Fallen: Synn

Pearl sat up abruptly then regretted it immediately. Her head was pounding and the room was spinning. A hand to her forehead stopped her wondering what had happened. There was a bandage wrapped around her head from front to back, and she tried her best not to flinch when she touched a sore spot. Looking behind her, she saw that there was a faint blood stain on the shiny white pillow case, and immediately felt guilty because it wasn’t her pillow she was looking at.
Leaning forward, she placed her head between her legs, groaning. “Oh, God. What the hell?”
“Hell, indeed,” a voice said, making her head snap up. She clutched the sides, squeezing her eyes shut from such a quick movement. When she squinted them open again, she saw the blond boy who had freaked her out last night coming towards her with a glass of water. “That was a nasty fall you took last night.” He shoved the drink at her and a couple of pills she was guessing her aspirin. “Here. Myurin said you need to stay hydrated.”
Myurin, she thought curiously. What was a “myurin”?”
She set the pills on the table, not trusting them, but sipped the water as the boy eyed her. Figuring she wasn’t going to get much of anything out of the hoody-wearing, torn-jean sporting teeny bopper, she glanced around the room. The bed she was in was a comfortable size, not too big, not too small—just enough for two people, but comfortable for one. It was done in black and white, and was fluffy with a ton of pillows that were completely unnecessary. The walls to the room were vertically striped in black and white, stopping midway down the wall at the white molding where solid black took over until you got to the black-tiled, shining floor. There were no pictures on the walls, but the abundant amount of space on the massive—and obviously ancient—roll-top desk as well as the claw-footed dressers was occupied by different objects that seemed to range in age and style. There was a whole lot of personality in this room, but it seemed to be missing something very important. The itch to find out what made Pearl’s head hurt.
“Who are you?” she asked, still looking around. “No, wait. Better yet, where am I?” She finally looked over at the boy and he gave her piercing violet and unblinking eyes.
“I’ll answer both questions; how about that?” He crossed his arms behind his head and his feet at the ankles, taking an almost lounging stance as he stood. “My name is Bastien and, right now, you’re in my brother, Synn’s, room.” He shrugged. “His was the cleanest.”
“Why didn’t you just take me to the hospital?” she asked, narrowing her eyes on him. She didn’t know who this kid or his brother was, but she didn’t trust either of them.
Bastien’s brows rose. “Huh. Didn’t even think of that.” He dropped his arms, shrugging. “Ah, well, what’s done is done. Besides, Castiel took care of you. Myurin tried to help, but he kept dropping shit all over the place.”
Castiel, Myurin, Bastien, Synn . . . What kind of names were these? What was going on?
Bastien plopped onto the bed, leaning back on his arms. “Anyway. Sorry about freaking you out last night. I just wanted to help.”
She glared at him, setting her glass down on the bedside table hard. She ignored how the sound reverberated in her skull. “I didn’t ask for your help and I didn’t need it. I’ve done that a million times before, so one more time wasn’t going to kill me. You, however, almost did. Who the hell sneaks up on a person in a dark alley with good intentions? No one, that’s who.”
Bastien let out a low whistle, grinning and exposing sharp teeth. “Feisty, aren’t we. So, how old are you?”
Pearl was so thrown off by the question that she automatically responded. “Uh, twenty-five.”
Bastien nodded. “Not bad. You don’t look that old. I’m twenty-one, you know, but people say I look barely eighteen.” He sighed dramatically. “Such is the life when you have a pretty face.”
“Uh. . . I wouldn’t know.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t play that. You’ve gotta realize you’ve got potential.”
Pearl’s face scrunched up. “What exactly are you getting at. . Bastien, was it?”
His smile lit up his face, but there was a wickedness behind his eyes that had Pearl on edge and on guard. He was not the innocent do-gooder he was trying to portray. When he picked up her hand and kissed her palm, she knew she was right. “I could show you. It’s so much better than telling you.”
Pearl forcefully pulled her hand back, wiping her palm on the duvet. “Uh. . . No. I really don’t think I want that.”
He leaned towards her. “Awww. Come on. Why not? I’m not as inexperienced as I look, trust me.”
She narrowed her eyes on him, her face flushing, but she reminded herself to stay firm. “No, really. Go show someone else.”
“But—“ he started, but a fist to the top of his head cut him off, planting his face in the covers. His muffled exclaims of surprise and upset could be heard in protest as his head was held there.
“Sorry,” a smooth, low voice said. It sent shivers over Pearl’s body and she swallowed as she looked up.
There, in front of her, was a god—or someone who must have been born from one. Though he looked tall, he was actually rather short, standing there as he was, but he was lean, with just enough muscle to make a girl drool. It was his face, however, that made them dream. With a sharp nose and porcelain skin, he would draw the eyes of anyone, but his mouth was thin on the top, full on the bottom—almost a little too full—centered above a pointed, but somehow soft chin. His eyes were cat-like in shape, and they were the intense violet Bastien seemed to have, surrounded by full lashes that were midnight-black. On the other hand, his hair was silver. Pearl had to admit, his hair was her favorite thing about him. Silver from roots to about mid-way where it was jaggedly dyed black, it was slicked back on the sides without any help from a hair product and fell forward from way in the back to across his left eye, where it stopped at a point around the middle of his cheek. Pearl absolutely loved it.
“My brother sees anything with legs and thinks it’s okay to sleep with,” he continued. He gave a half-smile, his mouth lifting at the corner. “I’m Synn—and you’re in my bed.”
A blush rose from her neck all the way to the roots of her hair and she swallowed again. “I-I’m sorry. I mean, it was your brother’s fault, really, but I think I ruined your pillow case.”
The tall man—Synn, was it?—shrugged in a graceful manner and shook his head. “S’okay. I’ll just get another one.” He ground his brother’s face into the duvet and a muffled curse came out. “You gonna behave, brat?”
Synn let go and Bastien’s head shot up, his face red as he sucked in a giant gulp of air. He took a swing at his brother. “What the fuck, man! I was just being nice.”
Synn easily dodged another punch aimed at his head and Pearl watched with wide eyes. “She’s sick, perv. Let her recover first at least.”
Bastien glared at him, but huffed, crossing his arms and obviously giving in. “Why do you care? Not like you even know what I’m talking about.”
Synn sucked in a sharp breath and Pearl could tell that Bastien had entered a no-no conversation. She tensed for a fight, ready to run, duck and cover. Gods fighting meant destruction, and it was obvious these replicas could dish out the damage.
Synn surprised her, letting out a huge breath. “None of your business, Bastien.” He turned back to Pearl, obviously done discussing things with his brother. “He’s still a kid. Sorry.”
Her heart slowly thumping its way back to normal, Pearl shook her head, ready to disagree, but she regretted the motion. It landed her back with her head between her legs and trying to keep her stomach where it belonged. A soothing rubbing the center of her back easily calmed her.
“Do you want to try getting up?” Synn asked softly, his voice flowing over her. “Cass—my brother has made breakfast and we all kind of want to hear your side of the story. Bastien has a way of telling things so it doesn’t seem like his fault.”
“I do not,” Bastien defended.
Pearl smiled at that. He seemed like that sort.
Turning her head, but not wanting to get up and make Synn stop that rubbing, she looked at him. “That sounds great. Can I take a shower first, though? And maybe borrow some clothes?”
Synn grinned with that half smile. “Shower and clothes both granted. I’ll help you change your bandage when you get out.”
Pearl smiled at him and watched his face go curiously surprised, but all she could think about was that hot shower and getting clean. “Thank you.”

“What was that?” Bastien asked as they walked down the hall to the kitchen. He pitched his voice to sound like Synn. “’Shower and clothes granted.’ Since when are you so nice to girls?”
Synn frowned, annoyed. “What do you care?”
Bastien snorted. “What do I care? Oh, I don’t, trust me, but I want to know who the hell that was in there, because it certainly wasn’t my lame-ass, un-romantic, not-interested-in-anything-having-to-do-with-other-people brother. That was you if you were. . me!”
Synn rolled his eyes. “You knocked her out, fuckhead, and then, to top it all off, you were hitting on her. Someone had to be nice to the poor girl.”
Bastien sighed. “That’s what I’m saying. Why didn’t you let me be nice to her?” He dropped his voice and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I could have been very, very nice to her.”
Synn slammed his fist into the wall, stopping them both. Anger had suddenly boiled his blood and churned his stomach. His voice came out in a low growl and he felt his lips peel back. “You won’t lay a fucking finger on her, got it?”
Bastien’s hands came up in defense and he backed away. It was a rare occasion that Synn gt angry, but you didn’t mess with him when he did. “Woah, man, woah. Just breathe. It’s no biggie, ‘kay? Not gonna touch her.” When Synn put his hands down, Bastien shoved his into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Something’s gotten into you, Synn. It’s freaking me out a bit.”
Synn took in a deep breath. “Whatever.” He knew Bastien was right. Something was up and it was making his skin itch under the surface. He rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension there, but it didn’t work. Whatever was going on was not to his liking. He just hoped that it didn’t have anything to do with what Jeriah had mentioned the night before. If he was the cause of a problem, they were all fucked.
He heard the shower turn on down the hall in his bedroom where he had left the door open and he sucked in a breath when he saw the steam come out. Leaning against the wall as Bastien continued into the kitchen, Synn let his head drop back. What was wrong with him? He was actually having a hard time not going back into his bedroom and interrupting her shower. This wasn’t normal. He had never wanted a female like this before. Maybe it was just a physiological reaction from being on Earth too long. Humans went into heat, after all, and he was more animal than they were, so that must be it. . . . But then why hadn’t it happened before?
“Shit,” he cursed. He had to bring her clothes. Kicking off the wall, he started heading towards Bastien’s room. His clothes would fit her best, after all.
Just as he got outside of his room, Synn stopped, unable to turn the knob. He could still hear the water running and closed his eyes to get the images of her out of his head, focusing on getting her clothes. It didn’t help at all. As soon as the darkness closed over him, his mind automatically pictured the girl coming out of his shower, toweling herself off with the same towel he used and then stepping into Bastien’s clothes. The thought made his insides boil with rage and he saw red for an instant.
Synn let go of his brother’s doorknob, not realizing he had grabbed it, and saw that it was contorted and twisted into the form of his fingers. Obviously, the thought of that girl in any male’s clothing pissed him off. Fuck, Bastien was going to have a fit.
Turning, Synn retraced his steps and slipped into his room, going straight to his dresser. He pulled out a drawer to his Victorian-era dresser and grabbed a black, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of his work-out shorts with a drawstring. She was a tiny thing, so he wasn’t worried about the length. Hell, he could probably break her in half with a look. He hated those kind of women, so what was it about this one that made him want to storm into his bathroom and ravish her whether she liked it or not—though he would make damn sure she did like it.
He shook his head, gritting his teeth. He gripped his clothes and sucked in a breath, walking calmly to his bathroom. He knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he knocked again.
“Uh. . . Miss?” Shit, why hadn’t he gotten her name? “Are you okay?”
When there was no answer, he turned the knob, his heart pounding. “Miss? I’m coming in. I hope you’re decent.” Fuck, he hoped he was decent, but he was too ashamed to look down and see if he had a raging hard-on like he thought. The front of his pants was way too tight to be normal.
Synn pushed open the door and waited for the steam to clear before looking through the bathroom to the shower. Through the frosted glass, he saw no shadow, like he should have. Panicked, he dropped the clothes and, with two long strides, was across the bathroom in a matter of seconds, rattling the shower door open.
There, on the floor with the water running over her, was the girl. He froze, sucking in a breath. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen a naked female before, but this one was different. She was just as tiny as she seemed; her body small and proportionate with long legs and a short upper torso. Her breasts were ample and Synn licked his lips when his gaze stopped on her pink nipples. Her legs, unfortunately, hid the most vital part of her, but as his gaze traveled to view her secrets, it stopped on the long, thin scar that reached from her right thigh to curve just under her belly button. Upon closer inspection, she had other slight, faint scars on her upper arms and thighs. Someone had done this to her, and those wounds were old. Whatever she had been through, it was hell, and Synn was filled with a vengeance to kill whoever had inflicted such atrocities to her pale skin.
Synn knelt quickly, snapping back to himself and turned off the water. She had obviously fainted again, and when he lifted her, she stayed dead weight in his arms. She wasn’t heavy by any means, but Synn was struggling. Carefully, he grabbed his towel and draped it over her, kneeling on the floor and cradling her against him.
