I wasn't impressed by him because there wasn't actually anything impressive about him. Not really, not objectively, at least. He wasn't impressively strong or fierce. He wasn't like my leader, dripping with power. He wasn't otherworldly or underworldly. He didn't have a heavenly face or hellish body. There was nothing about him that made me anxious or hungry or ache. This feeling was distinctly different. It didn't burn me, didn't weigh me down or stop me in my tracks. It didn't even quicken or catch my breath.

This was something light, something quiet. But when I saw him, I found the corners of my mouth lifting into a foreign curve, I found my body drifting closer to him, my feet moving in his direction without reason. I found something peaceful in him. When I looked into his eyes, I didn't feel fire, but I did feel warmth. I saw it too. And though I knew he wasn't impressive, I found myself admiring him, that heart and soul in his forest eyes, something my previous infatuation hadn't even had, though I no longer faulted him for that.

We spent hours that first week talking. Whenever I wasn't with my brother, I was with him, usually all night as neither of us slept much - and Kael seemed to need ten hours a night. But by the time I realized our moonlit conversations were something more, I wasn't afraid of it, of the something more. I looked forward to it, in fact, to seeing him and speaking with him about all the things we had in common.

We talked about the loss of our families, our chosen surrogate brothers, though his was just a child. How we lived for them, for others, because there was nothing left in this life for either of us. Because we would have left this world a long time ago if we hadn't decided to live for those we loved. We talked about our nightmares, why we didn't want to sleep, the things we saw that plagued us. Even our connections to something bigger was a frequent conversation point. We were both part of something much more important than ourselves or even the ones we loved and lived for.

Neither of us was strong in our own right. But we were placed with those that were. That was difficult enough in itself, especially for people as prideful as we were. And just because we were weak, so many thought it was easy for us to be good, light, as if our pasts weren't allowed to harden us because we had weak blood pushing through our veins. But anger and bitterness and loss could make up for weak parentage. Ailech helped me with that too though, helped me to not let my life, a life that had ripped me apart, again and again, turn me into someone I would hate, someone my parents and sister wouldn't recognize.

He said I helped him too. He said I was the first person to ever heal him for a change. I liked the idea of that. And though I knew it was small and weak, not powerful or passionate or strong...I wanted to be that for him. I wanted to heal him, to be his retreat, somewhere soft and warm and safe for him to hide. He deserved that much.

» ✦ «

I spent nearly every night with Nevaeh. Sitting in a cafeteria or a library at first, somewhere public, casual. Then walking the halls, pacing them really, until we would get into a topic too heavy for even the deserted corridors. We would duck into any room, a spare gym or class, and continue without the few eyes of those still awake in the Vault on us. Eventually, we met in the privacy of my room, sitting in the moonlight that barely trickled in, talking until the pale light turned to thin yellow as the sun rose.

She asked me not to read her, heal her, to not search through her and find all her broken parts. I respected her wishes and listened. And with the amount of use I was getting every day with all the trainings for all the Clans now at the Vault, especially Malachi, the last thing I wanted was to use my abilities on Nevaeh anyway. Instead, I healed her a different way, a Human way. And she did the same to me, just by being there, just by sitting and talking with me.

Unfortunately, even my nightly meetings with Nevaeh couldn't rejuvenate me enough from Malachi's drain. Physically healing him or Jordan or James wasn't so bad. I was good at fixing the physical, but his mind, or soul, whatever his being or what made him 'him' was called, it was so shredded and tattered and jagged, it exhausted me every time I touched it. He was so full of pain and anger and feral fear, bloodlust and hunger and sadistic urges, masochistic beliefs, I could only read his damage for a minute at a time in the beginning. I could only search him and try to understand where to start for one tick of the clock before I felt sick, or worse.

I slowly upped my time, very slowly. I tried too quickly in the beginning and it made me jumpy, made me flinch when I saw James, something about his face and eyes would make me uneasy. It made me want to use my dark power, too, to pull life from everyone around me, wondering what that would feel like. It made me wonder how much I could pull, for how long, before they died. Would I feel strong? Could I kill with my ability? Would I permanently have their power, their life, then? Would it be enough to protect me or those I loved? Those thoughts became common when I spent too much time poking around Malachi's damaged insides.

Nevaeh actually noticed it first and traced it back to Malachi. She was good with puzzles. She was also the only one who knew I was working at healing all the wounds inside of him every time he was near me, besides Abby, at least. He knew just about everything. Luckily, Malachi gave me plenty of opportunities since one of his favorite hobbies was harassing me. It was actually pretty convenient, he tried so hard to make me uncomfortable, all the while it played into my hand and helped me heal him.

Every time he came up behind me in his spider-silent way so he could wind an arm around my waist and pull me back into his chest, I was working in him. Every time he cornered me and pinned me to the wall, I was stitching together tiny parts of him. Every time he whispered some invitation in my ear that frankly could make a prostitute blush, I was chipping away at his sickness. At least, until he got too handsy, until he ran his fingers through my hair or touched my face. I hated people touching my face. Then I would drop him, pulling his power, and leave him in a white-haired heap, cursing me from the floor. I had gotten quite good with that ability too, with all the practice.

Whether he was only playing with me, or bored, or some other reason, I tolerated his antics because they gave me easy and frequent access to learning more about his broken edges and how I could try to jigsaw him back together. He wasn't like Jordan and James had been. Their damage had been from each other, they had been missing parts of themselves like they had rotted away, and I couldn't heal that. I couldn't recreate a connection between Pairs, something Heaven had gifted them. But Malachi, he was still all there, just twisted and fucked up. But I could work with fucked up; I could fix that.

