Angels Soaring (Angels Rising Book 2)

by Harriet Carlton

  “He is of no importance,” repeated Michael.

  “Don’t lie, Michael, to yourself or to me,” said Vortigern. “You angels are such terrible liars. You know full, damn well that that boy is important.”

  “He is not,” said Michael. Green wings flared further, anger behind the motion. Imorean looked again at the Archangel. There was something desperate about the way he said the words that caught his attention.

  “You haven’t told him, have you?” said Vortigern. “All these months and you still haven’t told him? Or, could it be that you don’t know the truth yourself?”

  Imorean peered out from behind Michael’s wing for a moment. Vortigern was beaming. What was going on? Imorean glanced up at Michael’s face. Why wasn’t the Archangel attacking Vortigern?

  “He knows all he needs to.”

  “Whatever you say, dearest, big brother,” snorted Vortigern, snickering. “However, I grow bored of this conversation.”

  Before the demon’s words could register in Imorean’s mind, Vortigern’s hands shot upward and clawed downward through empty air. As he did so, the sky darkened and a furious wind descended. White ash rained down around them, signaling the furious approach of the flames. Imorean pressed closer to Michael as the Archangel lowered his sword a fraction.

  “What’s going on?” shouted Imorean, his words being whipped away by the wind. He could barely hear his own voice over the howling wing, barely see Michael through the air thickening with black smoke. Michael’s hand landed heavily on his head and slammed him down to the ground.

  “Get down!”

  Imorean fell to his knees just in time to avoid being speared on Michael’s sword point. There was a terrible, high pitched shriek from above Imorean’s head. It ended in a sickening gurgle. Imorean flinched, then stiffened as something hot dripped down onto the back of his neck. Imorean closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth. His breakfast threatened to make a reappearance. He had a horrible feeling he knew what was dripping onto his neck, but he didn’t want to open his eyes and confirm his thoughts.

  Imorean’s eyes snapped open though, as there was a thud nearby. He looked up to see Michael standing over him, blood dripping from his sword. There was a vicious calm in the Archangel’s eyes.

  “You don’t seem to want to attack me, even though you’ve been hunting me for years, Michael. What’s the hold up? Come on! I’m here. Right at the tips of your fingers!” called Vortigern. A taunt evident in his voice. The demon had taken to the smoky sky and was circling overhead.

  Michael didn’t respond, choosing instead to wipe some of the blood from his weapon.

  “Don’t want to leave your little charge, do you?” asked Vortigern. Imorean could hear the mockery in the demon’s tone. “How adorable. You don’t want to leave his side. Reminds me of something. Something I’ve seen before.”

  “Michael!”

  The cry left Imorean’s mouth before he really realized it. Several more demons appeared out of the trees on their side of the riverbank. Imorean’s heart smashed against his ribs, desperate for him to take to the skies, yet his body wouldn’t obey. He was frozen. The demons were far too close for comfort. Like Vortigern, they were almost human in appearance. There were a few small, subtle differences, but nothing that would mark them out at first glance as being different. All their eyes glittered with the glee of violence in the light of early evening. Imorean looked at Michael in panic. Two angels against a platoon of demons, and one sword between the two of them. They were outnumbered and outgunned.

  “Grab on to me, Imorean,” said Michael, leveling his sword at the approaching demons.

  With a shaking hand, Imorean grabbed hold of Michael’s shirt. Just as the Archangel opened his wings, two of the demons lunged toward him. They struck the Chief Archangel in the chest with enough force to knock him clear off his feet. Imorean flinched as Michael’s sword flew from his hands and clattered down on the stones next to the riverbank. There was a maddened rush of movement in the shadows and more figures poured out of the trees, coated in the white ashes from the fire. Imorean scrambled to his feet, hoping to reach Michael’s sword before the other demons did. Imorean knew Michael needed his weapon if either of them hoped to make it away from the demons alive. There was a chaotic splash as Michael and the two demons fell the distance from the rocky outcrop and into the water. Imorean’s hand landed on the handle of Michael’s sword and he held it aloft, glad to have some line of defense between himself and the demons starting to surround him. There was a collective pause from the line of advancing demons, then, from above, Vortigern laughed.

  “Do you really think you’re ready to use that, Imorean?” he called, alighting on a thick tree limb.

  Imorean hesitated. Vortigern was horribly right. He wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot. Imorean swallowed hard and turned, sprinting to the riverbank where he could still hear the sounds of his own commander fighting two adversaries. The teenager skidded to a halt on the stony riverbank. The water was furious and rapid, a red slick running from somewhere upstream. Imorean scanned the surface, then Michael broke upward with a roar, shaking his head and clearing the water from his eyes. One of the demons surfaced downstream, not far from the Archangel.

  “Michael!” shouted Imorean, gripping Michael’s sword tightly. As he called the Archangel’s name, Michael locked eyes with him and stood still in the rushing waters for just a moment. His teeth were bared and his wings were half flared. His eyes were ablaze and solid green. Imorean hurled the longsword to the Archangel. Michael leaped into the air and caught his weapon by its handle.

