It felt like l was a child again, back in the same house, the same halls, powerless and pathetic, unable to raise a finger against my father. Even in her presence I didn't have the strength to fight him, I couldn't, I would never win. Why had I ever even tried? If I would have just done as he said since the beginning none of this would have happened.

He would have never known of Jordan's existence, he would have never tried to tear my Clan apart, to hurt them through me, but I had been selfish and left him. Left just so he could hunt me down, hunt everyone I cared about down. If I had just become what he wished from the beginning, I wouldn't have dragged so many others down with me. I shouldn't have left, I never should have left. I hated myself for my mistakes, but I hated him more, every part of me hated him, every part of me wanted him dead. Just being in his presence made my mind burn with my need for revenge for all the things he had ruined.

Jordan looked like she was going to run to me, her eyes wide when I looked into them, her beautiful gray, the ones I had missed for months, and now there they were, staring at me, a question in them. I told her to stay, willed her to stay where she was, she couldn't save me now anyway, it was too late. She listened to me, for once, and I thanked Heaven for that small mercy. I couldn't bear to watch my father hurt her, watch him control her. It was better this way, better for her to be across the room from me, better for her to have at least this much distance from my execution.

He asked her to join him then, but I knew what her answer would be, she wouldn't stand beside him, she hated him as much as I did. My body relaxed infinitesimally knowing that, knowing she wouldn't kneel before him, even if it meant my death. At least then it would be over. I felt my father's hand tighten in my hair at her words, straining my neck back as I fought the wince that tried to come with each twist of his grasp.

I wished I could stop him, I wished I could protect Jordan, but it was no use. No one stood a chance against my father, against an Angel. He was death itself, power itself. He wasn't like the creatures I had killed, the Halves even, he was so much more, so much worse. It was useless to even try.

When he spoke I knew the words he said were true, about sending me to Hell, making me pay for all the evil my life held. Even at my young age I knew I had done enough cruelties to send me to Hell many times over, but I wasn't afraid of death, not for myself at least. My only fear was for Jordan.

I was leaving her alone in a world without her Pair. She couldn't stand against him alone, she would suffer under him until even her resolve weakened, until she had no choice but to bow to him, that or suicide, if he gave her the chance. That thought alone was enough to break my heart. I wanted to shut out the thoughts, to tell myself she would find a way to survive, find a way to fight him, but I couldn't make myself believe it. The hopelessness was closing in around me, and for the first time in years, I couldn't find the drive to fight it, to believe that all wasn't lost, not yet.

I never should have left this damned home in the first place. I deserved Hell for what I had done, for leaving Malachi, for what I was going to put Jordan through. I deserved the worst punishment the world could conjure up for all the people, all the friends and allies I had destroyed because I had valued my life above theirs, because I had left this place so many years ago. I should have killed myself instead of trying to live a good life, I should have known it was useless to even try.

I felt the cold metal of the blade against my throat and I welcomed it, I wanted to die. I couldn't do anything about it anyway. I deserved to die, though I wished Jordan didn't have to see it. I deserved Hell, though I wished she didn't have to know it. I kept my eyes full of hate as I felt my father push the blade against my skin, at least Jordan would never know how pathetic I had been in my last moments, at least she would think I was still strong and defiant of my father to the end.

I was glad I couldn't feel her connection, couldn't feel her Gift in my mind. I didn't want her to know how hopeless my final thoughts were before death.

And then I was weightless, my arms catching me by reflex a moment before I hit the floor. Feeling the familiar marbled tiles beneath my palms, I waited for the blood, to see the red spray onto the floor. I waited for the pain to grow from my neck to the rest of my body, for the fire of the cut to slowly turn to cold as my veins lost the life they needed. But nothing happened, I wasn't even hurt, not really. I could feel my injuries from being kept by my father, the aches and broken bones, the bruises and lashes from his torture, but I wasn't dying, I wasn't even cut.

I looked up just in time to see my father burning away, his eyes wide in dismay, in disbelief, his body blowing away in Jordan's Sign as if it was sand in a storm.

And then I realized I was in a dream. This couldn't be real. My feelings of hopelessness, of defeat fell from me like scales from my eyes. None of this was real. He had pulled my mind and Jordan's once again, twisted our nightmares together to try to hurt us more, to try to make us fear him, to show us what could happen if we defied him. He was using his greatest skill against us...but he wasn't winning. Jordan was. She beat him on his own grounds, at his own strength.

My eyes flew open and I was back in the real world, back in consciousness, at the Vault in Jordan's room, with her sleeping peacefully next to me. She was perfect, in that moment I knew it. She was a Half, but she was nothing like me, she was light where I was darkness, strength where I was weakness. She was perfection in a world of the broken and the depraved. She had seen through the nightmare, seen through my father's influence, she had won. She was strong, stronger than me. Her mind was everything I wished mine could be.

Then her dove gray eyes opened, focusing on me, a light in them that made me want to never look away. She was an Angel, a true one. My salvation. Maybe all of ours'.

» ✦ «

The first thing I saw was James' dark blue eyes staring down at me when I woke up. He had a look of awe on his face, like he was seeing something new in me. I opened my mouth to speak, to ask him what he was doing watching me, but then his hands were on either side of my face and he was leaning into me.

