Angels Defying (Angels Rising Book 3)

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Angels Defying (Angels Rising Book 3) Page 21

by Harriet Carlton


  “What happened?” asked Imorean.

  “Don’t you remember?” asked Toddy.

  “I remember pieces. Not everything. I remember escaping before the second explosion and falling into the water, but not much else.”

  “You should have seen Raphael, Imorean,” said Toddy. “He was amazing. He did all this magical, healing-y stuff. Somehow pushed all that seawater out of your lungs.”

  Colton elbowed Toddy hard and there was a little bit of awkward shuffling as Imorean’s friends looked at each other.

  “You were supposed to let me know when he woke up,” said a new voice.

  Imorean looked up. Michael was standing some distance away, hands tucked into his pockets.

  “Sorry, Michael,” said Roxy, looking away.

  “Roxy, Toddy, Colton, please leave now. I would like to speak with Imorean in private.”

  Imorean watched in confusion as his friends got up and walked hesitantly away from his bed. The doors to the hospital wing closed loudly behind them. Imorean was alone with his mentor.

  “How are you, Imorean?” asked the Archangel.

  “I think I’m okay. What happened to me?”

  “You nearly drowned, for one,” said Michael, closing the gap between himself and Imorean and sitting down on the end of the bed. “It took Raphael hours to pull the water from your lungs. Had you been properly human… well, I think you know the ending to that sentence.”

  “And?” asked Imorean. “There’s an ‘and,’ isn’t there? I can hear it in your voice.”

  “Yes,” nodded Michael. “You sustained a few minor injuries, but nothing that we cannot cure. Quite frankly, Imorean, you surprised me.”

  “Michael,” said Imorean, feeling worried now. “Tell me what happened. You’re not saying everything.”

  Michael’s next words were truly surprising. They were not words Imorean had expected to hear.

  “You saved me. Maybe my life. And I thank you for that. I am not sure what the outcome of yesterday’s attack would have been if you had not been able to step in. When you were struck by the falling piece of rock, you shattered several of the primary bones in your right wing. The fact that you could even fly after that is a miracle to me. Neither I nor Raphael know how you were capable. Your injury was certainly aggravated later by Vortigern dragging you down into the fjord.”

  “Have you fixed it, my wing?” asked Imorean, his blood feeling as though it had been replaced with ice.

  “I am sure that Raphael will be able to. He has fixed injuries worse than this before and wing injuries are relatively common. He needed to wait until you woke up before he did anything though, particularly after having to clear your lungs. He will want to keep you under a watch for twenty-four hours after he fixes it.”

  “Don’t scare me like that, Michael,” said Imorean, releasing a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “I thought it was something that was unfixable.”

  Imorean frowned slightly as silence entered, lying thick and heavy between them. There was something unsaid. Something important. The white-haired teenager turned his attention back to Michael as the Chief Archangel began to speak again.

  “Imorean, I want first of all to say that I am incredibly proud of you. You surpassed even my expectations and you performed everything perfectly. You have helped us to destroy a base containing over ten thousand demons. That is the biggest victory we have had for a long time. For the first time in many years, Vortigern is retreating. Second of all, I am so, unbelievably sorry.”

  “If it’s about my family–” began Imorean. Michael cut him off with the flick of a hand. Brown eyes widened in concern as Michael sighed and buried his face in his hands.

  “It is not about your biological family. It is about something that I have done which I may never be able to atone for. I used you, Imorean. I knowingly sent you into harm’s way in an endeavor to flush out Vortigern. I needed the coordinates for his new base and I knew that he would come out and meet with you himself.”

  “You… you used me as bait?” asked Imorean. He felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. Michael. Michael who he had embraced as a commander. Michael who he had finally learned to trust.

  Michael looked up, his eyes shadowed. “It was a part of Operation Scapegoat. You took the consequences for my actions. I am so sorry. It was never my intention for you to get hurt in the process.”

  “But…? What about all the patrols that you said you sent out?” Surely, there had to be some explanation for the mishap. Imorean scrambled for reason. Michael couldn’t have betrayed him like this. He just couldn’t.

