Devoted (Angel Academy Book 1)

by Emery Skye

  When we arrived at the arena, I noticed everyone was already mounted. Great, I thought, late right after being made captain. Dr. Azrael would think me ungrateful, for sure.

  I mounted hurriedly. I settled in the saddle. Sox snickered quietly—excited.

  Dr. Azrael directed us to take it slow. Everyone took off independently. It felt like Sox and I were dancing. Sox responded perfectly to my every request.

  This is why we use horses.

  “That’s enough for today,” Dr. Azrael said.

  We were reluctant to exit the arena, but did as we were told like good little Warriors/Harbingers in training. After I unsaddled Sox, I headed back to the office. I found Dr. Azrael nose-deep in an equestrian magazine.

  She looked at me, and her lips turned up in a smile, but there was still that uncanny flickering in her eyes that told me her smile wasn’t all it was cracked up to be (no pun intended).

  “Anna, you and Sox looked wonderful out there. How did you take the news of Captain?” She tilted her head as if deeply considering what my answer would be.

  “It was a lovely surprise.” There was no other way to put it. It was lovely and definitely a surprise.

  What’s the catch?

  My conscience was putting a damper on things.

  She gave a curt nod after a moment of pregnant silence passed.

  “I'm happy to hear you say that. You'll have to speak at the Spring Extravaganza. I hope we can talk about the details later.” She squinted, as if expecting me to burst into flame.

  Okay, I’ve known Dr. Azrael for a long time and she's never stared at me like that before.

  “Yes, of course,” I nodded. “Whatever is needed of me to best fulfill my duties.”

  “Great, I'll see you tomorrow then.” She was brief. Each word ended almost before it began.

  “Thank you,” I turned and made my way to the door.

  “Oh, and Anna, take this with you,” she handed me a black bag.

  A present? I was almost giddy. My instincts told me it could be a bomb. I stopped acting like a child. Damn my instincts.

  “Don’t open it yet,” her voice was deeper than usual, and serious as a stroke.

  My shoulders suddenly felt heavy. I didn’t know what was in the bag, but I obeyed her commandment, closing it.

  On the way out, I said good-bye to Sox. He wasn’t happy to see me leave, but he seemed ecstatic to be back at his food.

  When I went to my dorm room, I was pleased to see that no one was in the girl’s lobby.

  I grabbed a cup and filled it with water. I ran upstairs to hide the gift in my bedroom.

  After a couple hours of meditating (hitting my pillow, counting sheep in my head, picking at my chipped nails) I gave up on that part of my homework and tried reading about the Dark Order. I failed at that too. Instead, I dove into my pillow, jumped onto my cool bed, and swore I could have gone to sleep, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the Legite Nathaniel Deror. I said his name aloud; it rolled perfectly off my tongue. I was infatuated. Yet, it seemed like more. I respected him as a strong Warrior; I envied him. He was calm, cool, and collected. I envied his reputation. Coveted it. He was... well... amazing.

  Yet, I loathed him for how he treated me today. I mean, how rude could an angel be, for Powers sake?

  I kept looking at my homework, until I couldn’t do anymore. But I had to. So, I stared down at my books until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. I prayed to dream of anything and anyone but Nathaniel Deror.

  Chapter 5

  The next few days, each class dragged on. My general education classes were, for the most part, tedious—like a log carried with no entertainment.

  I learned more about the Dark Order, including the Four Demons Lucifer had created. The first experiment of Lucifer’s, Abaddon, was my favorite. He was the Demon of Death and Destruction.

  Dr. Briathos described Abaddon as a hideous creature that was reputedly the strongest demon in the Dark World, except Lucifer, of course. There was only one way to kill him, and that was to drive a Brimstone sword through his heart. His body was made of a strong substance, stronger than steel. Only the strongest Warrior might get to try to fight, let alone kill him. Such a kill would normally be by an Archangel.

  Alyosha was missing in action for the rest of the week, which had me considering completely unhealthy possibilities. Amalie and I didn’t talk about it, or about much at all, which ate at me. She didn’t bring out her art book either. I was grateful for that.

  We kept no secrets from each other, but I suspected she wouldn’t talk to me about Alyosha no matter what I did or said. When I tried to press the issue, she claimed she wasn’t feeling well. She was stubborn as an ox when she set her mind to something.

  Taylor was a royal pain. She interrupted Amalie and me every day during lunch to talk about “how cute” Legite Deror was. She was annoying and shallow. The closer we got to leaving for Bethel, the more nonchalant she became. Only days were left. Twenty-one days ‘till I would turn seventeen. Twenty-one days until I’d be standing in front of the Powers. Was that enough?

  I found Combat Techniques with Legite Deror was the most challenging of all. He picked on me every class.

  I was fast, but he was faster; I was strong, but he was stronger; I was smart, but he was smarter. Deror was always one step ahead of me. Every maneuver we practiced ended in failure. I was pinned with my arms behind my back, my arms under my head, legs over my head. Every time I was contorted into some strange position that I felt one hundred times more the next morning when it happened all over again.

  Today was different.

  Like always, the noviates stood in parallel lines. There was one difference today; it wasn’t just the noviates in my class. There were others too. Even Amalie’s class had decided to join in and watch the entertainment. They were all here and prepared to watch me get my butt kicked. Today, I had other plans.

  Five other Warriors stood behind Deror. Wow, we’d really drawn an audience. They seemed vaguely amused as they looked us up and down with straight backs, lifted heads, cocked brows, and arms crossed in front of them. They were elite Warriors each one bearing the L-U emblem on their skin in black ink. Their ranks were concealed, but by the way they stood at the ready it made me believe Deror outranked them. Deror chose me to demonstrate the newest blocking maneuvers.

  Amalie stood off to the side in a royal blue, long-sleeved blouse.

  She smiled when our eyes connected. I smiled back before taking a deep breath and mentally gearing up for the fight to come. Everyone may as well have disappeared. They didn’t matter—not right now.

  “Noviate Hasdiel, did you study the blocking moves?” Deror asked, knowing I had.

  “Yes, Legite.”

  Everyone had gotten into the rhythm of me being chosen. Erick gave me a reassuring nudge as I stepped out of line and joined Deror on the mat.

  “Good. Are you ready?” He knew I was.

  He took the ready stance, and I took the self-defense stance.

  Another Warrior, I didn’t bother looking at spoke.

  “Begin.”

  Deror threw the first punch. I almost fell, but I stopped his fist from connecting with my face. I became his personal punching bag in these exercises.

  “Very good.”

  He started off easy. My teeth ground together.

  Everyone knew it. I even think I heard Taylor feign a yawn.

  He came at me with a downward, sweeping elbow strike. I listened to the whistle as his arm cut through the air like a knife. I pulled back, surprised, nearly tripping over my feet in the process. The elbow strike was a more advanced move than we’d been working on. He was showing off for his legites. There was a snarky glimmer in his eye. The gold hues melted against the green in his eyes. I squinted, angry.

  The last week had been a total mind-game, my body quaked with anger, and bits of red fingered my vision. Yep, it was happening again. Red.

  I executed a perfect—I mean,
perfect—high block and came back with an upper body counter attack that would’ve made a ninja jealous.

  I knew I should only be blocking, but I was done! A fire burned in my belly; my blood boiled. I'd had enough. He knew it. He made me look weak on a daily basis. He told me how green I was—how I had no control. I was inexperienced.

  Was he right? Probably.

  But I was going to prove him wrong even if it killed me.

  He turned and executed a perfect stepping back kick. I countered with an inside block. His body pounded against mine.

  I changed tactics. Jab punch. He blocked it easily. He looked smug. I wasn’t going to let him get off that easy. Sweat drenched my hairline. Front roundhouse kick to his chest. He wasn’t prepared for a kick. I could see it in his eyes. We'd been restricted to upper-body maneuvers in class, but I was capable of so much more.

  I attacked with a mid-elbow strike to the stomach. I could see the pain in his perfect, almond shaped eyes. We danced a while longer. We fought like a thunderstorm raged inside us. Each one blocking, dodging, and throwing punches.

