“It just is, I don’t know why. Let me ask you, if we were such close friends, where did you go? Why did you leave me behind?”
He winced as the words left my lips and I sensed that I had asked the question he most wanted to avoid.
As Gabriel pondered his answer, Jonah bounded onto the patio.
“Hey, Cessie, you’re up and about?” he asked, somewhat surprised.
Gabriel glared at him. I figured he was still unhappy about Jonah feeding from me.
“Gabriel.” He nodded at his friend respectfully.
“Yeah, I’m a lot better, how are you?” I replied.
“All good.” He seemed far more humble than when we had first met.
I stood, and both Jonah and Gabriel moved in my direction.
“Here, let me help you.” Jonah scooped me up effortlessly. “You should be resting anyways.” His arms were solid and they held me firmly.
“Put her down, Jonah, she’s fine. She can walk.” Gabriel’s tone was far less gentle than the way he had spoken to me.
Jonah looked baffled, but placed me down.
“Francesca, why don’t you take a warm bath and freshen up? Brooke will have laid out some clothes for you, you’re about the same size,” Gabriel said.
I scowled back at him—I still had plenty of questions.
“We’ll continue this when you’re done. I need to speak with Jonah. He’s been recuperating himself, so we haven’t had a chance to talk,” Gabriel said, nodding at me.
I took “recuperating” to mean feeding.
Defeated, I reluctantly went back up to the room I had slept in and I ran a long, hot bath. The tub was wide and deep. I couldn’t resist adding some of the salts that were placed tidily next to it. I unhooked my necklace and placed it carefully on the nest of tables.
Peeling off my clothes, I dipped my toe in but pulled it out quickly as it sizzled. I took a deep breath and tried again, this time stepping all the way in. I released my long, blood-stained hair from its elastic and let it flow down the nape of my neck and float on the surface of the clean water.
Sinking in as far as I could, I bobbed my head under and swilled my face. I rested for what felt like too long, before cleaning my skin and scrubbing my hair furiously. I reached for the white cotton towel, though I could barely see it, the room was so steamy.
I was anxious to return to Gabriel. I felt a powerful pull toward him and, strangely, out of the many questions I desired answers to, the only one I truly cared about was if he had loved me. I chuckled to myself, almost in disgust at my own indulgence. As if someone like him would have loved someone like me. He was exceptional, and I was not. But I knew his face, the way he smelled, and the way he had looked at me once before, in another lifetime. Mostly I recalled his smile, how it extended from the height of one cheek to the next; he was extraordinarily beautiful.
As I emerged from the tub, I dried myself off and wrapped the large, cozy towel around my pale skin. I moved into the bedroom and saw, as promised, a tight silk spaghetti-strap racerback top covered in deep purple roses hanging from the mirror on the dresser. For added warmth, a knitted hip-length cardigan was draped over the hanger. A pair of black skinny jeans and some stiletto boots sat on the chair. A pretty makeup bag and a hairbrush with some clips were also set out. I smiled. As far as I knew, no one had ever cared enough to look after me before.
Patting myself down, I set about trying on the clothes. They fit but were a little tight; despite my delicate frame, I had a curvy hourglass shape. But Gabriel had been accurate enough, this Brooke girl and I were a similar size. The boots were shiny and inviting, but the heel height was not, so I opted for my own flats instead. Wringing out my hair, I clipped it half up, half down, allowing the natural curl at the ends to dangle to my waist, leaving my side bangs to frame my face. Makeup was new; I didn’t wear it ordinarily, but I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so I put a few strokes of blush across my cheeks and a little mascara on my lashes.
Eyeing the reflection in the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize myself. I only ever wore practical clothes. Washing my face was about as much effort as I ever made to look presentable. I immediately felt self-conscious. Baggy jeans and flats meant that I blended into the backdrop; people never paid much attention to me. I didn’t know how to wear clothes like this, I worried I would appear awkward in them. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Shaking my head, I scolded myself; there was nothing wrong with me—why shouldn’t I look nice for a change? I attempted a more confident swagger toward the door.