  “There were never any patrols, Imorean,” said Michael with a sigh. “I knew that Vortigern was in the general area that I sent you to, but I needed his exact coordinates and I knew that you were the only one he values enough to be able to lure him out. Gabriel and I drew up the plans for Scapegoat over the winter after we realized Vortigern’s interest in you.”

  “You lied to me? Again? After I put my trust in you?” Imorean took a deep breath, his chest feeling tight. This was too much. Michael, his mentor. He couldn’t move. He felt paralyzed. The weight of Michael’s actions crashed down on him like a great, dark monstrosity. It took a moment for his mouth to form words. Tongue and thoughts couldn’t seem to mesh. Imorean settled on one word. It was the only word he was capable of.

  “… Why?”

  Michael swallowed. “As squad leader, you are in a position to follow my orders, even if those orders seem that they will kill everyone. Even you.”

  “That wasn’t what I agreed to,” said Imorean, a wave of dizziness washing over him as he sat up. “I didn’t set out on a suicide mission, Michael. Why didn’t you brief me properly? You didn’t just keep information from me, you lied to me. You flat-out lied.”

  “I know,” sighed Michael. “You have every right to be angry.”

  “Damn right I do!” snapped Imorean, blinking fast. He took a steadying breath. His blood was singing, his ears buzzing. He could barely think properly. The one Archangel who had trained with him one-on-one and who had worked so hard to earn his trust… had betrayed him. Imorean swallowed hard. His hands were shaking. Michael. Michael, who had defended him from Vortigern just months before, had deliberately thrown him back at the demon. There was nothing left. He felt hollow, empty. Was he truly so worthless?

  “I hope you can forgive me,” said Michael. Imorean looked at him. There was a tone in the Archangel’s voice that drew his attention. Michael sounded apologetic. Truly apologetic. Imorean shook his head in shock and disgust. Surely Michael couldn’t be serious. All the trust he had in Michael as a commander was gone. Any reason he had had to trust the Archangel had been wiped away like chalk from a board. Imorean closed his eyes for a moment, shaking in anger. Vortigern had forced him to watch his family die, to experience their deaths over again. The barely healing wounds over his heart and soul had been torn open even wider.

  “How can you say that? How can you possibly say that?”

  Michael leaned back slightly, the bed shifting under his weight. “What?”

  “Beg for my forgiveness. You nearly killed me. Because of you, I had to watch my family die. Do you know how that feels?” Imorean’s voice cracked. “Do you have any idea?”

  “No.”

  “No. You don’t. How could you have done this to me?”

  “I needed the coordinates. We needed a victory.”

  Imorean propped himself up on one hand and locked eyes with Michael, resolved not to waver. “And you were determined to get what you wanted.”

  “It was for the good of my soldiers,” said Michael.

  With a sigh, Imorean fell back onto his pillow. Blankly, he stared at the ceiling. Stinging heat pricked at the backs of his eyes. His trust in Michael was shattered. He was a means to an end. That was all.

  “I did not mean to put you through that, Imorean,” sighed Michael, his voice dropping. Imorean looked at his commander. Was that sham
e he could hear in his voice?

  “Could you at least act guilty next time you decide to throw me into the lion’s den? Or maybe tell me?”

  “I will,” nodded Michael. “I shall not lie to you again.”

  Imorean knew his words were aggressive, but right now, shaken as he was, he couldn’t restrain them. “Well I know you’re already breaking your word. You lie all the time.”

  “Then I shall endeavor to do it less.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. How did you find me anyway?” asked Imorean, furrowing his brow. Michael quirked a tiny smile and pulled a small cloth handkerchief out of his pocket. Imorean raised one eyebrow when he saw the small, broken compass wrapped inside it.

  “I could not let Vortigern find a map on you, but I needed to be able to track your coordinates on my own without you or Colton having to report them to me upon every landing. If you had done so, Vortigern would have realized that something was amiss. I gave you something of mine.”

  “The compass?” asked Imorean.

