Page 2 of Unbroken

MICAH

Agentle breeze brushes over my face, the sweet scent of honeysuckle fills my lungs. Taking stock of my body, I wiggle my toes. The feel of soft grass against my skin alerts me to the fact that I’m barefoot. Not wanting to open my eyes yet, I move my legs; bending my knees, right leg, then left. I move my arms next, rocking my body from side to side. Finally, my neck, twisting it back and forth, the usual crack of vertebrae is absent. Huh. I feel the need to stretch after a long restful sleep. I am perfectly fine, I assess, but there is still something. . .

I suck in a deep breath as my memories slam into me. Flashes of my fight with Marcus dance behind my eyelids, playing out as if I am watching a horror film. The final moments as I lash out with my magic, blasting him in the chest, his still body lying on the ground before me. Rodyn screaming my name, then pain, so much pain. The knife, I didn’t see it. Marcus, no, not Marcus, that bastard Michael stabbed me in the chest.

When I don’t feel the frantic beat of my heart, I press my hand flat to my chest and my eyes spring open. I open my mouth, panting as panic grips me, making it hard to breathe as it consumes me completely. Am I dead? I close my eyes, searching, seeking out the familiar steady thrum of my Tethers, my Mates, and I panic further when I feel nothing. There’s a hollow pit where they all used to be.

My chest heaves as I sit up and look around me, trying to find something, anything to focus on besides the overwhelming fear taking hold of me. I can’t feel them. It’s like the Underworld all over again. Tears fall unchecked and I wipe them away in frustration. I am so goddamn tired of crying. I blow out a breath but there is no stopping the flood gates as I allow myself to sit here and bawl my eyes out.

“Damn it,” I say out loud. “Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.” I shrug, feeling hopeless. “If I am dead, I am going to be so pissed.” I pull my knees up to my chest, noticing for the first time my change of clothes. I am wearing a white shift dress, well, more pillowcase than an actual dress. My clothes from the battle are gone, my weapons are missing.

Every cut and scratch that marred my skin from the fight with my brother has vanished. I have no clue where I am now, but if I had to hazard a guess, Heaven, or maybe Purgatory. The idea of being anywhere other than on Earth, even the Underworld, only makes me freak out more. It can’t end like this. I can’t stay here, not like this. God, please. Not like this.

I let sorrow take root, feeling a deep penetrating grief for my Tethers, my Mates, my brother, and my father. Even my mother. Was she still alive? Marcus, oh God, Marcus. Did I kill my brother? My entire family. So much loss in only a short period of time. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Ty, Trys, and Rodyn were already struggling, this will send them spiraling for sure. I cradle my face in my hands as Rodyn’s words, his pleas, the last things I remember hearing him say haunt me, instead of giving me an ounce of solace.

“How dare you come into my life and rearrange my world, my very existence. I don’t even know who I am anymore, and I am not mad at you. I need to thank you.”

“Stay with me so I can make up for all the shitty things I’ve done to you. Things you didn’t deserve.”

“We never stood a chance,” I say as I continue to weep into my hands. “I am so mad at you. Well, I was,” I speak, as if he is right beside me. I can almost picture the smug look on his beautiful, stupid face. “I was willing to work it out. I wanted to. Now we will never know.” I rest my head on my knees and try to compose myself, but the hollow feeling remains. The loss of my Tethers and Mates was a sacrifice I wasn’t prepared to make. If I had known the cost of freeing my brother from Michael’s grasp was this. . .

Would I have gone alone into that clearing? Yes, a hundred times yes. Without a doubt, I wouldn’t change anything. Alive or dead, my brother is now free. I guess Michael got what he wanted in the end. I sigh and allow my eyes to wander.

The tall grass I am sitting on moves unnaturally around me, as if it has a mind of its own. I’m perched on a hillside; from this vantage point I can see a valley below with a river of the bluest water I’ve ever seen running through it.

Where’s the sound? The world around me is so quiet it almost feels as if I’ve been placed in a sensory deprivation tank. Despite a vibrant pink sky, rapidly moving white fluffy cumulus clouds, and swaying bright green leaves on the trees all around me, this place feels as if someone has pressed pause; the lack of sound is unnerving, or maybe it’s just my panicked state. It’s strangely beautiful, in an Edvard Munch kind of way, full of color, swirling and pulsing, yet a touch sad and desolate, like my turbulent emotions.

I can’t sit here forever; I’m getting sick of my own self. I can’t sit here and wallow any longer than I already have. I don’t want to think of my father, but his words find me regardless. “I didn’t raise you to fall on your face and not pick yourself up. Get up and fight, Micah Jones.”I blow out another long breath and nod my head slowly.

“Okay, I hear you, Dad. I hear you loud and clear,” I say with a grunt as I stagger to my feet. Placing my hands on my hips, I turn in a circle, looking for any other signs of life other than my own. I can’t possibly be the only person here, right? My eyes are instantly drawn to the river below. The hairs on the back of my neck begin to rise as some unknown force urges me to move forward. I track the length of the river I can see, shielding my eyes against the bright pink sky, following the bank until finally I see something move, no, someone.