  The strikes traveled from his legs, arms, head, and hands. Some happened singularly, others with seconds between them. The lightening was accompanied by sweat raining off us. My legs and lungs burned white-hot with the effort. My arms started to feel like boiled pasta. He executed a high, downward hammer fist to my nose. I blocked him, but not effectively. The guy had eight inches on me. My jaw hurt. My lip bled. I ignored it. He'd drawn first blood. That galled. Blood was the goal. I had combat lust. He stopped, concerned. He came at me slowly, cautiously.

  I surprised him with an inside crescent kick. My leg formed the perfect arch before landing a blow on him. He stumbled a little. I followed with a spinning hook kick that landed a little low, but still effective. Jab punch. I wanted him to feel it like I had. I intended to end his underestimation of me.

  I threw another punch putting every ounce of my weight into it. Another Warrior caught it. His hand was like a catcher's mitt. He squeezed. It hurt so bad I thought my hand was going to break. I winced. I felt new pain as a strange cramp clamped down on my skull.

  I'd forgotten about our audience. As I glanced around the room, I saw awe on every face. Mouths had fallen open. Eyes gleamed like light bulbs. I looked at Deror. His olive eyes were hooded. I thought I saw wounded pride. Curiosity? I couldn’t be sure. I wasn't good at reading people, but his furrowed brow suggested something.

  The smell of sweat, the taste of salt and wet pennies consumed me, like those yawning green eyes.

  “That was…something else,” Lucas said. His voice was somewhere between skater boy and beach bum. It was relaxed and amused at the same time. It was different from his posture. “Thanks, you may rejoin the line,” the intervening Warrior said with a mischievous smirk. So much for stoic Warrior. He didn’t fit the line quite right.

  “Yes, thank you, Noviate Hasdiel.” Deror spoke. “Everyone this is Legite Lucas Cassian. He'll be assisting me with your training.” Lucas Beach-Bum was tall and lean. He almost looked sick. His face was a harsh contrast to his lazy voice. He had round, hazel eyes, light skin, and wavy, shoulder-length hair in a haphazard ponytail. The girls behind me were panting. The combat teacher was almost the antithesis of an Angel.

  “Thank you, Nathan, for that fine introduction." Beach bum said with slightly sarcastic respect. “Yes, I’m Legite Cassian. It’s fine to call me Lucas.” I watched the rise of Deror’s chest as he stared at Lucas. It was similar to the breaths I took when Taylor did something to piss me off.

  “I’m a Warrior,” Lucas sung the last work jeeringly. No respect there. “Some of you will someday be one too,” he smirked again. “I hope you've noticed,” he arched his left brow, “that the number of Warriors assigned to the campus has been increased... for safety's sake.” He gestured at the line of perfect, intimidating specimens behind him. "You respect us, and we will respect you.” He gave me a sharp glance and turned away.

  He thought I was disrespectful? I glared at his back.

  “Thank you, Legite Cassian,” Deror spoke his last name clearly. “You are excused for today,” he told us.

  Everyone left but me. Amalie looked at me with sad eyes before leaving the room. Usually, she beamed with pride after watching me fight. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me. I was out of line.

  When I approached him, he had been speaking quietly with Lucas.

  “Legite Deror, do you have a second?”

  “Yes,” he turned, and we walked away from Lucas, who I’m pretty sure winked at me, giving me gooseflesh—not the good kind. “What is it Anna?”

  He said my first name; he had never said my first name before. A fork churned my innards like spaghetti noodles. Ridiculous.

  “I…I just wanted to apologize. I was out of line.” I caught myself admiring his eyes. What am I doing? I thought. Trying to apologize and flirt. I redirected my contumacious eyes to the floor—the only real safe place.

  “No need to apologize. I should have guessed you'd act that way,”

  I looked at him with my willfully disobedient eyes. I saw nothing intelligible in his face.

  “What do you mean?” I muttered.

  “Well, I suppose I have been singling you out more than the other students.”

  You suppose?

  “You have a reputation. I thought you'd make a good —

  Whipping boy?

  "Volunteer. Today, I realized I've been pushing you too hard,” he clenched his jaw.