  “Indeed. It recorded all of your landing points and within a few hours I received them. It tied us more closely together than we already are. I must say, I was worried I would not be able to find you when Vortigern took all of your possessions from you, but he did not have the presence of mind to dispose of them. Job well done, Imorean.”

  “That was clever,” said Imorean. “I guess you’re smarter than I give you credit for.”

  “I have not kept our angelic fight alive this long on looks alone,” said Michael, folding the compass back in its wrapping and replacing it in his pocket.

  “Michael, I hope you aren’t harassing Imorean. He’s been through a lot,” said a voice from nearby. “Too much really.”

  Imorean and Michael looked up. Imorean swallowed as he saw Raphael walking across the floor towards them.

  “Not at all,” replied Michael.

  “Don’t you have some business to attend to?” asked Raphael, picking up Imorean’s chart from the bottom of the bed and scanning it. “Paperwork? Administration? Something?”

  “Gabriel is being my secretary for the day,” replied Michael.

  “Ah, then this day will be counterproductive for you in the utmost,” said Raphael. “Michael, Brother, not to be disrespectful, but you have to go somewhere else. I’m doing delicate work and you’re getting in the way.”

  “Well, I am terribly sorry,” snorted Michael. Was that humor that Imorean heard in Michael’s voice? He smiled tightly, furious resentment lingering in his chest. All the humor in the world could not solve how he felt.

  “Get out,” said Raphael, frowning at Michael and making a shooing motion with his hands.

  “I am leaving,” replied Michael. “Do what you do best, Raphael. Imorean, good luck.”

  “Will I need it?” asked Imorean. Michael, however, was already leaving and gave no indication as to whether he had heard him or not.

  “You might,” said Raphael. “So, Imorean, how are we today?”

  “You tell me.”

  Raphael quirked a small smile and folded his hands over the clipboard. “Well, I figured I would run back over your emotional state now that I have you as a captive audience.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Haven’t I been through enough? I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me as well.”

  “Famous as he is, I prefer not to use primarily Freudian techniques. How do you feel, Imorean, now that you have had some time since we last talked?”

  “This isn’t funny, Raphael.”

  Imorean resisted the urge to shout or throw something at Raphael as the Archangel plowed doggedly onward.

  “You have experienced the death of your family with your own eyes through Vortigern’s memories. Effectively firsthand. How does this make you feel?”

  “Friggin’ fantastic. How the hell do you think I feel?” hissed Imorean, anger rearing hot and red in his chest. A shadow of a smile formed on Raphael’s face and he scribbled something down on his clipboard.

  “Would you say that you are trying to cope with their passing through humor?”

  “Absolutely. I’m a real stand-up comic here. Just stop asking me! What is how I’m feeling to you? Why does it matter?”

  “Tell me, Imorean, do you feel perhaps that you are in a stage of denial or maybe even anger?”

  “Stop it! Why do you need to know?”

  “I’m trying to gauge where you are in the stages of grief.”

  Something snapped inside Imorean’s chest. Only hours ago, he had been forced to relive all the pain he had experienced weeks before. His family had been murdered in cold blood. His grandfather had been a member of the angel army while in Vietnam. A demon wanted him dead. Some of his squad already thought he was getting preferential treatment because of what had happened. His commander had betrayed him. Imorean closed his eyes and looked away. In his mind’s eye, he leaped to his feet, white flames licking at him as he crossed the stone floor of the hospital wing toward Raphael. In this headspace, he was free of his IV and all his wounds were healed. The world rolled up white. Fire lashed inside Imorean’s veins, under his skin. Fury at Raphael. At Michael. At Vortigern. At himself. His very world was broken inside. The past and the present were connected only by a shattered mirror. Through his anger, Imorean heard himself roar.

  “Stop being so clinical!”

  A monstrous tidal wave of blue overwhelmed his consciousness, and although he had not really moved, Imorean felt himself fall backwards. He landed hard back on his bed. The all-consuming grief and anger fled his blood. He was exhausted. The world flickered white a few times and finally faded into proper color once more. Raphael was suddenly at his bedside. Imorean looked at him, confused.

