• Prologue

    The slate shingles clattered noisily together, some bouncing from the rooftops and shattering on the filthy streets below. Two pairs of stealthy feet moved in complete union, hardly brushing against the ground as they slowly lifted into the night sky, torn and battered and bruised.

    Black blood spilled from many open wounds, dripping silently onto the roofs below, congealing and writhing. The wind could be heard whistling under the great feathered structures, forcing the pair higher into the moonlit skies, but hindering them as it tossed dust and dirt into their eyes and down their throats.

    Julon held his head in one hand, eyes closed, opposite hand writhing and flicking as he worked a difficult spell, creating a thin bubble around the pair, shielding them from the debris. He struggled to stay alight on his white wings, now stained with many dark patches of blood, and as he tried to match his partners pace, his strength failed.

    His mind lost to the darkness of unconsciousness, Julon should have fluttered to the ground like a broken feather, but broad hands forced themselves under his falling body, and a whine of strain emitted from the parted lips as his partner alighted once more upon the rooftops.

    This will have to do, Romeo thought, his vision flickering and fading. He hoped Arnja's men were lost or far behind them, but had no idea how much distance he had traversed.

    Leaning over his fallen ally, he whispered something into his dark ear, trying in vain to stop the blood spurting from his injuries.

    Damn it, he wondered once more, Why couldn't we be in different places? Death is of no help in my situation. If it were Julon, he could patch our wounds up in a moment.

    But he wasn't Julon.


    Chapter One

    Three days earlier

    An alarm droned, sunlight momentarily fell in shafts through the closed blinds, and two eyes cracked open a fraction. A groan, as the dark haired head lifted an inch of the ground, trying to make sense of the flashing numbers on the clock.

    Julon sat up so fast that he cricked his neck, and rubbed it, moaning once more as his head ached, and his room swam before his eyes. Why had he went out last night? Then again, he said this to himself every time he stayed out late and drank with his friends, yet he still did it.

    /Can't stay home, though./ He thought, /Have lives to save./

    Had he know what he was going to face today, and that his world as he knew it was about to be turned upside down, Julon would have succumbed to his immense hangover, and called in sick. But he didn't. He never did.

    Rising, stretching, yawning, Julon pulled his blinds open, and scanned his room. Three discarded beer containers in the corner, cabinets pulled down, and several used cigarettes that had long since burned out, black ash on the floor, the heavy smell of tobacco in the air. /I must've been really drunk, to smoke. Last time I had one was ten years ago./

    Pushing through the fallen furniture, Julon quickly made himself a large mug of coffee and downed it in one, his eyes watering as the burning liquid scorched his throat. He was already wide awake, and took advantage of his alertness to pick out the right clothes. A white shirt, miraculously stainless, dark jeans, a pair of converses, and his bright white coat.

    Slipping them on, he kicked a couple of pillows out of the way and rushed out of his apartment, rushing into a waiting taxi.

    At his stop, he rushed out and through the automatic doors, and had barely entered when he was stopped by his assistant. "Doctor Smith, we have a patient in ER, that we think you should see."

    "Can't Doctor Houston take care of it, Angie?" He yawned, reaching backwards as if to scratch his back, but really feeling the cold lumps of bone that jutted out slightly from his shoulder blades.

    "No, Doctor. It needs to be you. No one else knows what to do, and he's near death."

    "If that's the situation, then." He replied, chucking his briefcase into a corner and striding to the ER.

    Blue curtains were pulled around the patient, and four doctors were standing around them. Julon noticed that none of them dared approach. 44

    45

    "Ah, Julon. We think you and your fabulous doctor abilities should see this." A young, teenage surgeon breathlessly muttered.

    He nodded, and said loudly, "Can't be anything worse than I've had, Grant, I'm sure I'll be fine."

    He pulled back the curtain just enough to slip through, and very nearly shrieked with shock. What first attracted his attention was the many scars and open wounds that littered this man's pale skin. Crimson blood seeped through the bandages that had obviously been placed upon them by Angie, or another nurse.

    But the thing that surprised him most, and what was most likely the cause for the other doctor's fear, was the pair of tall, proud black wings splayed out across the bed.


    Chapter Two

    After a few baffling seconds, Julon remembered his position as a doctor and schooled his expression, rushing forwards, both hands with a faint sheen of brightness around them.

    When he was next to the patient, he delicately fingered the wings, brushing each black feather with his brightened fingers. But, as his skin touched a feather, it crumbled into grey ash, which Julon gazed at for a couple of long moments, before pocketing a handful of it.

    /This is no ordinary patient,/ He thought, intrigued and repelled at the same time.

    Staying clear of the wings - which was hard, as they filled more than half the small, enclosed area - Julon bent over the man, examining every inch of his ghostly pale skin, his drawn eyes (Which, after checking, he found out were blue), his ragged body. All he wore were a pair of very filthy, black shorts, and, with a sickening jolt, Julon realized he should have immediately stopped the bleeding.

