Angel of the Fallen Star

~ Secret Answers ~

Chapter Seven: Angelica

Oh, why did he have to make it so hard to hate him?

My heart ached so much with his closeness, I thought I would explode. At first, just for a fraction of a second, I forgot what had happened and thought that we were still in love and that he was finally here to rescue the damsel in distress, but it doesn't work that way. But, of course, I came to my senses and began to yell in a screaming, rampaging, ranting fit that involved kicking, squirming, rattling chains, spitting, pulling the shackles, accusing, glaring, staring, and heartbroken sobbing. Yep. Completely sensible. It was, considering the predicament I was in.

Part of me knew that it was just a little bit hard to hate him, after all we had been through together. And it didn't help, either, that he was the most handsome man I had ever seen. Especially since there was sadness in his eyes, like he had lost everything he cared about. It was like kicking a puppy; I couldnt bear the misery reflected in the features of his perfect face, so I rattled on instead. And even though all I had said was true, all of the hate that I spoke of, it still felt like every word that I said was like a bullet fired into his heart.

But of course I couldn't let him tell that I felt all this for him; I had to keep my face an undecipherable mask of fury and shock at his unanticipated outburst when he killed me.

He was leaning against the wall casually, as if he were greeting me at a cafe on any normal day, but I knew otherwise when I looked into his eyes. Then I realized that he was just as crestfallen as I was at what he had done to sever our "unbreakable" love. He felt the same pain I did, however much I wanted not to believe it.

If you looked closely, you could see his arms tense when I said something that really hurt him. But you wouldn't take notice of it if you didn't know him as well as I did, and no one ever could top how well we knew each other. I had run my hands over those arms so many times, those arms strong as iron, corded with muscles. And his hands that when they cupped my face were slim and flexible with a couple rough callouses, but soft to the touch. If not for the shackles, my hands would have reached up to brush away the golden bangs that fell into his eyes. And he would've pulled me to him, his body warming me from the penetrating cold, sharp air of the cave, leaning down close to my face, and then.....

No. Not again. I won't look into those big blue eyes and fall under their spell all over again. I knew it would work, so I had to avoid staring, mesmerized, even though they lured me like a magnet. He had that irresistible smirk on that made me want to smile, too, but if I did, it would be like accepting defeat. And I couldn't do that. I wouldn't give up that easily, because I knew that once I did, there would be no turning back, like a trap slamming shut.

Smiling, he reached behind him and turned his back so I couldn't see what he was doing. what did he have that he could be so secretive about? And why did he kill me in the first place if he knew he was going to feel this guilty? What was the point of killing me if he knew that, anyway? Why would he want to kill me at all?

When he turned back around, he had a blazing torch in hand. It glowed brightly different colors that changed. The flickering torch illuminated him, casting a pattern of shadows and light across his face. I could also almost make out faint carvings in the rock in a ring around the base of the wall and where the wall met the "ceiling" up above. He placed his hand on one side of the rock and closed his eyes, whispering chants under his breath. Then Logan opened his eyes, smiled wider, and slowly lifted his hand off of the rock wall. Right where his hand had been, there was a sconce in the wall, shaped like an almost skeletal human hand that looked as if it pushed through the rock. It had bulging veins as if in severe pain. He deposited the torch into it, so it gave the illusion as if the fingers were gripping the torch.