The Angel Gift (Dark World: The Angel Trials Book 4) Page 6

  Feeling it was normal. Using it to connect with her across who knows how far of a distance…

  That should be impossible.

  But if I wanted it to work, I couldn’t let myself think like that. Instead, I focused on sending my thoughts to her.

  She’d overcome all known rules of the universe to send a message to me.

  Now, I was determined to send one back to her.

  I told her how Cassandra couldn’t track her, but that Thomas and I were safe in the Devereux mansion. I told her we were trying to get Flint on our side to help us rescue her and Sage from Azazel. But most of all, I told her not to worry about me. I was safe. And until we tracked her down, she needed to stay safe, too. Lastly, I asked if she had any information about the location of the bunker.

  Once I knew where she was, I could save her.

  As I sent all of this, I felt more connected to Raven than ever. She was there with me. Her feelings and thoughts flowed through my mind like the two of us were one. Well, she was technically always there with me—the imprint bond made sure of that. But now her essence surged over me, like water bubbling over rocks in a stream.

  We shouldn’t be able to communicate like this. But I didn’t care. Our love was too strong to keep us apart. I knew it, and now the others would all know it, too.

  Once I’d told her everything, I waited for a response.

  “Well?” Bella crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her foot impatiently.

  “I told her everything,” I said. “Now we just have to wait—”

  I was interrupted when Raven’s thoughts flowed over me again.

  Joy buzzed through me. But it was quickly followed by defeat.

  Because Raven wasn’t answering my questions.

  She was repeating the same thing she’d said to me before.

  I listened to the same story about the bunker. The story about Azazel taking the two of them, and how Raven needed help. None of my questions were answered. It was like everything I’d communicated to her hadn’t been received.

  “Does she know where Azazel took Sage?” Thomas raised his voice, angry now.

  “I don’t know.” I sat there in a daze, unable to focus on the others around me when Raven felt so close. “She’s repeating the same thing from before. The story about how she was taken and where she is. I don’t think my message got through to her.”

  The witches all looked at each other with concern.

  “How long has it been since you last slept?” Amber asked softly.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged and looked to Thomas. I hadn’t stopped to think about what time it was since Raven’s disappearance.

  “It’s been over twenty-four hours,” he said.

  “That’s too long,” Amber said. “Your system can’t function properly on such little sleep. We should all get some rest and regroup in the morning.”

  “You think I’m making this up?” I glared at her. “You think I’m imagining Raven?”

  “I think the stress might be getting to you,” she said carefully. “I don’t blame you. Ever since Whitney died, there are times when I can feel her with me, too.”

  “Raven’s not dead,” I said. “She’s alive. And she’s communicating with me through the imprint bond right now.”

  “But you said that’s not possible,” Bella said.

  “It’s not.” I narrowed my eyes at them, hating them for doubting me. “But it also shouldn’t be possible for a shifter to imprint on a human—or on a vampire.” I looked at Thomas when I said that last part. “The impossible keeps on happening. Clearly, the rules are changing.”

  “So reply to her.” Thomas stepped forward, his eyes filled with determination. “Get her to give you more information about this bunker Azazel’s keeping her in.”

  I tried again.

  Again, she continued on with the original message, like she didn’t hear me at all.

  I told the others, and they looked at me with pity. Like I was a child about to have his hopes and dreams snatched from right under his nose.

  “Grief and stress can do funny things to our minds, especially when we’re sleep deprived,” Amber finally broke the silence. “Why don’t you go to sleep, and see if you can contact her once you’re awake and fresh tomorrow morning?”

  “You don’t believe me.” I sat back in defeat.

  How could she think I was imagining this? I’d heard Raven. I knew it.

  If they could feel what I did, they’d know it, too.

  “I never said that,” she said, although it was obviously what she was thinking. “But you said yourself that she’s not receiving your messages. Maybe you’ve exhausted yourself to the point where you can’t reach her. You’ll be better able to help her once you’ve rested and can get a message through to her.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I just don’t think I can sleep now. Not when our imprint bond feels stronger than ever.”

  “I bet you’ll find that won’t be the case once you get into bed,” Amber said with a knowing smile.

  I looked away from her, overcome by a memory of a similar conversation I’d once had with Raven. It was back at the Montgomery pool house, on the first night we’d met. She’d been through a lot that day, and she needed sleep. But she kept asking me endless questions about the supernatural world. I’d found it annoying at the time. So I told her I’d answer her questions if she could lie down in bed for five minutes and not fall asleep.

  She’d fallen asleep in three.

  I’d do anything to go back to that moment, when Raven was nearby and safe.

  “At least your imprint bond feels strong,” Thomas said. “Mine with Sage feels weaker than ever.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “It feels like it’s muffled. I’m worried it means something happened to her…” The vampire prince rarely worried about anything, but in that moment, clear concern radiated in his eyes. “What did your imprint bond with Raven feel like when she was close to death?”

  “It didn’t change,” I said, not sure what he was getting at here.

  Did he think Sage was dying?

  “But Raven was dying,” Thomas said. “I saw her. She would have died without my help. That didn’t affect your imprint bond at all?”

