Chapter One: The Beginning

The past always impacts the future. You can't hide from it.

Chapter One: The Beginning

           

The bike lay deserted by the side curb, its large, thin tires spinning within the mangled metal. With each rotation, the tire slowed, bit by bit. Just like the boys heart. He lay, broken, on the brittle road, just like the bike. Dying. Caked with dark crimson, his tainted blonde hair ruffled gently in the wind as his eyes fluttered. Red trickled down his temple and spilled onto the road below; and with it, his life.

 It had all happened in mere seconds. His smile, a wave, the reversing car, the screaming couple�"crash! He was on the ground, the car and couple gone. Game over.

From the lawn across from the boy, a young girl frowned. Vibrant, violet eyes stared at the boy, wavering with unease. She had witnessed it all. If he hadn’t waved at her, he wouldn’t have been hurt. He would have noticed the fighting couple, and reversing car. He would have been saved. But he had been nice to her�"he had smiled. So he payed the price for his kindness like the rest of them.

Nestling her hands in the moist grass, the girl pushed herself off the ground. She had to do something. The wind picking up, her short mud-coloured hair began to whip around her small ears. Beside her dull, blue dress, her fists began to shake. Trembling.  I can do this. Right? Even in her own mind, doubt laced her words.

A soft groan escaped the boys lips and the girl crouched beside him. Gently, she pushed his hair away from the gaping wound to access the damage. The warm blood coated her slender fingers with it’s stickiness and, tensing, the boy grunted in pain. The girl chewed her bottom lip in doubt. She hadn’t done anything like this before. It felt different, healing. Reaching within herself, she focussed on the warm ball of white fire. Flames soared through her body before engulfing her hands with their power. The Power.

“This may hurt a little,” she whispered. The boy didn’t respond. His chest barely moved with his shallow breathing. She was losing him. No time to hesitate. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hands on his wound. Crimson tattooed her fingers as they tangled with his blood-matted hair. Her palms began to shake. Deep breath; one… two… three.

Her hands jolted as the power escaped her fingers, and around her, the whole world shuddered. The girl gasped, weariness engulfing her. It felt wrong�"so much power leaving her. It felt uncontrolled, too pure. Life itself. Dread trickled into the girl as below her fingers, the boy began to sputter and cough. Recoiling her hands, she collapsed onto her butt. Crimson still stained the boys hair, but there was no wound beneath the mass, just healthy skin. She had done it, but then, why the dread? Heart pounding against her chest, the girls hands continued to shake. This time it wasn’t from power, but fear. What had she done? The girl glanced down at her clammy hands, tainted with blood.

“Jayden! Dinner time!”

There was a click as the neighbouring house door opened. Then the screaming and sprinting began.

“Jayden! Jayden! Get away from him!”

Hands shoved the girl over the gutter edge and against the course road. She crumpled into a broken pile. Angry, red skin stung her arms and legs as the road grazed it raw. She wanted to scream at the woman. She wanted to run. But she didn’t have the energy. All she could do was watch. “Oh, Jayden! What did she do to you?” Looking past dark strands of hair, the girl watched from the road as the frantic mother steered her son towards their house. Her hysterical hands skimmed over his body, checking for wounds. Jayden, though, glanced passed his mother and shoulder to the girl.  Hard blue eyes stared at her, and as she watched, flecks of purple flickered within their depths.

The girl’s eyes widened.

What have I done?

The boy’s house door slammed shut and the girl flinched. Something warm trickled down her cheek, and a salty tear brushed her lips.

“Violet, that was stupid.” Gentle hands lifted the girl from the road, despite their harsh words and pressed the child against their chest. Her father grunted as sobs wracked her body and carried her towards their house. “That boy wasn’t worth exposing yourself.”
            “My fault!” she cried against his tear-damp shirt, and the man stroked her short hair.

“It’s never you fault, dear. Never.”

Violet’s sobs quietened as darkness finally grabbed her, and the father sighed. Grabbing the newspaper from the porch chair, he shut the front door, and locked away the dangerous world outside. It was time to move again.

