Chasing Anne

Retreat

Ardor slowly walked into Mark's hospital room, Amory at his side. Kaarle was checking the perimeter one last time, but Ardor was completely sure that no enemies spiritual or physical were around. Amory seemed nervous, but Ardor couldn't exactly blame him. He'd never been on a mission quite like this before and Ardor wasn't exactly sure that he completely agreed with Bartholomew's decision to bring the warrior along. But, Bartholomew had been in combat far longer than Ardor had and there was no good reason for Ardor to dispose of his wise judgement. He walked over to Mark's bed and leaned against the wall beside the headboard. The young man was unconscious, but that didn't matter. He wouldn't be able to see either of the two angels unless they came into physical form. Since showing himself to Anne, it was the last thing Ardor ever wanted to do.

He was a warrior, but he was not a warrior like Bartholomew was. Bartholomew was tactical, protective, and defended those whom he was assigned to by gaining their trust. He'd never done anything quite as risky as he'd done on his current mission, but the angel knew that it had to be done. Bartholomew did all he could to protect Mark and Anne in the spiritual realm, but when times were desperate which had become most of the time, the only way that he could defend them, was by becoming a physical being. It had tremendous risk, but until the elevator incident, his tactics had worked perfectly.

Ardor sighed and watched as three nurses entered the room, completely oblivious to his presence, and looked down at his feet. He was not Bartholomew. He never would be. Bartholomew had spent fifteen years protecting Anne and Mark...Ardor had only spent a few months. None of the angels knew exactly why they were concerned in this squabble between the Parrs and the Normands, but they knew that they weren't the only ones that were troubled with the matter. Dark ones had been attacking Mark and Anne's homes for an entire year now. Obviously, they saw something of importance in the matter as well. Ardor had a hunch that it had something to do with the machine that Mr. McCourtney had created, but then again, why would a machine concern angels and demons?

Amory watched the nurses tend to Mark a moment and then turned to his commander.

"How long has Bartholomew been watching him?" he asked, curiosity edging his voice.

Ardor looked down at Mark and then replied, "Since he turned ten."

"And how old is the young man?"

"Almost twenty-five."

"How long has he known Miss McCourtney?"

"Since his sophomore year in college. He was nineteen then. Bart has been keeping an eye on them both since then. He protected her quite a bit her junior year when she had to drop out of college on campus and study from home, but he knows these two better than any of us do."

"Does he know why he was given the task of taking care of them?"

Ardor raised a brow. "Do you think any of us do?"

Amory bowed his head and shook it slightly. "How bad were his injuries?"

"Mark's or Bart's?"

"Bartholomew."

Ardor shrugged. "The fall caused a few broken ribs and a lot of swelling, but he should be all right. There were no blades involved, thank goodness."

"So how long do you think it will be until he's well enough to return to his work?"

Ardor's eyes lowered. "That's up to Cayden and Richard. I'm not involved in those affairs. My job is to just keep Miss McCourtney and Markus alive. That's it. By then, Bartholomew should be back."

Kaarle materialized through the wall, huffing for breath. "We're clear, Sir. Not a single dark one in sight." He then turned his gaze to Mark and his eyes widened with the realization of what he was facing. "Is this him?" he asked, looking up at his commander.