The Savage Grace: A Dark Divine Novel(30)

“And now he is stuck that way.”

And that’s why I’m so angry with him. “Does that make me a horrible person?”

“It makes you human.” He reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder. “But you must consider this, Grace. You and Daniel are connected—deeper so than we were at the hospital. You feel what he feels. You know that he needs a moonstone, and that part of him is leaving. But have you considered that he may feel what you feel? Perhaps your anger is what is driving him away.”


Gabriel might as well have stabbed a silver knife into my heart for how much his words pained me. “Do you really believe that?”

“It is just a speculation. Yet I think you need to find a way to forgive him—before it is too late. Find a way to forgive everyone before you find yourself alone with only the wolf inside your head for company. Daniel.

Your father. Your mother. Your brother…”

I looked away.

“God.”

“God?” I glanced back at Gabriel. “I never said anything about being angry with God.”

“You did not have to. I could feel what was in your heart at the hospital, and just now, you said that Daniel ‘was turned into the white wolf.’ Not ‘he turned into the white wolf.’ As if you blame someone else, some outside force, for turning him. You blame God.”

I didn’t know what to say. Had he really seen that in my heart?

“Tell me, my child,” he said, sounding very much like a priest questioning a sinner at confessional, “with all of these challenges you have been facing this week, have you prayed for guidance?”

I blinked at him. It was an intrusive question that made the wolf inside me snarl evil insults. I shook my head again to get rid of it. “No,” I admitted softly.

“Do not forget who you are, Grace Divine. Your father is a pastor, and you are talking to an eight-hundred-year-old monk, but He”—Gabriel pointed up to the heavens—“is the one you need to turn to now.”

“But what if I can’t? What if I’m … afraid?”

Gabriel tilted his head with curiosity. “Afraid you will not get an answer? Have you lost your faith … ?”

“No. I know God is there. I just don’t understand him anymore. I don’t get why he created the Urbat in the first place. I don’t get why he let them be corrupted like they were. Why would he create this curse? Why would he do this to us? To me? Why would he turn Daniel into the white wolf and trap him that way? That’s not what I wanted. It’s not what I asked for.”

“Asked for?”

“The last time I prayed—in the warehouse—I asked God to find a way to spare Daniel. A way to save him and my family. I told God he could let me die, but I begged Him to spare the others. I was ready to die, but then Daniel jumped from the balcony and was transformed into the white wolf, and then everything turned out the way it did. Everyone was spared, in a way. My plea was answered, but not in the way I expected. The price was not what I was ready to pay. I don’t want that to happen again.” I bit my lip, and we both sat in silence as my thoughts finally started to come together. “I guess deep down I really am angry at God.”

“There are times I have doubted. Times I have lost my way—without my anchor I would probably be lost still. Yet I know there is a purpose in all of this—even if after almost a millennium, I still do not know exactly how God works. But I do know that you need to work out this anger, find your own anchor, and—unlike the unmerciful servant in the story—learn to forgive in order to be forgiven. Even if God is the one you need to forgive. Even if it is yourself.”

I dropped my gaze. Perhaps I was the one I was the most angry with in all of this. I laughed uneasily to break the tension that was thick inside of me. “Remind me to never do a mind-meldy thing with you again. You’re far too perceptive.”

“Mind-meldy?” Gabriel asked. It sounded extra ridiculous with his weird mixture of a European and American accent.

“Oh yeah. I forgot you don’t watch movies.”

“You would think in all these centuries I would find the time.”

“So what’s your anchor?” I asked. I’d never thought of Gabriel as necessarily my friend—but he knew so much about me now, I figured I deserved to ask him a few personal questions. “Eight hundred years is a long time to go without losing your grip.”

“I never said I do not lose my grip sometimes. Quite the opposite.” A dark look passed over his eyes, and I knew asking about those times would be too personal. Then again, I already knew what had happened to his sister, Katharine. She’d died by his hands—teeth—shortly after he’d fallen to the werewolf curse. “But I always find my way back because of her.” Gabriel opened the sketchbook that sat in front of him. A drawing of a woman’s face decorated the page. She was beautiful, with light-colored hair and delicate features, drawn with so much care that they could only have been done by a true artistic master—a master who obviously loved his subject.

“Did you draw this?”

“Yes.” Gabriel tapped the pencil next to the book. “Drawing is one of the things I do when I am agitated. Not quite as effective as tai chi, but people stare at you less for doing it in public.”