Wings of the Wicked by Courtney Allison Moulton

Author:Courtney Allison Moulton
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Speculative Fiction
ISBN: 9780062002389
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

PART TWO

The Mortal Archangel

19

I WOKE UP SCREAMING.

I sat straight up and threw out my arms in rage. Someone shoved my chest and slammed me back into the bed. He pinned me down, but he couldn’t hold me forever. I broke free and struck him in the face, ripping his lip open. I flew off the bed and made a dash for the door as he screamed my name and grabbed at me, his fingers only tagging my clothes. I was too fast and too wild. Then he screamed someone else’s name, and another attacker appeared in the room. Two pairs of arms took strong hold of me and dragged me across the room.

That word slithered through my brain again: “Sleep.”

My body went slack against their grip, and I fell into dark memories of lives past and blood spilled upon ancient ground.

Before me lay a valley littered with the dead. Snow settled on the bodies as I walked among them, blood staining the ground black, the stench of carrion flooding my senses. Torn and soiled red cloth lay draped over dull metal and frostbitten skin. The Romans should never have come here to Britain. The massacre was devastating, and the reapers had already descended to feed. Every single man fallen in battle was already burning in Hell. My Guardian and I were too late.

The bitter wind blew my tangled hair around my face streaked with war paint, biting through the wool robes I wore, given to me by a family living in the nearby village that the Romans had attempted to sack. The invaders were most unsuccessful.

A flash of light in the sky made me duck and shield my eyes. When the light dimmed, I looked toward the sky. An angel descended, his golden armor shining, wings spread wide. His face was ethereally beautiful—and vaguely familiar.

“Sister,” he said, his voice musical and elegant.

I stared at him in confusion. “Who are you?”

“Don’t you know me?” His blue eyes studied me curiously and with pity.

“I do know you,” I said, digging deep through my memories. There was something there, far older than my human memories clouding the surface. “Michael. It’s you.”

He nodded. “Yes, Gabriel, my sister. You’re slowly forgetting who you are. You’re becoming more and more human. I hardly recognize you. With all that paint smeared across your face, you look like an animal.”

I lifted my chin in defiance. “It marks me as a warrior.”

“It marks you as human.”

I swallowed and my gaze faltered. I wasn’t human. I was … something else. I was like Michael, an archangel. But I was losing myself. I remembered now that the more times I lived and died, the more like my human vessel I became and the more I left my archangel origins behind.

“Why are you so far north?” Michael asked, his armored boots settling on the frozen ground. He stepped closer to me, the summer warmth of his glory melting the light snow around us.

I was determined not to let his nearness frighten me.

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