(Thanks to my amazing editor cannd for working with me on this chapter. Again, thanks for the faves and comments. Don't forget to rate!
~Blue)
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They landed for the night on a rooftop in the Bronx. Ryder paced the perimeter for a long time, looking for what, Angel didn't know. She stayed huddled on the roof, her arms wrapped around her knees, trying to stay warm. A cold wind whipped her hair around her face, stinging her eyes and chilling her to the bone. She'd been wearing a pair of jeans and a sequined tank-top when Hornet and Reaper had attacked her and Jordan. She hadn't been planning to stay outside all night.
Ryder watched the streets below, searching for any sign that they'd been followed. He'd prepared the rooftop for occasions such as this, so he doubted they could have been followed even if someone was trying. Still, he wasn't willing to take chances. Not where Angel was concerned.
It was a good twenty minutes before Ryder realized his charge was shivering uncontrollably. With a curse at himself he sprinted to her side, picking her up and carrying her to a corner of the roof without a word. In the pre-dawn dusk, she could see the angular cut of his features against the sky. As he set her down on a pile of blankets, she felt the corded muscles in his arms move underneath her.
He went to tuck the blankets in around her, but held on to him. "I'm c-c-cold-d," she said, her lips blue. "P-please, Ry-d-der."
He smiled at her, though the smile looked sad. "Of course, love," he said, lying next to her and pulling the blankets over both of them. She curled to his chest, seeking his warmth. His arms enveloped her and held her close. He turned his head down to kiss her, but she held her head away.
"First you explain about Shakespeare," she said firmly. The wind licked around her bare neck and she pressed against him again. He only grinned wider. She'd said "first," implying that something came after it.
"I'll tell you what I know, but I'm warning you, it isn't that much." Ryder propped himself up on his elbow. Angel let out a small mewing cry and pressed her head into his shoulder, still trying to warm herself. "When I saved your mother's life, it created a Bond between you and me. That Bond has made us incredibly attracted to one another, but it's also given you some things that you shouldn't have."
Angel arched an eyebrow. "Like?"
"Your looks, for one. You call yourself Angel, and angelic you look indeed. That isn't genetics. Second, you have an uncanny ability to make people trust you, no?"
Angel nodded.
Ryder continued. "You know there are angels, but you must also know that there is a yin for every yang. A pro for every con, so to speak. Our counterparts are the daemons, and they want you very badly, Jenna."
Angel tensed. "Why? Why me? I don't know anything."
Ryder stroked her hair, tucking it behind her ear. "They believe you have a dormant power of telepathy or predetermination." At her confused look, he explained. "They think you can tell the future, and/or read minds."
She laughed. "Well, that's really too bad for them. I can't."
He huffed against her neck. "Yet. You'll be coming into your powers fairly soon. The more time you spend with me, the faster it will happen. They will come for you eventually."
Angel closed her eyes. "And what am I supposed to do? You're going to leave me. There's no way I'm going to be able to stand up against an army of... of..."
"Daemons," Ryder finished. "I know. I'm staying with you, don't worry. This was an unplanned situation."
"Daemons," Angel repeated. "What are they like?"
Ryder frowned as he thought. "They look like us, for the most part. Like I do. They change on will. Except Lucifer. Part of being thrown out of Heaven was the he became stuck in daemon form. He's not a pretty thing to look at."
He sensed her next question. "Your friend Shakespeare was turned. It wasn't his fault, although that hardly matters right now. He'll be after you as well. You have to remember that he's not the man you know anymore. His mind has been corrupted."
Angel nodded. Ryder leaned down and kissed her cheek, feeling her slight trembling. It was from fear this time, not from the cold. "Anything else?" Ryder asked with a quirk of his mouth.
She thought for a moment. "If you're an angel, why aren't your wings, well, white?"
He laughed. "Do you know how impractical white feathers are? It's a myth that we all have these ivory wings like some overgrown swan. There's only one of us I know of that does. That's the problem with the human race," he said. "You see one, and you assume the rest of us are the same.