 

Eleven Years Later

 

            One…

            Violet pressed against the brick wall and threw a wary glance around the empty school grounds. Adrenaline roared through her veins, and beside her skirt, her hands trembled.

            Two…

            Her back foot slid against the cement ground and her knees bent in anticipation.

            Three.

            Pushing off the ground, Violet bolted from the main school block towards the school fence. Her feet crushed the dying, yellow grass as behind her, a chorus of shouts and laughter filled the air. The pounding of feet increased behind her, as they gained ground. They were too late. Looming above them was the school fence. Unclenching her fists, Violet launched herself at the wire. Wind whipped through her hair and she grunted as her finger grasped the metal loops. The thin, chilled bars cut into her hands and she quickly propelled herself over the top bar. Racing towards her, the ground came to meet her. Argh. Her legs jarred as they slammed into the soft dirt. The fall had been easily four metres, at least. Behind the wire, crude swearing broke her sweet relief of escape.

            She had won. Again.

            Straightening, Violet turned to meet the kids barred by the fence. They had their pudgy faces shoved up against the metal loops, glowering. A few, though, Violet noticed looked more amused�"even enjoying the chase. She smiled.

            “I win.”

            “We’ll get you tomorrow,” one boy growled and she laughed. She couldn’t help it. Get her? With what army?

            “Stop laughing, you freak!” one boy cried out, and Violet stiffened.

Freak? A range of colourful language entered Violet’s mind, but she held back. Her anger was unneeded. The useless morons weren’t worth it. They didn’t mean harm, really.

            “Don’t call me freak,” she whispered. Her violet eyes flared and a few stepped back. “Same time tomorrow, if you wish, guys. But you call me freak, and I won’t just run to beat you.” Her smile was back. “Deal?”

            “Deal.”

            The group ran off and Violet shook her head. Ever since they saw her jumping the fence, they had tried to catch her. That was two months ago. Not once had they came close. On top of the fence, there was a squawk, and looking up, Violet met the cold stare of a crow. An intelligent glint glistened in it’s eye as it squawked again, and on it’s forehead, a circle with three curved angles shown gently. Violet’s mind quietened, and within her, her power recoiled. A branded crow? That wasn’t good.

            Wary, the young girl turned to the bush in front of her and began her track home.

 

            Kn-knock.

            Violet looked up from the couch, her book frozen in her hands. Glancing over at the clock, hanging on the wall across the room, she watched the hands tick to half-past five. Her father wasn’t due home until six, and they never received visitors. Ever. Door knockers?

            Kn-knock.

            A frown curved Violet’s lips. Inside her, the power shrunk back and an deep unease filled her. Whoever was outside, she decided, didn’t mean good.

            Knock. Knock.

            Her heart began to pound against her chest as adrenaline raced through her veins. The soft pounding of feet faded as the door knockers walked off her veranda. Violet let out the breath she had been holding, and lifted her book. Door knockers, it had to be. A pause. Outside there was the gentle rustling of trees, and the soft murmur of traffic down the road. Crunch. Violet froze. The sound came from the side of the house. Startled, she stood and dropped her book on the couch. Crunch, crunch. She was sure of it. Someone was walking around her house. There was a blur of black as someone passed the lounge room window and Violet dropped to the floor. Her fingertips pressed against the cold wood as she crouched. Crunch. Closer. Quickly, she scampered around to the side of the chair, hiding herself from the window. A shadow passed over the room. Tic, tic, tic… The sound of the clock echoed within Violet’s brain and she clenched her teeth. Tic, tic, tic, tic�" The shadow passed on and sunlight once more bathed the room.

            Great.

            Some door knockers.

            Violet collapsed against the chair’s side and closed her eyes.

            It was time to move again.

           

            Branches scratched against the open window, casting hand-like shadows across the small room as, gloomily, the moonlight bathed what little it could. The soft streams of light made the slight layer of silver dust shine across the wooden furniture. While beside the window, white curtains gently swayed as a thick, humid air wafted through the opening. Despite the quiet night, a sense of eeriness filled the room.