I’m moving, breaking into a jog as I make my way down the hill. The closer I get to the river, the more the world around me comes to life. The sound of rushing water hits my ears. It's so loud it makes me stagger to a halt. Suddenly my panic returns, the abrupt change in the absence of sound is both calming and alarming at the same time. The whistle of the wind, the crunch of leaves, even the swishing sound the fabric makes in the ill-fitting dress I’m wearing. It’s all noise, and I hate not knowing wherethisis.

Nothing aboutthisis normal, it’s as if it’s a construct of someone’s design, and I am tired of being an avatar in someone else’s game. I need answers, and something tells me that whoever’s down by the river is waiting for me to find them.

By the time I reach the bottom of the valley, the land stretches out before me. It seems to grow and expand, allowing me to see more of the landscape. Beyond the river is flat planes of more of the high straw-colored grass that led all the way to what appears to be a dense forest of tall trees: sycamore, spruce, cypress, oak, and pine. Further in the distance I can just make out the outline of a mountain range. I walk for what feels like hours, keeping my eyes trained on my surroundings as I search for the person I thought I saw from the hill.

At this point I’m wondering if I was seeing things and my mind was playing tricks on me to get me to move. With no real sense of time, I amble along beside the water trying desperately not to think about those I love. It’s so easy to fall into despair when I’m alone and without a distraction to keep my thoughts at bay. Are they still at the Academy? Are they fighting without me? Or did Michael kill my Tethers and Mates right along with me and that’s why our connection is lost?

“Fuck!” I draw in a sharp breath. I can’t allow my mind to go there. They are all alive. They have to be alive. I keep the chant going in my head as I put one foot in front of the other. When I come across a fallen tree trunk, I decide to sit. My body doesn’t feel tired. In fact, my body doesn’t feel anything at all, not even my own heartbeat, which concerns me on so many levels. I mean, I have been walking barefoot for an indeterminate amount of time.

“I should feel something,” I say out loud to break up the silence that’s doing nothing for my growing anxiety. Moving around the tree trunk, I run my hands over the smooth bark, only to find it as soft as velvet but still solid beneath my fingers.

Not knowing what else to do with myself, I flop down unceremoniously and stretch my legs out in front of me. I sigh. “I guess this is my own personal Hell then.”

“I wouldn’t call this place Hell, Micah.” I startle at the sound of a foreign voice. Standing quickly, my hand goes for a weapon that isn’t there. No weapons, but I am by no means vulnerable. I bend my knees, taking on a defensive stance and ready myself just in case.

The mystery man in front of me smiles and holds up his hands in surrender. “Please sit. I mean you no harm.” He gestures to the tree trunk, but I will be damned if I turn my back on an unknown entity. Uneasy, I look over my shoulder half expecting the tree trunk to grow legs and jump up and attack me. Then, I quickly turn back to glance at the man before me.

He tilts his head, as if he somehow read my thoughts and nods his head. “Smart choice, even with me. Trust is hard to gain and easy to lose, Micah. I get it. I am a stranger in this vast place that only seems to have you and I here,” he says as he gives me a wide berth and makes his way around the trunk, putting some distance between us but remaining in my line of sight. “Please sit.” He gestures again and this time I do. Feeling less uneasy now, I drop down to sit but keep my legs bent just in case I need to move away swiftly.

I see him watching me in my peripheral vision. I turn to study him. He’s tall, with brown skin, appearing almost bronze. Long black locs spill over his shoulders, framing sharp masculine features, and eyes that shine like golden embers. Like mine, but times a thousand, I think as I continue my observations. He is beautiful, ethereal, otherworldly. He isn’t an Archangel. . . he is so much more. I tilt my head back as he stands there, letting me come to my own conclusions about who he is.

I am almost sure he can hear my thoughts. His gaze is penetrating, as if he can see through me and beyond, his eyes full of wisdom and unfathomable knowledge I can’t begin to understand. His youthful appearance, I can only assume, makes him appear less threatening and maybe more approachable. I almost laugh as the puzzle pieces click together in my head. I don’t know how I know it for sure, but I can feel it. I guess this visage is better than him appearing as a burning bush. At that thought I swear I see his lip turn up slightly in a half smirk. But my little joke falls flat. Well, to me it does. This isGod. He is God. Do I ask him if he’s God or do I just play it cool? Hey, God, it’s me, Micah Jones.

I feel small and insignificant in his presence, the need to drop to my knees in supplication is strong but I don’t move. Too shocked, too stunned. I’m rooted to this spot, as if my ass is glued to this tree. The power radiating off him is both brilliant and frightening as it washes over me, pulsating as brightly as the sun. He is practically glowing, as if the physical form he is wearing is struggling to contain the infinitesimal magic within. He drops his hands and clasps them in front of him patiently. I guess he is waiting for me to pick my jaw up off the ground. Well, that may take a while.

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