  “No.” I shrugged, unsure if this was good or bad. “I’ve never heard of an imprint bond feeling muffled. It’s either there, or not. Nothing in between.”

  “So it doesn’t mean she’s hurt?”

  “I don’t know.” I wished I could tell him something more helpful. “Maybe it has to do with you being a vampire?”

  “Maybe.” He didn’t look convinced. “But the witches are right—we should get to bed. We have the first part of our plan to put into action tomorrow. We’ll be more useful if we’re rested and focused.”

  “Right,” I said in a daze, following Amber as she showed us to our rooms.

  Once settled in, I lay in bed, listening to Raven sending the same message on repeat. Despite promising the others that I’d get some rest, I continued trying to communicate with her in return.

  Each time, I failed.

  Eventually, her words stopped, and sometime after that, I drifted off to sleep.

  Raven

  We were awoken the next morning by an annoyingly perky bugle call blasting from the hallway. I groaned and held my hands to my ears, wanting it to stop.

  Thanks to Suzanne’s “introduction to bunker life” lesson yesterday, I knew what the bugle call meant. We had five minutes to get ourselves up and ready for breakfast. So I grabbed my toiletries basket and hurried to get ready, not wanting to risk standing out by being late.

  As warned by Jessica, breakfast was a big bland bowl of oatmeal. It was accompanied by a side of fruit and a glass of orange juice. Like dinner, we were expected to finish every bite.

  It was a meal I was familiar with, since the entire thing was vegan. My mom loved making oatmeal in the mornings. I never had a taste for it, but eating it now made me feel
closer to her. I’d bet breakfast was her favorite part of the day at this place.

  As we dug in, Jessica brought up her theory about my gift being the power of persuasion. The others agreed it was possible, but I still didn’t know. It didn’t feel right.

  Once Harry finished his oatmeal, I tested the theory by telling him to lick his bowl clean. I tried using my “gift” to convince him to do it.

  It didn’t work.

  “Maybe it only works when you really want someone to do something,” Jessica said. “How badly did you want him to lick his bowl?”

  “I wanted him to do it so we could figure out if that was my gift or not,” I said. “So yeah, I wanted him to do it pretty badly.”

  “Hm.” Jessica clearly believed me—obviously, because I was telling the truth. She sat back and crossed her arms, looking unsatisfied.

  There went that theory.

  Once everyone in the cafeteria was finished eating, Marco marched over to our table and hovered over me.

  Fear pounded in my chest. I’d been doing everything possible to blend in and not bring attention to myself.

  What had I done wrong?

  “Number thirty-three,” he said, looking down at me. Apparently the demons addressed us by our numbers, and not by our names. “Follow me.”

  I looked around at the others at my table in alarm.

  “It’s your assessment with the doctor,” Pam said quickly. “Go. You’ll be fine.”

  Of course. Suzanne had told me yesterday that I’d be going to the doctor after breakfast for my assessment.

  I took a deep breath and followed Marco out of the cafeteria, trying to get a hold of myself. I needed to be on my a-game. Which meant I couldn’t let this place turn me into a frazzled mess.

  He led me down the hall. We passed the doors that led to the places Suzanne had shown me yesterday, and he opened one on the end.

  The balding man from the cafeteria—the one the others had told me was the doctor—waited inside with a clipboard in hand. The room looked like a regular doctors office, although it was bigger, with some gym equipment inside as well.

  “I’m Doctor Foster.” His voice trembled as he introduced himself, and he didn’t look at Marco or me. “Please take a seat.” He motioned toward the examination table, and I did as asked.

  Once I was seated, Marco left the room, shutting the door closed behind him.

  Now that we were alone, I watched the doctor in anticipation. “I’m Raven,” I said, even though he hadn’t asked for my name.

  He was clearly nervous. Hopefully getting on his good side would help get me information.

  He took a seat in the chair across from me, still not looking at me. Instead, he focused on his clipboard and asked a few basic questions, like my age and height. He diligently wrote down my answers, keeping his eyes on his paper the entire time.

  It was like he was trying to stop himself from seeing me as a living being.

  “Did you take any medications prior to arriving here?” He spoke about this place like it was somewhere I’d chosen to be, instead of somewhere I’d been taken prisoner.

  “Just the birth control pill,” I said.

  “So you’re strong in mind?” he asked. “No mental health conditions we need to be aware of?”

  “None.”

  He nodded, apparently content with that response. “Any physical conditions?” he asked. “Prior surgeries?”

  “Nope,” I said. “Well, I had surgery to get my wisdom teeth out when I was eighteen. Does that count?”

  “It doesn’t apply to what we need to know here,” he said, although he jotted something down just the same.

  “What do we need to know here?” I leaned forward and held tightly onto the edge of the examination table. “We’re prisoners. Why’s our health so important? What are the demons getting us ready for?”

  Because that had to be what was going on, right? The demons were getting us ready for something?

  If they thought they were going to get gifted humans to help in their fight against the supernaturals, they could forget it. I’d never help them. I’d die first.