“Hey,” he said, shaking her slightly. Her wet hair fell into her face and he brushed it away gently. Her cheeks were flushed and Synn shook her again, smacking her slightly. She didn’t respond, but Synn could feel her breathing evenly. She was okay, sure, but Synn was having a hard time coping.
Again, he swept his hands across her brow, shifting her hair. She had washed it, he could tell, because she smelled of his soap and it was soft and thick. His heart pounding, Synn placed his fingertips at her forehead and ran them back against her scalp, his fingers trailing through her hair as it dripped on the tile. He stared at her face, drinking it in as if it were the most beautiful painting in the world. Her nose was short and small, coming to a little point at the end above a beautifully plump, red-kissed mouth with an almost-squared bottom lip. Her eyes he had seen were large and almond shaped, perfectly lined with the thickest lashes he had ever seen. When he had spoken with her, there had been a caution and sadness in their brown depths he had only seen in the oldest demons. That she could feel such intense emotion intrigued and made him ache for her.
Synn cleared his throat, ashamed at his thoughts. It was time she woke up. She needed food and clothes—mainly clothes.
“Hey!” he shouted and she twitched, jumping. Relief filled him, but he quashed it.
“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, grabbing the towel and covering what he had already seen. Her cheeks flamed, but she didn’t try and move out of his arms. Synn didn’t know whether he was grateful for that fact or not. “W-Why are you here?”
“You didn’t answer my knock,” Synn tried to tell her calmly. He had a feeling she could hear his heart pounding, though. Her animated and her unconscious were two totally different things and he could feel himself stirring to life behind his zipper. “I did knock. When you didn’t say anything, I came in and found you passed out in the shower.”
“O-Oh,” she stammered, obviously embarrassed. “Thank you.” She glanced at him quickly before looking away. “Y-You can let me go now.”
“Let you g—“ he started, but stopped when Synn noticed that it was his fault that she hadn’t tried to move. He was gripped her tightly about the shoulders and waist, his arms so obviously wanting to keep her in his lap. Again, he cleared his throat and looked away, loosening his hold and trying not to be overly conscious of the way his hand brushed her shapely ass. He wanted to squeeze it, but restrained himself. He was not Bastien. What the hell was wrong with him?
Abruptly, he stood, tugging at his shirt. “I brought you clothes.” He bent to grab them and banged his forehead on the counter, his hand smacking up to the sore as he cursed. He snatched the clothes from the floor and held them out to her, embarrassed. “They may not fit but it’s better than nothing until your clothes dry.”
“You’re washing my clothes?”
He rubbed his forehead, cursing his stupidity. “Yeah. They were pretty beat up from your tumble in the alley.”
Her face scrunched up. “That was all your brother’s fault.”
Finally, he dropped his head, quirking a smile at her. “More than likely.”
Wrapping her towel around her, the girl reached out towards him and Synn flinched back. “That looked like it hurt.” The worry in her eyes and her gentle touch as she lifted his hair away to better view his forehead pierced Synn’s heart like an arrow. His chest tightened and his stomach dropped out.
Quickly, he backed away, turning to the door before he did something he would regret later. “Just get dressed. I’ll wait in the bedroom. You have ten minutes before I check on you again. Then it’s breakfast.”
Her lips pursed and she placed a hand on a cocked hip. The defiant stance made his dick jerk. “Anything else?”
Synn dragged his eyes away from her, staring at the floor instead. “Yes.”
She waited. “Well?” she pressed after a while. “What is it?”
Synn kept his eyes pinned to the floor, afraid of losing himself if he looked at her again. “Your name,” he said quietly. “Tell me your name.”
He could sense her confusion, but he could also sense her interest and attraction, apprehensive as it was.
“Pearl,” she told him. “My name is Pearl Landon.”
Pearl. The name echoed like a shot through his head, sending electricity through his body. He leaned back against the door, his head falling back much the same way it had in the hallway as he absorbed the shock. Something was off. Something was falling into place, if it hadn’t already. This was intense, it was insane, it was something Synn had never felt before, and—whatever it was—he was enjoying the hell out of it almost as much as he was sure that his instincts were telling him to run as far and fast as he could. However, Synn was sure that he was royally fucked and had just hit a wall where she was considered . . . and all he knew was her name.