Whisper to a Scream (Alexa O'Brien, Huntress #6.5)(12)

For several days, she didn’t call, which was best. If she never called, it would be easy to accept. Encountering Shya had been the wakeup call I needed; I’d fallen so easily into this silly quest for human love that it was bound to catch up to me. Still, I resented letting her go.

When the phone did ring, I jumped.

“My date got out of hand. I think I’m hurt. The * robbed me and threw me out on the street. I don’t have anyone else to call.” Her tone was forcefully calm, but she was unable to hide the sound of tears in her voice.

I existed to care for humanity, so I didn’t debate my decision for a split second. If I had known that going to her would seal both our fates, I would still have gone; I’m not sure what kind of a monster that makes me.

I found Christina huddled in a bus shelter. Her ebony hair was in disarray. Makeup and tears stained her face, accompanied by a black eye and bloody nose. Her dress was torn and tattered from the struggle. She peered up at me with uncertainty and hope, and I knew that no matter what had brought us to this moment now, I couldn’t let her down.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.” I lifted her in my arms and carried her from the bus shelter. For a moment, she was stiff in my embrace, but then she dissolved into tears and threw her arms around my neck.

I called for a taxi. As we rode to her apartment, I began to question my motives. Self-doubt plagued me even after we arrived at a nice building in a good neighborhood.

“Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” I asked her for the third time.

With a shake of her head, she shoved open the door to her apartment. She limped inside, beckoning me to follow.

“I’ll be fine. I just need something to kill the pain.” Flicking on the kitchen light, Christina rummaged around in a cupboard, producing a pill bottle. Instead of water, she poured tequila into a glass.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sit down. We need to clean you up.” I steered her over to the living room couch. My first attempt to remove the tequila from her hand failed. “Where are your hand towels? Do you have any rubbing alcohol or anything?”

“In the bathroom,” she pointed with an unlit cigarette before snatching a lighter from the coffee table and sparking it. “So, does this mean angels don’t have some fancy healing ability?”

I gathered up a few things from the bathroom, pausing to wet a few towels with warm water. “It doesn’t work that way. We don’t all have the same power, and some things we can only do when we’ve been called to. It’s kind of complicated.”

Returning to the couch, I knelt in front of her. Trying to be gentle, I started by cleaning the blood from her pretty face. “Tell me what happened.”

“It was just like I said. The bastard beat my ass, robbed me and tossed me out of his car. This shit doesn’t happen often, but I’m usually more prepared. Go figure, the one time I leave my pepper spray at home.”

It hurt me to see the cuts and bruises she bore. I would never understand how they could do this to each other. Humans thought so little of the bond they shared. How could they not see how badly they needed one another? They were so quick to lash out in abuse, so slow to show love and mercy.

“Did he violate you?” I searched her eyes, needing to know if this man had forced her. The very thought filled me with a sick feeling.

Christina blew a plume of smoke in the air and shook her head. “No, he got what he paid for before he smacked me. I guess he wanted his money back. Must be losing my touch.”

The sick sensation grew. I had never experienced the need to vomit before, but I was pretty sure that’s what this felt like. The thought of a man putting his hands all over her, knowing her in a way only a true lover should, it disgusted me.

“Do you like it?” I asked, fearing her answer. “Don’t you ever want to stop?”

Christina sucked in a breath, letting it out in a long sigh. “Nobody likes it. Everybody wants to stop. For a while, anyway. I told myself I would only do it for a year, to help my dad after my mom passed. Then, he passed away too, and I didn’t stop.”

She sipped tequila, caressing the glass as if it were a dear friend. Tears welled up though she never let them fall. It was so hard to see the lost look in Christina’s eyes. She shoved a hand through her tangled hair and squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’m thirty years old, and my greatest accomplishment is having sex for money. Pathetic, huh?” She said this with a self-deprecating smile.

“No. Life is meaningless without mistakes. Learning from them is what counts. It’s not too late to do that, you know. You can walk away. Go to school or something. There is a better way, I promise.” I held her face steady in my hand as I cleansed the last of the blood from her nose. Warmth spread through me with a swell of emotion that stole my voice. She was a vision.

“I don’t know how to do anything else. Sometimes, I don’t even want to. It’s where I belong.”

“No, it’s not.” I’d seen this before. It wasn’t uncommon for humans to start to believe there was nothing better ahead. They grew so accustomed to the pain that they started to believe they deserved it. “As long as you have hope, anything is possible.”

I went to the kitchen to fetch ice from the freezer to wrap in a towel. Returning to her, I pressed the cold compress to her swollen face. The need to hurt the man who did this to her was sudden and strong. Violence toward humans wasn’t a trait of angels, and I turned my thoughts elsewhere in an attempt to squelch it.