The first time we kissed it had felt like fire, but it had been hesitant and gentle, almost like he didn't want to, like he couldn't decide if he was really doing what he was. The second time had been our natures, passionate but damned and dark, a mistake. But this time felt sure, felt right. This time he knew exactly what he wanted and I felt it in his every touch, his every movement. Our first kiss had been feather-light, just a brush of his lips against mine, cautious. Our second had been seeking pain more than pleasure, power and control. But this time was the balance, this time his strong and his soft met, covering me. The feeling of his hands on my face, running back into my hair, his mouth over mine, his tongue slipping past my lips, his smoke and pine scent, it all engulfed me. All of it was sure and natural and complete.

The first time had been a question, the second a stumble, but this was the answer. He was answering all the doubts I had but never voiced. This kiss was an assurance that he was mine and I was his.

Na'rast, mielek. Navzda na'rast mielek.

The words echoed over and over in my head. As if every time I had heard them in my mind before had been a promise that this moment would happen. That I would be complete one day. That I was meant to be permanently tied to him, and he to me.

Soon, I realized the words weren't just in my head, but in the still air as well.

"Na'rast, mielek. Navzda na'rast mielek."

James rested his forehead against mine as he spoke, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed as if the very words hurt him. I understood the feeling. His voice was low and smooth, a strange accent pulling at each syllable, and I realized his was the voice the words had always been spoken in. Every time they had drifted through my thoughts, it had been him, and now, finally hearing him say them out loud to me was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

"Na'ru eho."

I knew the words as I said them, knew their meaning, their power. But I also knew they were true and all I wanted was for him to know that I loved him, that I adored him and admired him and had missed him more than he would ever understand. That I needed him too.

He opened his eyes after I spoke, their deep navy just inches from my face, open and honest. I don't know if his eyes had ever looked kind before, not completely at least, but they did now. His stare had always been amazing, but I would never have described it as soft up until that moment. But his eyes were soft when they met mine, adding to their beauty.

Something in his face looked vulnerable, like he needed me too, like he couldn't stand alone, not anymore. He had said as much to me before, but I hadn't fully understood it, fully believed it until right then, until I saw it in his eyes.

"I love you too, Angel."

I hadn't noticed earlier, everything had happened so quickly, but as he replied I saw the sweat at his temples, how damp his hair was, how warm his hands were against my skin, the thundering of his heart. Then I remembered the eyes of the James in my dream and I knew it had been him. Even in a dream his eyes couldn't be replicated, the look in them, the fire. It had really been him.

"You were in my dream."

He nodded, still holding my face.

"You were in my dream before too, in the city, when I thought you were the Fallen."

He nodded again, his jaw clenching as he remembered the nightmare.

"Your father's been doing this to us, making us see things, giving us nightmares of all the consequences of fighting him. And he's mixing them too, putting you in my dreams, me in yours, making them feel more real, making us feel hopeless or terrified, that was all him, wasn't it?"

James looked as if he might not answer me, but then he rubbed his thumb across my cheek lightly and leaned back on one elbow.

"I could never stop him, never beat him in my dreams. I could never realize it wasn't real, turn my dream on him like you did. I don't think he can trick you anymore. Any dreams you have won't be from him, not anymore."

"And you?"

James dropped his eyes then, and I felt like the sun had gone out without them on me, like I had lost some warmth.

"He knows my mind better, knows its weak points. In many ways your mind is stronger because of who you are, how you've lived. I'm susceptible to him in ways you aren't, because of my past, because of him, what he's done to me. Because I'm from him."

My heart sank knowing James wouldn't have the peace I did, that he would still have to fear each night, fear what his father would make him believe. I was sure he was angry now, furious that I had beaten him, even if only in a dream. I was afraid of what that meant for James, what his father would do, how he would retaliate.

I glanced to the clock, it had only been an hour. I crawled to the top of the bed instead of laying across its width and pulled the covers back, lifting them as James raised his eyes to mine once more.

"Will you stay with me?"

I remembered the last time I asked him that question, our last night at the Vault. I had asked it for me, because I didn't want to be alone. But this time was different, this time I was asking him to stay for him, not for me. I didn't want him to dream alone. I wanted to be there if he needed me, be right next to him when he woke up. I hoped in some way I would be able to tell when he was in a nightmare, hoped I'd be able to wake him, to help him in some way.

James' face looked hesitant for only a moment before he carefully laid down next to me, like he didn't want to get too close, just like the last time. But this time I turned into him, my head on his shoulder, my arm across his chest, and enjoyed the heat he always seemed to radiate, the smell of an evergreen forest, mixed with sweet smoke.

"Your shirt's damp."

I feigned an innocent tone, but I felt him smile into my hair before he spoke.

"Are you trying to take advantage of me?"

He replied with mock dismay, a hint of amusement buried in his voice.

"Just looking out for your comfort, dear leader."

My pillow gave a low rumble of laughter before shifting under me. When I laid my head back down it was against hot skin, not wet cloth.

I slept the best I had in months, hearing James' steady heartbeat under me, feeling his warm arm move to rest around my shoulders as his breathing slowed, his face buried in my hair. I dreamt that night, but they were good dreams, something I could hardly even remember.

There you go, some soft squishy chapters. You're welcome.