Fallen Angel

Chapter 45: Brannon

A week had passed without any indication that something had happened, Emily hadn't been seen or heard from and I was worried. I'd fought so hard to get her back and under my father's insistence, I'd willingly let her leave me. I wasn't about to blame him because he was right, she was the purest I'd ever seen and even in our final moments together, I felt the surge of the deus angel that was surfacing.

She would be no match against me or my father but the power was there, she couldn't live in hell with that kind of power. Visiting would be harsh on the world, it wasn't made for accepting angels as guests, regardless of how fleeting they were.

I looked at the empty whisky glass and wished for another but I knew that my father wanted me to be coherent for our conversation. He was standing at the window, watching something that held his interest.

"I think you are right Brannon; this amount of time is not acceptable. One conversation that would result in a yes or a no. It would be polite to advise us and I doubt that Emily would be so discourteous as to not advise you that her request was rejected."

He turned from the view with a concerned look on his face.

"But what would you do Brannon? Are you prepared to search for her or let it go? What are your thoughts on the subject?"

I huffed and stood to fetch the bottle, believing that I no longer cared for sobriety.

"A week and she hasn't called, she has my number. Does it mean that she has been hidden again?"

"I doubt that they would do that Brannon, surely they have realised that it will not work for the long term. No, I think that you will find that they will approach her with a lot more reason this time. She would have gone to them, so they would have seen it as a positive situation."

"And what of her captor?"

My father smiled as he crossed the room, picking up his glass as he approached.

"Returned, unharmed yet altered in a way that they will never detect."

My glass was filled with the amber liquid that quelled the pain, it was only fleeting but it was enough.

"Would you like to meet with him? Maybe he might be able to shed some light on the situation."

"Sounds like a great plan."

Upending the glass, I sank back the last of my drink and stood with a lot of determination. Just as my father stood, the door opened and my mother walked in.

"Well you boys look like you're off to cause mischief."

"We are." My father said with a loving smile.

He walked over to her and knowing what was coming, I turned away. I loved my parents and their affection for each other was wonderful but I didn't need the visual reminder that my own life was in such a shit state.

"How long are you going to be?"

"I'm not certain. Why do you ask?"

Glancing at my watch, I noticed that it was getting close to lunch time. My mother never really cared if we missed lunch but she liked to have everyone home for dinner. Us going away sporadically was met with a lot of anger on her part, mostly because she was so close to giving birth. It wasn't really an issue; she could have sent a demon to us if she had gone into labour early. Thankfully, she hadn't and as I turned back, I wondered when she would.

Then it hit me, I looked at how she gripped her stomach, the pain on her face that was masked by her smile.

"You're in labour."

My father turned and looked at me, a little horrified. Probably because I'd picked up on it before him. He has always spaced on it when it came to my mother and going into labour. I knew when she was about to tell him with Delaney and now, I'd predicted number four.

"Well done Bran." She said with a glint of humour in her eyes. "That's two now Anton, maybe you should take lessons from your son."

Then she turned out of the room, looking like she wasn't in pain. Yet I could see it in her eyes.

"You are not to go anywhere without me, do you understand?"

"Yes." I groaned.

He turned out of the room, following after my mother.

"But I don't agree." I said softly with a smirk.

Floating upwards, I felt a tug on my left ankle.

"I must be mistaken; I hear you say you not leave."

I wanted to groan, the thick Russian accent was unmistakable. There was no escaping this place when Igor had his sight fixated. Looking down, I saw him appear, his grip around my ankle.

"I said yes that I understood but I did not say yes to remaining here."

"I think you play with words. You should not upset your parents, is time of celebration not for mourning first born who could be dead if he goes to heaven without his father."

Igor yanked me back down to the floor, making me sit on the lounge. The mighty behemoth that was supposedly our head chef stood over me, glowering. I'm sure he was working some secretive plan for my father, one that was spy on Brannon and make sure he does as he is told.

"I wasn't going to heaven." I groaned, rolling my eyes.

"You toy with words like little toy truck. I know where you were going and if your mother wasn't having baby, I'd kick your backside to your parents now and tell them you're being bad boy."

I held my hands out wide with the inane grin that made me seem adorable.

"I am the son of the devil."

Being as smooth and charming as I could, I tried to be a little like my father.

"Nice try junior. You sit and drink if you want but I not leave until your father returns. I keep my eyes on you. You want to eat, I make lunch for you and you will be in kitchen. I not fall for that trick. You want to go potty and I am going to hold your hand. You want to make spanky time with monkey, I am going to smack you across head."

He leaned over, grinning like a deranged lunatic.

"I smack at opportune time. You think that I am put off by act, I am not. I not changed your diaper but I had the displeasure of being in the room when you soiled yourself so I know how little the monkey is."

"I was a baby!" I said indignantly. "And the monkey is not little anymore. Good grief Igor, I'm not doing any of those things with you around."

"But you will stay here, right?"

I huffed, sitting back on the lounge.

"Fine. I'm staying."

Igor chuckled and sat on one of the wing back chairs, his eyes pinned to me as we waited for my father to return. He'd just gotten what he had wanted and I had stupidly agreed to it. Maybe I needed to lay off the alcohol.