  “I think we’ve done enough damage for one day,” sighed Raphael, an odd smile on his face. “Let’s have a quick look at that wing.”

  Imorean looked around. The needles were still stuck in his veins. The blankets on his bed were unruffled. “Wait, what happened?”

  “I’ll have Michael explain it to you. If you’re still willing to work with him, that is. We’ll focus on the wing now.”

  Imorean looked over to the medical Archangel and swallowed hard as he watched Raphael filling up a syringe.

  “Can you feel your wing? Base, bones, primaries, anything?” asked Raphael, inclining his head slightly, causing a lock of black hair to fall behind the rim of his glasses and into his eyes.

  “No, I don’t think so,” replied Imorean. He spared a tired glance at his right wing. It was tattered and bent awkwardly, black burn marks standing out on the white plumage. Imorean knew already that they would not be going away anytime soon.

  “Good. I numbed it earlier this morning, so at least that’s working,” nodded Raphael. “I’m going to inject this into the base of your wing. It will soften the bones enough for me to meld them back together. In spite of the numbing and the morphine, it’s going to hurt.”

  “Okay,” nodded Imorean. “I think I can handle it.”

  “I should hope so,” replied Raphael, leaning down over Imorean’s right wing and pushing some of the feathers out of the way.

  “How long will this take?” asked Imorean.

  “Shouldn’t take too long,” said Raphael, smiling encouragingly. All his earlier infuriating persistence had vanished. He was once again the excellent doctor that Imorean had always known. “Now, hold still. You’ll feel a pinch and I regret to inform you that afterward, you’ll feel a lot more pain. Are you ready?”

  “Yeah,” nodded Imorean, looking away. He took a few steadying breaths. Seconds afterward, he felt a small sting near the base of his wing joint and exhaled. How long would it take for Raphael to work on his bones?

  Then Imorean arched up off the mattress as though he had been electrocuted. His right wing was on fire. All the bones felt as though they were turning to shards, to chips, to insubstantial mush.

  “Be still,” said Raphael calmly, resting a hand on Imorean’s chest and
pushing him back down. “You need to lie still.”

  Imorean’s world was spinning as Raphael ran his hands down the main bones of his wing. The Archangel’s hands were leaving trails of fire and pain in their wake. He wanted to thrash, to get up, to get away, but found he was unable to do anything. He could barely move.

  “Stay with me, Imorean,” said Raphael softly. “It’s going to be over in a few more minutes. You’ll be right as rain if you just stay still. Recite to me the characteristics of a demon in human form.”

  “Tall, generally dark in features—ah!—longer teeth than a normal human, better built… feline features…” Imorean groaned and fought to keep his eyes open. He felt as though his spine was being snapped. He was ending. If Vortigern hadn’t killed him, then Raphael would.

  “I’m halfway done,” said Raphael, moving his hands slowly across the feathers of Imorean’s wings. Imorean whined in acknowledgement. The world was blurring away and his body was trembling. “How has Michael taught you to send yourself into an Archangelic state of being?”

  It took effort to speak through waves of pain now. “Focus the mind. Focus emotions…”

  “Keep going. Only a few moments left.”

  Imorean felt sure that he was dying. “Focus everything on a single area. Dissolve into yourself.”

  “Stay awake. This is nothing by comparison to what you went through yesterday,” said Raphael. Imorean trained his gaze on the ceiling. Raphael was right. He had endured much worse than this.

  “Imorean,” said Raphael. “Stay with me.”

  Hearing his name, Imorean looked over at the Archangel and watched in a mixture of fascination and horror as Raphael’s hands slid off the final primary flight feather. It felt as though all the pain in the wing was being sucked out through that one feather. Clasped between Raphael’s hands was a small ball of pale, azure light and the image of Imorean’s wing. The black-haired Archangel closed his hands, and both the light and the image were crushed.

  Raphael smiled kindly and asked, “Can you feel your wing now?”

  “I—yeah. I can,” replied Imorean, making to raise it from the position Raphael had set it in.

 

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