» ✦ «

Thinking back, I wished I had dug my hands under Jordan's skin and played in the puddles until they ran cold. Little sneaky Angel thought an insignificant heal and some weak blood connection, or bonding over similar scars was enough to have me falling over myself in pathetic kinship? Did she think her silver eyes could spell me and make me surrender my allegiance so easily? Even if it had been circling my mind more and more like carrion.

I didn't want to be on the side I was on. No better than the pet of a demon, Hell's fucking whore. But I knew my master was powerful, more powerful than anyone on this side, even all together, even with all their tricks. And it wasn't worth it to lose just for my pride's sake, just to save myself from going back to him, from feeling his touch and having to answer to him. Winning was more important, living was more important, even if the life I was allowed to live was hardly worth much. It was still better than burning and then being pulled back as a true slave.

At least I had some degree of choice as things were now, I could rebel in my small ways, find freedom in my days outside his home, like now, or during my trainings, or the other times in between his uses for me. But if I died and my master made good on his claim over my soul and brought me back, then I would be truly owned by him, collared even more so than I was now. More so than I ever had been before. The thought made my stomach rise to my throat, made my vision darken and blur with dread.

After Jordan asked me her question, the one she had surely been plotting since sending Gabriel away, I felt something strange, something I couldn't describe. I had been feeling strange ever since arriving at the Vault, confused sometimes, clearer others, and simply different others. Sometimes I couldn't decide if I wanted to kill Jordan or follow her. If I hated her or found her presence enjoyable. If I thought she was weak or if I admired her strength. There was some pull, some feeling, some thing, and whatever it was, I felt it strongly, so strongly at times I didn't know how to handle it.

And right then, as she asked me what I needed to desert my master, was one of those times. I couldn't tell if I wanted to stab her or confide in her. So, I did the option I was more accustomed to, the one that was more characteristic of me. I stabbed her. Unfortunately, my timing was as terrible as it always had been, and as soon as my dagger slipped between her ribs, her mouth opening into a surprised little 'o,' Gabriel reentered the gym with Ailech. And he quite clearly believed I had chosen wrong.

I recognized as he moved through his Shifts this time. He walked in Human, or mostly, but as soon as his dark blue eyes registered the scene before him, saw his Pair's blood, his body tightened like a bow and his eyes darkened to go from midnight blue to just midnight. Sharp canines poked down from behind his snarled lips and the air crackled with a power so densely manifested, it reminded me of his father's electricity. But unlike all the other times he had pulled his Shift in the past week, this time his nature continued far further. The change was as stark as it had been when Jordan went from her first to her second Shift in her sparring with me.

With a roar, Gabriel was across the floor and I was flung away from his Pair, landing flat on my back and skidding like a doll. He was instantly before me again, blocking out the vaulted ceiling from view, faster than he should have been able to move, or than he could move with only his Gray Shift. I was usually faster than him, but not now, not when he was like this. His hands were at my throat as he pulled me up to a seated position before slamming me back to the ground with a loud crack. The pain registered a moment later, radiating through my skull, disorienting me and making my vision blur.

Something in me shuddered as I stared up foggily into his black eyes, eyes that were full of promised violence and righteous wrath. His usually bored, arrogant face was vicious and wild as he cocked his arm back, his hand aimed for my chest, my heart, his fingers rigid like he would rip it out.

I felt the air flee my lungs in terror as I gazed up at my pretend-brother. Where there used to be just a wrecked and wicked boy, now a man I hardly recognized stood. Savage rage twisted the familiar lines of his face as he protected the woman he loved. My blurred mind couldn't understand what was happening, what he was doing, where we even were for a moment.

"James, please," I breathed the words out, but too late. His fist was already moving. And I knew he was finally going to kill me. After all these years.

Then his collar triggered, and he screamed like I hadn't heard since we were children.

Ailech was tending to Jordan and the dagger still speared between her ribs, but his head snapped up, his green eyes wide at the sound. His surprised face found us just in time to see James' knees buckle as he fell forward. His white-knuckled hands gripped the collar, his screams echoing in the gym as his body twitched in spasms from the collar's currents. He was bowed next to me, his knees tucked under him, his forehead to the ground as he continued to yell into the floor. But I knew it wasn't the pain that caused his scream and continued cries, it was the panic the electricity brought. His father's Gift running through him again, a Gift I had never heard of or seen in anyone else.

I knew the rush of memories and adrenaline this feeling brought never lessened, even if I could control my body and groans more now that I had experienced it so many times. And though I hated it, hated him, seeing James crouched on the floor, bowed and convulsing from his father's Gift, made me feel twelve again, a child, afraid that the closest thing I had ever had to a brother was going to be tortured to death in front of me for the sick amusement of a monster. And being too weak to do anything about it.

And though some part of me hated James, a larger part of me hated the man who had raised us to hate each other, to hate everything, to be in constant competition, to be so completely and fully fucked up. I heard my teeth grinding as I wished I could block out his noises.

When James was finally, thankfully, silent, I scrabbled to my feet and all but ran from the room. My eyes were too blurry, too wet. My breaths weren't coming correctly, I couldn't get enough air into my tight lungs through my shrinking throat. I just needed to get out of there, away from the disturbing images and memories, from the strange feelings I had around Jordan, and the confusion that had been settling on me for the past week like a heavy mist.

I didn't stop until I got to my room, my bathroom, putting two thick, locked doors between me and the rest of the Vault. I turned the shower as hot as it allowed and crouched in the corner before finally letting the unfamiliar burning behind my eyes out.

**Surprise posting!!**

& THATS ALL FOLKS!

Just kidding. I have so much more to this story.