    Warily - afraid that his touch would harm the body - he laid both hands upon the winged man's chest, letting his mind explore the wounds. He swiftly stopped the heavy loss of blood, and neatly stitched up the worst of the gashes. Gulping air, he threw his conscious further into the organs, searching, searching, searching for any further damage.

    No. Amazingly, though this unnamed man looked ghastly and on the brink of death, he was not too badly injured. Perhaps, Julon thought, he had already suffered worse injuries, and had grown used to them so his body healed faster. He shuddered at the very thought. Could his patient be a long-term abused man, or an abuser? Or, could he have a difficult past?

    Already Julon felt drained, though it has only been twenty five minutes. He idly wondered why none of the other doctors had attempted an autopsy or a scan. No matter how afraid they were, they had made a pledge to protect the lives of others and that was what they should have done.

    Though he was tired, this alien fury rose in him like vomit, and Julon knew he couldn't keep it down. Ripping back the curtains, he stared into each of the five pairs of eyes that had eagerly awaited news. News they should already know!

    "Doctor Smith-" Angie began, racing forward to talk to her partner.

    Julon shook her off, agitated, and quietly said, "That man could have died in there. How long did you wait for me to come in? Five minutes? Five /hours/? You call yourselves doctors, yet at the first sight of a strange or difficult operation you run to me with your tail between your legs and beg me to do it."

    The surrounding doctors mumbled to the floor, a blush rising in their cheeks, apart from one; The oldest doctor in the surgery, who had taught Julon himself. "Smith, dn't talk to your team like that."

    "Smith? I'm not a schoolboy /Houston/. I excepted the likes of you to at least perform a scan or an x-ray on him!" His voice was rising again, but he tried with all his might to keep the upsurge of emotions under control. After all, Doctor Houston could throw him out of the surgery, and, though it would'nt be too difficult for him to find another medical-associated job, he enjoyed working here.

    "Julon," His voice was a tone lower, his eyes worried, "We /did/ perform an autopsy, which is rare on people who are still alive and breathing. Also, we did x-ray his... wings-" He said the word with unusual awkwardness, "-and the results are coming in later today. Why such a short temper Julon? Like you said, you've had worse. We did not want to do anything to harm the man."

    By this, Julon knew that Doctor Houston must mean that he did not want to harm anything that could be extra terrestrial. "Don't worry," He sighed, defeated. "I healed him without making so much as a scratch, and hopefully he should be awake around about-"

    "-Now." The unfriendly, harsh, yet seemingly amused, voice cut through the air like a knife through butter, and Julon stood a little taller. He slowly walked back into the little operation room, with it's dark blue curtains around it, and clean white floors. There, sitting with one leg off of the bed, his hand through his shimmering white blond hair, was the patient that shouldn't have awoken for another three days.

    Smiling, his teeth showing ever-so-slightly, he extended a hand and remarked, in the same cruel voice, "And you must be the amazing Julon Smith."



    Chapter Three



    Julon smiled slightly, taking the outstretched hand and shaking it warily, as if fearing it would harm him. "Yes," He began, choosing his words wisely. "I /am/ Julon Smith. Amazing? I'm not sure, as I don't even though your identity. Would you be so kind as to share it?" He noticed that Doctor Houston had followed him, but the other surgeons had hurriedly exited the ER.

    "I have many titles, names, identities. You may call me Romeo, if you so wish." The winged man, Romeo, answered.

    "Romeo what?" Houston said sharply.

    "Just Romeo, old man," he said with a small smirk on his face. Julon seethed silently, about to remark upon this man's rudeness to the people who had saved him, but he was cut off when Romeo pushed himself easily off of the bed and began fingering his wings, running his white hands lovingly over them. "I could have saved myself, /Doctor/, but some idiot saw me sleeping, recuperating, and called an ambulance."

    "You were badly wounded!" Julon exclaimed.

    "And you touched my wings."

    "You bet I did - what?" Julon stopped. "H-how do you know that?"

    "Stupid man. I do know when parts of my body are destroyed. Seven feathers you burned. That'll take /years/ to grow back." Romeo talked about this as if wings were the most usual things.

    The dark skinned doctor awkwardly fiddled with his shirt buttons. Usually, had anyone else insulted him like that, he would retort back as quick as lightning. But, as much as he hated to say it, this man intimidated him. After about two minutes knowing him, and Julon was terrified.

    It was Houston who broke the silence. "Come now," He started, speaking in a low, calming voice, though the occasional shaking of it betrayed his own fear. "Julon, would you care to step outside, and I shall ask Angie to fix our patient a meal."

    Julon nodded, defeated, and took one last glance at Romeo, absorbing all his details; His grey-white skin, his pale blue eyes, his lean body, white blond hair, and most of all, his wings. Then he turned, about to leave, but the now-familiar voice of Romeo made him turn.

    "No need, Houston," Julon had no idea how he knew the srgeon's name, "I was just leaving. Good day, doctors, I'm sure this won't be the last time we meet."

    And then he was gone.