  “My turn,” snarled Michael.

  Imorean scrambled away from the riverbank as the Archangel and his sword seemed to glow with an unnatural, green light.

  “Imorean! Fly! Get out of here!”

  This time Imorean didn’t hesitate. He opened his wings and launched upward into the sky just as more demons landed on the riverbank around Michael. As much as Imorean wanted to stay and make sure the Michael would be all right, he didn’t want to get killed himself. Running was his only defense. He was unarmed after all, and knew he didn’t stand a chance against a fully-grown demon. Michael would have to be all right on his own.

  “Take care of Michael! That one’s mine!” shouted Vortigern in a voice that sparked a shard of icy fear all the way through Imorean’s heart.

  Imorean knew Vortigern was somewhere behind him and made himself fly low and fast above the treetops, just feet above them. He didn’t know where he was going. All he knew in his terrified mind was that he needed to get away. A flash of light so bright and violent it seemed to glow pink split the darkening sky. Imorean hesitated. Lightning? A massive thunderclap rattled the very air around him. He turned his head to try to see what the source of the noise was, when he was pushed forward by a huge wall of wind and translucent green. Imorean gritted his teeth and tucked his wings close to his body, trying to gain control of his flailing body. His vision flashed from full color to a green shroud and back again. The teenager yelped as he narrowly avoided smacking into the top of a tree. What had happened? Then, as quickly as it had begun, the furious wind died down and the world returned to proper color. Imorean hovered for a few seconds, panting and trying to gather himself together. He was jerked back to his senses by an agonizing wail that rose up from the place he had left Michael. Was the Archangel in trouble? Imorean turned, then hesitated. More voices joined the first. More and more again until a full chorus seemed to be shrieking to the sky. Imorean found himself somehow comforted. It sounded as though it was the demons who were down. A voice that was not Imorean’s own cried out in his head.

  ‘Go!’

  Imorean shook himself and banked sharply, trying to find the right direction to go. He snapped his wings up and down hard, tearing away from the blazing forest fire. He hated to admit it to himself, but he wasn’t entirely sure where he was. The mountains looked so different from up in the air. Imorean turned around to get his bearings
just as a pair of boots landed on his shoulders, kicking him so hard he was forced downward and the air was knocked from his lungs. For a moment, Imorean was rendered flightless. He fell, almost colliding with more treetops. He landed in a crouch on a relatively thick branch and panted, trying to draw breath.

  “You weren’t supposed to bring Michael with you,” hissed a voice. A very familiar voice.

  Imorean looked up in shock and disgust, not wanting to believe the voice he was hearing. As he raised his gaze to look at the speaker though, his heart skipped a beat. Hovering not ten feet away from him, arms folded and a scowl etched on her face was Bethany.

  Imorean heaved air into his lungs. “You planned this?”

  “Your stupid, fat friend was a big enough idiot to tell me where she lived and who was guarding her. She told me she had an argument with you and that she wanted to get away from these angels. I told her my father and I could help. We were relying on you and Michael’s bullheadedness to come and save her on your own! We needed you alone! How is it that you ruin everything?!”

  “Your father? Vortigern? Y – you’ve been working for the demons this whole time?”

  “It really took you this long?” asked Bethany with a smirk. “Why do you think I was so interested in you? Why do you think I wanted to know so much about angel lore? About how they fight? How they can be killed?”

  Raw, bitter betrayal welled up in Imorean’s chest. “You – you killed Roxy’s guard? You lured Roxy out here?”

  “I haven’t killed anyone. I went to her house, but Roxy figured out what was going on and ran. Her guard tried to save her by holding my father’s platoon off. It was her own stupid fault she got killed.”

  “The second distress call? It was caused by you?”

  “I made that guard send it up before she got herself killed. I’m the reason you’re here!”

  “Why Roxy?” snarled Imorean, furious now. He rose into the air once again and hovered, glaring at Bethany.

  “Oh, we never wanted her. She’s perfectly normal. My father and I, we wanted you. I’ve spent an entire semester planning this, Imorean. I was the one who forced the fans to fail in the simulator! I was the one who set the Hellhound on you that night! I had a DenTech computer the entire time. My father designed them. All DenTech computers can get around angel technology. Why do you think they were the only ones not allowed at Gracepointe? I took down the college’s security and brought in the Hellhound to retrieve you, but Michael killed it. I dated you so I could know you better and so my father and I could know that we were right.”

  “Me?” asked Imorean, furrowing his brow.

  “You.”

  “Why me?”

  “Shall we continue this on the ground?” asked a voice from behind Imorean.

  The teenager tried to turn as someone wrapped their arms around his chest, pinioning his wings to his sides. The feeling as Imorean fell was unlike anything else he had experienced. It was pure terror. The knowledge that his wings were rendered useless horrified him beyond all belief. He could not even scream. He clawed at the air, leaves and twigs tearing at his hands. There was no stopping their fall. