Page 16 of Unbroken

"Since when did you two become the voice of reason?" Rodyn blows out a breath and stands.

"Oh, we always have been, Ro, you've just never really listened." I stand up and follow after my other half, then pause and turn back to Rodyn. His mouth opens, as if he's going to say something, but then he closes it.

"Rodyn, you are hanging on by a thread, Brother. You need to find your peace, and until then you’re going to be wandering around like a lost soul. In fact, you already are. Find your peace, Ro. You will be surprised how much clarity you'll gain when you just let go." I turn and walk away.

"You've found your peace, then?" Rodyn asks as he follows me out the door, buttoning up his black suit coat and smoothing out the fabric.

Both Trys and I turn and face Rodyn and smile. We both give our answer at the same time.

"Kitten."

"My sunshine."

"Honestly, I don't think you're worried about Lucifer or our beast of a mother. All this anxiety and nervous energy has everything to do with you and her," Trys says matter-of-factly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I agree. You're not yourself because you don't know where you stand. Fix it," I say, nudging Trys, and we both turn toward the door, leaving Rodyn with his thoughts.

* * *

RODYN

"It's not that simple or that easy," I mutter to myself as I watch my brothers leave. I push myself to walk out the door and pull it closed behind me. The hallway is quiet, which means everyone is down in the throne room already.

Because I can't help myself and maybe there's an optimistic part of me that remains hopeful, I stand still and allow my power to flow through me, closing my eyes, I listen for the sound of blood rushing through veins and find no one in the vicinity. I always wondered where this power came from, the ability to detect people from a distance by their heartbeat alone. All I am missing is a taste for blood consumption. Thanks, but no thanks mommy dearest. When I’d first developed it, I’d been too afraid of the answer, I guess after what Ty read about Rashaksi, now I know. I got it from her.

Thinking about my mother is the last thing I want to do, so instead I choose to punish myself further. My head turns toward Micah’s door, as if she will miraculously materialize before me and we can finally say more than two or three words to one another.Again, it will never be easy, especially for me.

I get it. I don't deserve her. What I did was unforgiveable. I should be happy to be here at all. I understand my place in her life a lot more than the others. She didn't ask for me and I didn't ask for her, but this is our fate. To be bound in misery for the rest of our lives, skating around each other until eventually I lose my mind. If I could go back to the first day I saw her, the day my brothers walked into my mother’s office with their hearts in their eyes. I would have done so many things differently. I would have gone to her, simply introduced myself and given her a chance to get to know me. Not bulldoze my way into her heart like my brothers did. The love they have for her is designed specifically for them and them only.

I don't think that was ever going to happen between us anyway. But more importantly, I would have cut ties with Sasha earlier, and maybe she would still be alive. I have so many regrets. I never loved the girl; she was a means to an end. No point in living in the past though, what's done is done, and I am living with the fallout of my actions. I am no longer my mother's pet, now that I know the possible truth about who and what she is. All the things I did in her name, to better our family's standing in the Supernatural community; I physically feel sick. She took pleasure in the blood we shed; she relished it. Hell, she probably drank it up and ate a few hands and feet along with it. I shudder just thinking about it. I feel dirty. Used.

I sigh. I do that a lot lately. Fuck, with every exhalation of breath, I get more pissed off with myself for being so pathetic. I am a powerful Warlock, not some lovestruck peon. I am more than worthy of standing in Micah’s presence, if she would only let me.

I can only spar away my pain and aggression for so long before it blows up in my face. Ty and Trys are right, I have to find a way to fix what is broken between Micah and me. But it has to be a two-way street; if she doesn't want it, then I will be stuck pining for her for the rest of my life. If that's the case, then just put me out of my misery now.

Making my way out of the tower, I pass Imps and Demons rushing around doing God knows what around this place. I don't know what Bishop does here in the Underworld but it's always a hive of activity here. This place is massive, and I find myself wandering around frequently. I have no purpose here. Not like I did at HellNight. It is in ruins now and it’s going to take a while before we can even get back to our studies.

Who knows what Michael's endgame is going to be. The waiting for something else to happen makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. Micah is the key to it all, maybe that's why my own mother felt so threatened. So, just like before, I am ready and willing to lay my life on the line to make things right in the world. When Micah is ready to strike the final blow, I will be by her side. It's the least I can do for all the lives I've taken, directly and indirectly.

Slowly, I drag my feet forward. I am stalling and I know it. As soon as I turn into the throne room all eyes will be on me. Rodyn, the odd man out, the proverbial bad guy, with the sad-ass look on his face. I stop before I reach the entrance and straighten my suit and roll my shoulders back as I let my mask of indifference fall over me. It's all false bravado. I don’t have it in me to be an asshole, and for me that says a lot. Almost dying will humble a man, or should I say Nephalem. My heart pounds as I turn the corner and walk toward the small gathering of people. Everyone is standing in a circle a few feet away from the platform that holds Kalob’s body.