Something was wrong.

Sprawled out beneath a flimsy sheet, Violet lay drenched in a light film of sweat. Her damp hair, plastered against her forehead, fell into her dazed eyes. She stared, unseeing, up at the white-washed roof above. The plaster above her head pealed away revealing the original, yellow paint and dangled above her head, taunting her. It was the silence, though, that annoyed her most. It almost suffocated her with it’s presence. Alert, she listened for something, anything in the quiet. It was still�"too still, like in some horror movie.

The slightest of smiles twisted her lips. A horror movie. Fancy that. Her slight amusement quickly faded. It did little to wash away her dread. It coiled in the pits of her stomach like live snakes, churning and squeezing. Violet hadn’t felt anything like it for years. Not since…

Violet shook her head and kicked back the sheet lying on her. The heat was getting to her, screwing with her brai�"

Click.

Violet froze. Her feet stopped rustling the sheets and stiffened, tangled in the white material. Lifting her head from her stiff pillow, her piercing eyes grazed the bedroom. Nothing. The shadows lay unmoving, the world still. There was only the beating of her heart. Thump-th-thump-th�"

Then she heart it, the gentle whine of the front door below. Barely audible, the squeaking of unoiled hinges made shivers crawl up her spin. But it was like Violet could feel her intruders. Warning bells began to peal in her mind. They had finally found her.

Sliding her legs off the bed, Violet slowly stood. Her feet pressed against the cool, wooden floors, and she sighed. It was properly nothing, but…

There was always that but.

Walking over to the door, Violet’s hand hesitated over the metal handle. She swore she had heard something�"there it was again.  It was almost like a suppressed whistle�"a silence.

No.

On clue, there was a crash downstairs, and the sound of shattering glass. The noises tore through the air with a vengeance.

“Father,” the word escaped her lips on their on accord.

Violet reached for the door, her fingers tingling, just as it swung open. The wood slammed against the wall opposite to her with a thud and the blood left Violet’s face. In front of her stood three soldiers clad in black armour.

Oh, s**t.

“It’s time you came with us, Violet.”

The muffled voice tried to portray a sense of order, safety even. The coldness from the helmet destroyed the illusion. Violet’s face screwed up with anger. Her bright purple eyes, reflected in the helmet, flashed. The slightest of smiles curved her lips. There was no amusement in her eyes.

“Go to hell.”

            It was like drawing back an elastic band until it was taunt. That was what withholding power was like.  Releasing it into the world was like a slingshot motion, but that ball you propelled wasn’t just any ball. It had to be focussed, pinpointed. Raw energy was dangerous�"untamed. Violet never had proper training, though�" if there was such thing. Her understanding boiled down to one simple thing; imagery and belief was key. So that’s what she did. She imagined her power shooting from her hands, towards the attackers. She imagined that blow sending them flying backwards, over the balcony railing. She believed it would be.

            So it was.

            With a grunt, she released her metal hold of her power, and flung out her hands. From her fingers, the air shifted and slammed into the attackers like a physical low. Doubling over, their feet left the ground as the power drove them backwards. With a gasp, they slammed into the balcony and those that didn’t flip over, crumpled to the ground below in broken heaps. Three down�"how many more to go? Violet forced herself to breathe despite her pounding heart. She had to keep a grip. She had to focus. Violet glanced down at her outreached hands. They were shaking with power, soft tingles running up and down her arm. She couldn’t let them take her. She couldn’t let them take her father.

            She wouldn’t let them take her away.

            Not now. Not ever.

Author's Note

As you can copy/paste text here, I will only post a few chapters.
To read full novel or what's posted, check out here:
http://www.wattpad.com/story/3290630-blood-of-angels-possible-watty

Reviews

[Rachael]

Wowzer, this is good.

[emilytaylorinkie]

Thanks :) I'm sorry I can't post more of it. I'm really touchy with copy/paste stuff -_-