  I’d never felt so strongly about something that I’d die for it, but I hated the demons more than I’d ever hated anyone in my life.

  Doctor Foster glanced up at me behind his glasses, pity crossing his eyes. “You and the others here are very, very special,” he said slowly. “As I’m sure you already know.”

  “The others might be special,” I said. “I’m not.”

  “You don’t know what your gift is?”

  “No idea.” I shrugged. “I’d say it was a mistake that I was brought here, but the demons didn’t seem to think that was possible.”

  He wrote my response down, focused on the clipboard again. “We’ll figure out what your gift is soon enough,” he said. “But let’s move onto your family history. Any medical problems—mental or physical—with your parents or siblings that I should know about?”

  “You already know my mom.” I smiled sweetly, unable to keep the condensation from my tone. “Skylar Danvers. She was here up until a few days ago. You’ve met her, I assume?”

  He looked at me like he was seeing a ghost. “Yes,” he mumbled, quickly averting his eyes again. “I did.”

  “Do you know what happened to her? Where she was moved to?” My emotions were getting the best of me. I was getting over annoyed—and over enthusiastic. But I couldn’t help it. I was trapped, angry, and afraid.

  Doctor Foster knew what was going on here. He had to. And he was helping the demons.

  Why would he do that?

  He probably didn’t want to do it. He was so skittish that I had a feeling he was being coerced. Which meant he could be on my side. On the side of the gifted humans.

  Which meant maybe—just maybe—I could get him to help me.

  Raven

  “Your mother was in excellent health, and was moved to the next location,” he said, refocusing on his clipboard. “So there are no health concerns on your mom’s side of the family. What about your dad? Siblings?”

  “No siblings.” I stared at him, trying to will him to open up to me. “And I don’t know about my dad. He bolted before I was born.”

  It was what I always told people. But my dad didn’t actually bolt anywhere. He was a guy from another country my mom had hooked up with on vacation. When she told him she was pregnant, he sent her money to get an abortion. But she couldn’t bring herself to go through with it. She told him as much, and he said it wasn’t his problem since he’d given her the money to take care of it.

  As far as I was concerned, he wasn’t my problem, either.

  People usually felt bad when they found out. But I was fine with it. He might be my biological father, but he was no dad. You couldn’t miss something you never had. Well, in this case, someone.

  Doctor Foster continued on to the physical examination, still not bothering with any small talk.

  As he took my weight, height, blood pressure, listened to my heart, had me breathe as long as I could into a machine, and all the other things doctors do, I realized why the best doctors were also good at conversing with patients. This was all extremely awkward with a doctor who refused to acknowledge me as anything other than a specimen to be observed.

  The exercise part of the assessment was less awkward, but it kicked my butt.

  First he had me run on a treadmill with a heart rate monitor connected to my chest. I’d never been much of a runner. It didn’t take long until I was huffing for air and sweating like crazy.

  At last he let me stop, only to have me do as many push-ups in a row as possible. I did a few—I think I at least made it to ten—before my arms shook and gave up.

  Next was the wall sit. I’d never done a wall sit before, so I had no idea what was good or not. But I didn’t reach half a minute before my legs felt like they were on fire.

  As for pull-ups, that was impossible. I couldn’t do one.

  Sit ups, I c
ould handle. Sort of. Same with leg raises. But just when I thought maybe I wasn’t completely awful at all this stuff, he had me plank for as long as I could. Which was around twenty seconds, if I was being generous.

  The one part I didn’t completely flunk at was flexibility. I might not be able to do a push up, but I could touch my toes without bending my knees. Go me.

  By the end of it all, my hair was dripping with sweat, and I knew my face was likely as red as a tomato.

  “How often did you go to the gym before arriving here?” Doctor Foster asked after finally confirming we were done.

  “Never.” I used the back of my wrist wipe sweat from my brow. “Obviously.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “I was double majoring in psychology and biology.” Well, at least that’s what I was doing before my memories were erased and replaced and I was forced to take the spring semester off. “Between classes, labs, studying, and sleep, I didn’t have time for the gym.”

  Not like I would have gone anyway, but whatever. I stopped exercising after it was no longer mandatory in high school.

  “I remember those days.” He glanced off at the far wall, looking slightly happy for the first time since I’d seen him. But whatever bit of happiness he was experiencing disappeared a second later, and he returned to filling out the papers on the clipboard. “Not to worry. I’ll get an exercise program ready for you. It’ll be delivered to your bed after breakfast tomorrow. You certainly have a long way to go, but I doubt it’ll take you nearly as long as some of the others. While you might not have previously enjoyed exercise enough to train to your potential, athleticism is in your blood. Your mom is proof enough of that.”

  After having my butt handed to me during the assessment, I suspected my dad wasn’t athletic at all. He must have given me all of his genes in that area. But I wasn’t going to fight the doctor on this one. Especially since he’d just opened up the window to talk about my mom again.

  “I know you can’t tell me where they took her,” I said. “But if I write a note to her, do you think you’d be able to get it to her? Please?” I eyed up the paper and pen in his hand—he had the materials.