The room is draped in heavy black curtains, a sectioned off space is being used for Kalob’s memorial, making an area of the large room intimate. I walk straight toward the group, finding a spot to stand between Sam and Rook. No one notices my arrival at first. Then I feel her. Turning my gaze to her, I see she is wearing a long black dress, that hugs her curves, long braids cascade down her back, and my steps falter. Micah’s bright amber eyes search mine, as if she can see straight through me and see the vulnerability inside. All my flaws are laid bare for her, no hiding, no pretense. If I had a knife, I would cut myself wide open for her to scrutinize I am a barely held together house of cards.

Eventually she turns her attentions back to her shrouded father. And I’m released from her spell. I blow out a silent breath I hadn’t noticed I was holding. I step forward to take my spot as it closes, and everyone shifts over suddenly. I stand there dumbfounded, until a space appears between Micah and Marcus. She doesn’t turn to acknowledge that she’s done it, but I move with purpose as I take the olive branch she is graciously extending.

Marcus nods solemnly as I stand shoulder to shoulder with him, his black button-down shirt is rolled up to his elbows. I can’t help but marvel at the broken Enochian tattoos down his forearms. By breaking Michael’s hold on her brother, Micah had also broken the Angelic magic that came with being a Light Guardian. I can’t imagine what must be going on inside his head; to one day have purpose, to be sure of what you are, then have it snatched away from you. Well, maybe I can, and Marcus and I have more in common than I thought. Either way, every one of us has to find a way to cope with the drastic changes happening in our lives, whether we want them or not.

Bishop clears his throat. My eyes lift to where he stands on the opposite side of the platform. Dressed in all black, his stark white wings are tucked tight behind his back, as his eyes find Micah’s. “I’ve existed a long time in this world. I’ve been known by many names, done various jobs for the good of mankind and for their demise. I’m a creature of immortality, blessed and doomed. I’ve chased death and bred chaos, not because it was my purpose, it was my choice. A choice I didn’t have in Heaven. No, free will did not find me until I embraced the darkness of the Underworld. I thought it was enough, a millennium of destruction, yet I wasn’t fulfilled. I hid who I was when I met your mother, I played a role, a beast, her Demon. But I won’t go into the sordid details of our time together.” He pauses and looks down at Micah’s dad.

Kalob is laying before us on a black and white marble platform. He is underneath a white cotton shroud with what looks like Enochian glyphs etched along the edgings. The sword Micah carried on her back is now laid on top of his body. I’m not sure if this is the way Light Guardians are laid to rest but it’s definitely the way a warrior should be. Bishop has held him here in the Underworld, preserving his body magically. I can only assume it has something to do with him being the former Angel of Death. Whatever is stitched on the shroud is in a language I was never allowed to study.

“The night I heard your heartbeat, I was changed. Although at the time I denied it, Micah. If I knew then what I know now, I would have dragged your mother kicking and screaming into the Underworld with me.” He looks up at Micah, then Marcus. “But then you wouldn’t have had your brother or the honor of being raised by this man.” Looking down at Kalob’s body once more, he speaks directly to him. “From a distance, I watched you give her everything I could not. You gave her the tools to survive in a world that wasn’t ready to accept who she was or who she would become. You knew she was special, too much for this world and you held her close when I couldn’t. For that, you are truly her father. I can never repay that debt, but with the help of her Tethers, I can give you this.” Bishop glances left, then right; my brothers on either side of him move silently into position.

Micah’s hand brushes against mine, the smallest of touches. She watches in surprise, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, then widening as Ty walks around to where Kalob’s feet lay and Trys takes up position by his head. Instead of observing my brothers as they weave their magic, I look at her. The rapid blinking of her eyelids, the way she pulls in her luscious lips, biting down on the lower one with her teeth, and the slight shake in her hand as it continues to brush against my own. She’s barely holding it together, and the ache in my chest grows as her grief hits each one of us.

Esme gasps and rubs her chest beside Sam, who in turn is eyeing us warily. I am sure he is getting his first taste of our connection to Micah via Esme. Welcome to your new pack, Wolf. Lyrik stands on the other side of Micah, wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her close. Rook’s concerned eyes have never left hers as he stands on the other side of the platform next to Sam. Even with all the emotion in the room, Micah doesn’t crumble, her strength is astounding. She stands tall beside me as Ty and Trys’s white and black essences undulates around each other, hovering over Kalob until they flow down and seep into his body.

After a moment of complete silence, Trys speaks. “He’s still here.” Trys’s unnaturally deep voice resonates around the room. His eyes are closed, his hands are stretched on either side of Kalob’s head.

---