  “I don’t understand. You've been picking on me because of my reputation? You're constantly showing me up, telling me—“

  He interrupted.

  “I push you because I expect more from you. You are stronger every day. You're more devoted than the others. I'm sorry if you thought I wanted to hurt your reputation, Anna. That was never my intention,” he said earnestly.

  “You didn’t need to make a fool of me; I did that myself.”

  I walked away, attempting to preserve my self-respect.

  He grabbed my shoulder. It was odd to be touched by him like this. His eyes were pleading. I tried to read them, and suddenly a wall came down. A black wall behind his eyes literally shut me out. What the hell just happened?

  “You didn’t make a fool of yourself. You can't do that. People respect you, Anna. I respect you.”

  I was seconds from weeping. The hormones jabbed at me with a vengeance. I didn’t know how he made me feel this way. I could cry and laugh at the same time. I turned and walked away without another word.

  ***

  Riding class had been relaxing, but now that I was back in my room, I couldn’t help but think about tonight. There was a knock at my door, a pause, and then another knock.

  I jumped up and hastily threw on my blue-and-black hoodie.

  “Come in.”

  Amalie walked in, carrying a bag. Her face was glittery. So was her thigh-length, strapless, tight, ebony dress. Great.

  “And where do you think you are going, little Missy?” I sat back on my bed wearily. My eyes felt heavy and so did my body.

  “I was invited to the party, too,” she lifted her chin.

  I snorted in disbelief and sank further into my comfy bed, welcoming its warmth.

  “Please tell me you're kidding,” I pleaded.

  She shook her head slowly.

  "Please, please, please,” she whined like a puppy.

  “Why did you come here? You know I’m not going to be okay with you going.” Noviates had no business at parties.

  The elegant, black stilettos on her feet said she disagreed.

  “Why don’t we sneak some of Dr. Propentinger’s ice-cream, give ourselves facials and manicures.” I suggested, hopeful. I’d rather wear cucumbers on my eyes and gain a pound then go to some stupid party with obnoxious music and drunken idiots grinding on each other.

  She started begging. It was always like this. I said no, and she gave me her puppy dog eyes. I alwa
ys felt like I'd ripped her heart out. It wasn’t fair.

  She pulled the whole, ‘I just want to make friends’ bit. Then, the grand finale.

  “I never get to see Alyosha, and he'll be there. I will never forgive you if you don’t let me see him.”

  As always, I gave in—anything for my sweet, little sister.

  “Fine, Amalie,” I grumbled.

  She smiled and sat next to me. Glitter falling like shooting stars onto my comforter. We both knew that when I said she could go, I was going too. The idea of her traipsing around campus after hours didn't make me happy, but I damn sure wouldn't let her go alone.

  She handed me the bag.

  “What’s this?” I held the bag like it might bite me.

  “Oh, just go put it on,” she moved to my desk chair walking like a high fashion runway model. She took out her art notebook and set it in on the desk.

  I looked in the bag and saw a pile of redness. Of course it would be an outfit.

  “Jeans not good enough for you?” I feigned innocence.

  “Jeans?” Her face scrunched in disgust. “Oh. My. Gosh. Please, tell me you did not just actually, totally say you would wear j.e.a.n.s to a party?”

  “Oh, will I embarrass you?” I teased.

  Her azure eyes rounded.

  “I'm just joking. Lighten up.”

  I took the bag and went to the bathroom to get ready for what promised to be a wild night.

  She'd given me a red, silk dress. It was strapless, showing off my toned shoulders. The sweetheart front revealed a little cleavage. It had a ruched bodice with draping and bead detail on one side of the waist.

  I put my hair half up. I curled my eyelashes, and put on black mascara–a gift from Amalie. Still, there were always slight bags under my eyes.

  I slipped on the strappy, matching, red, open toed stilettos. They made me at least two inches taller.

  I walked out of the bathroom cautiously. The darn shoes were a tripping hazard. Girls should get a medal for wearing them. Whoever made them should.... well, feel pain and lots of it.

  Amalie admired me, flashing a row of pearly whites.