Immortal Essence Box Set: Aligned, Exiled, Beguiled by Rashelle Workman Page B

The man pointed to the ground. The boy obeyed, head lowered. Afraid. And the man knew it. He looked away, like he had to gather himself. Venus watched the man’s eyes. They were the eyes of a devil.
    Fear for the boy slashed at her heart. He was like a lamb to the slaughter.
    “Let me see your feet.” The words dripped with malice. 
    “Why?” the boy asked. Innocent.
    “Don’t question me, stupid.” He grabbed a foot and lifted it with one hand. In the other he held what looked like a thick piece of glass. “Catherine, this is your fault. Yours and this boy’s. You two make me do this.” Then he cut the boy’s foot.” Blood poured onto the floor—a red river.
    Venus turned away, unable to watch the boy’s suffering. She could still hear him scream. Sorrow filled her for the tortured boy. How she hurt for him—with him.
    The memories continued. And so did the abuse. She witnessed, experienced every cut and bruise, externally and internally. Years and years of his suffering strangled her, like rope on a noose. She struggled to breathe. He’d been right. His father blamed him for everything.
    By the age of seven his father left and Venus felt a momentary relief. He’d be safe. But, no. The mother, Catherine, continued with the abuse.  
    In spite of his parents, he managed to stay kind. He began playing football so he could feel like a winner in some area of his life. It’d worked. People flocked to him. A born leader. He escaped the pain by reading. Developed a love of poetry:  William Blake, Emily Dickinson. He devoured books. All of Shakespeare, War and Peace, Frankenstein, anything by Hemingway, Faulkner, Mark Twain. He also held a secret hope that his mother, in her way, still loved him.
    Venus watched him grow, felt his losses, experienced his crushes on girls. He decided early that they used him. Many of his decisions were a product of his mother’s hurtful words, which taught him to never let himself get too close. Still he’d fallen for a beautiful girl. Cheverly! These were Michael’s dreams. Michael’s memories. Deep down, she’d known. She watched the two of them together. He seemed to love her and she loved him. Venus also witnessed the day he’d seen Cheverly with Dervinias. The pain he’d experienced. And though hate seethed within, she felt his underlying love for the girl.
    She also saw the way his mother treated him and felt the intense rage he harbored. Like a ship in a storm, he’d been pummeled and beaten at every turn in his life. With every relationship he dared have. He was growing weary. Ready to sink and disappear into the churning waves . . .   
    Unexpectedly everything in his mind went dark. His heart began to beat fast, like a frightened rabbit. Excitement? Fear? She didn’t know. Maybe both. It was as though a blindfold had been placed over her eyes. Venus couldn’t comprehend, nor see what happened.
    Only felt his confusing emotions.
    Then his soul soared with an unexplained pleasure. And when she finally understood why, she was devastated.  He wanted to die. It saddened her to realize he considered death as a means of relief. She tried to dig deeper, see if there was a specific reason, but he wouldn’t let her in any further. Frustrated, she pushed, trying to advance further into the recesses of his mind, but she wasn’t sure how and didn’t want to hurt him or herself. 
    She’d almost given up, but like a light bulb, his mind flipped back on. She heard birds singing, a fast moving stream, smelled the Larkspur and the Sunflowers. He was remembering that day on the mountain. The day the two of them met. Venus stayed on the fringes, now familiar with the sounds. And then she saw herself, moving toward Michael.
    It was strange, seeing herself as he did:  long blond hair flowing behind her as she ran. The sun hitting the strands made him think of a glowing halo. Ethereal was the word he used. His heart quickened as he watched who he believed was the Angel of