Jo expected to find Galen behind her. But he wasn’t there.
She turned in a circle, her eyes scanning for him. In a blur of scenes, she saw friends: Drew firing his sling shot, with April and Dove behind him cheering; Mike slicing the air with an aspen branch; Lary swing his chains. But there was no sign of Galen.
“Galen!” Her heart pounded. Fear constricted her chest. She searched the ground, terrified that his body would be lying in the grass. She spied something grey slipping through the trees and raced into them.
“Galen?” She darted between the trunks, batting limbs away and ducking under branches. Her eyes were wild as they scoured the land for him.
She rounded a greyish-green boulder, and there he was, sitting back on his heels, with his hands on his knees and his head down, his hair dangling in onyx waves.
Jo dropped down at his side. “Galen, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She didn’t notice any wounds—except for the insult on his face. She grimaced at the purple contusion darkening his otherwise flawless skin. His mouth was in the shape of a pout and there was an almost imperceptible tremor in his bottom lip. She reached out to clasp his hand with hers, but she’d forgotten about the demon’s blood staining it. She drew it back.
He raised his head, his eyes stayed on her hand. “Jo,” he spoke her name quietly, sadly. He turned to face her and took her hands in his. He inspected the blood-soiled flesh and the sliced skin on the top of her arms. He pinched his lips; his eyes closed. As his lashes touched together, a drop of liquid slid down his face and over a corner of his mouth. He released one of Jo’s hand and stopped the tear by swiping a knuckle along the edge of his jaw. He stared at the wet finger with same wonder she had seen in his eyes on the porch that night.
“Galen, what’s wrong?”
He sniffed and scraped the wetness off the side of his face with his shoulder. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it.” He let go of her other hand.
“Hey, those things are strong. You know that. You weren’t prepared.”
“Don’t.” He flashed his eyes at her. “Don’t make excuses for me.” His gaze drifted away. “I’m a coward.” He swallowed and turned his head down.
“Are you kidding me?” Jo gripped his upper arms. She shook him. “You’ve stood up to those creatures all night—you protected us—you saved my life!”
He raised his head, looking at her through tortured grey eyes. “And I just ran away. Your friends are out there beatin’ the crud out of those things, and I’m cowering behind this rock. I couldn’t do it, Jo. I have no power against them.” Shame colored his face.
“Neither do we,” Jo argued.
“Yes, you do!” Galen’s wet eyes squinted. “Your faith.”
“Then have faith, Galen.”
He almost laughed, his eyes wide in astonishment. “You don’t understand—I don’t need it.” He snapped his lips together. He looked defeated and dropped his gaze to the ground.
Jo stared at him, dumbstruck by his declaration. “Galen…” He wouldn’t look up. Her hands fell away from him. She sat back on her heels. Her weary mind searched for the answer—the right thing to say—how to comfort him.
He lifted his dull eyes. “That thing was right. I am a failure. I can’t protect you, Jo. I give up.” He took a huge breath and let it out. “I’m never getting back.” His lower lip trembled.
“Back where?”
He didn’t answer.
A whoop and a holler resounded from the clearing. The tension in Jo dialed down. They were victory yells.
“Jo!” “Galen!” Her friends were calling.
“In here!” Jo shouted. “We’re Ok! Be right there!”
It was over. The sky was light denim blue. The colors of the earth were developing: the orange in the trumpet-shaped flowers, the Kelly green aspen leaves, the darker green pine needles.
“Go on, Jo,” Galen told her. “Get back to your friends and get out of here.”
Jo’s mouth gaped. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand all this talk of failure. How did you fail, Galen? Answer me, for once.”
“It doesn’t matter now.” He scraped a tear off his chin with the end of his shirt. Jo caught a glimpse of that glittery blue marking on his side.
He seemed resigned to some unknown fate. Maybe he was crazy, just like she had thought.
“Galen.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me.”
He raised his lifeless gaze.
“Listen…there’s this scripture—I say it when I’m struggling with something bigger than I am.”
Galen sat slumped, looking up at her with vitric, smoke-colored eyes, disinterested and defeated.
She took a deep breath. “It’s, uh, from Isaiah, I think. ‘Not by might, or by power, but by My Spirit says the Lord’.” She smiled meekly.
Galen’s lips parted. “It’s Zechariah 4:6. Why’d you say that?”
“It—it just seemed like the right thing to say. Sometimes we try to do things with our own strength, and it’s not enough. We need God’s help.”
His countenance began to change. He looked up at the sky. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, but he didn’t seem to be talking to her. He looked at Jo. Light flooded his eyes. “You’re right. It’s not by my might, or my power.” He interlaced his fingers on top of his head. “I’ve been here too long. I forgot what I—” He stopped in mid-sentence and stared at her.
Jo’s eyes were narrowed, her shoulders hunched around her neck, her brow creased. A faint chuckle escaped him. He smiled and his eyes twinkled in that familiar silver color. “I’m Ok, Jo. Really.” He reached for her arm and stood up, helping her to her feet.
“Galen, what…what just happened?”
He sighed. “Let’s just say, I had a brief identity crisis.” He took her hand in his. The blood had dried and turned brown. He stroked the top of it. His eyes shifted up to hers. “You’re a very special girl, Jo. And not just because you kill vampires.” He grinned and gently squeezed her hand.
Jo blinked slowly. She wished she could fall into the knee-high grass with him and sleep until the sun scorched them awake.
Mike’s voice yelled her name from the clearing.
“We better get back. Come on.” She turned, her hand still in his.
“Wait, Jo.” He held onto her.
Mike and Dove yelled their names together, with urgency this time.
“We’d better go.” Her hand slipped out of his. She started to run.
“Jo.”
Something in his voice made her stop. She turned and the sight of him caused her heart to skip. Only a corner of his burnt T-shirt was tucked in now. His black jeans were brown with dirt and torn at the knees. His face was smudged where he’d wiped his tears. His humble expression sent a twinge of longing through her. He ran a hand through his raven-black hair, but it fell right back, framing his face. She loved how the back of his hair curled on the sides of his neck, creating soft, black feathers under his ears; she loved those secret dimples in his cheeks that only showed up when he smiled. His incredible eyes seemed to see right through to her soul. He was beautiful…from the inside out.
He took a breath, straightening his back, his shoulders lifting. He walked straight to her and grasped the sides of her face. Before she knew what was happening, he kissed her. His warm, salty lips touched hers and then they left. Jo couldn’t move or take her gaze from his. His sterling eyes sparkled as if fireworks were going off behind them. Her cheeks blushed against his hands.
She was jolted back to her senses by Dove’s desperate scream.
Chapter 38