CHAPTER FOUR
I couldn't look at him as I talked; instead, I stared into the flames, watching them lick at the midnight sky with greedy tongues of orange and green.
"I used to be able to run for miles without getting tired or winded."
My voice, pitched low, was barely audible over the crackle of the driftwood fire. I didn't care if he heard me. This was my confession to the night, to the ocean, to the wind. To God.
Despair wasn't the only reason I avoided his gaze; embarrassment kept my eyes averted. How pitiful I must be to his species; how unimaginative, how limited. No wonder Raum had left; his disdain for my human frailty must have slid inexorably into disgust.
"And strong … Lord, was I strong."
Heavy loads had been feather-light, and my legs had been able to propel me to the roof of a one-story house. I'd only needed four hours of sleep each night and could eat anything, and as much as I wanted. Often I knew things about people from a simple touch of their hand, and could influence a person's decisions with a concentrated thought directed at him or her.
But beyond those things had been that feeling of being special, chosen. An angel had chosen me—me, Suzanne Harper—over all the other humans on earth, and had shared with me some of his extraordinary abilities. I'd come as close as anyone ever would to knowing what it was like to be one of the malakhim.
"He was dating her first. She was certain he was The One, so she wanted me to meet him."
Oh, how excited Zanna had been to have two of her favorite people meet and become friends. Had she noticed the instant electricity between Ian and me, the force like two magnets propelling us toward each other? No, I rather doubted she had. She had been too wrapped up in her own happiness to see the vibrant attraction that had flared between us. And hadn't there been a part of me that had justified that attraction because I was the more beautiful of us two? Yes, there was no doubt that I had.
"You stole him," Russ surmised with his usual uncomfortable bluntness.
I closed my eyes, mortification burning my cheeks a brilliant red, horrified at his blunt deduction. "I stole him."
"So Zanna had every reason not to speak to you all these years."
"Yes. I justified it because I thought Zanna was plain, and since I was more attractive I deserved a man like Ian Reid. She could go find someone else who fit her looks. I thought that and a lot more."
Tears crept down my cheeks. Neither of us mentioned them. I had harbored this guilt deep in my heart for eight years—the three years I'd spent with Ian, and the five years since I'd left him for Raum. Now Zanna was dead, and I would never have the chance to tell her how wrong I'd been, how sorry I was for what I'd done, how much I had missed her.
A sob escaped my clamped lips. I plastered a hand over my mouth, but nothing would hold back my grief. Too late, too late—I'd come to repentance too late to make any difference. She was gone forever, gone beyond my shame and sorrow, beyond her anger and bitterness. Beyond my ability to hurt her anymore.
His arm slid around me, and he pulled me against him, his hand pressing my cheek to his chest. My tears flowed over it in an unrelenting stream. He offered no trite words of comfort, and I was glad for it. Zanna was dead because of me, and she had died with her heart broken by my actions. I deserved no comfort.
A long while later I sat hiccupping into Russ's silent chest, my tears dried by the heat from the fire. His hand still cradled my face, and with furtive guilt I took comfort from its warm pressure.
"Sleep, Suzanne," he murmured, and with relief I let consciousness swirl away and sank gratefully into oblivion.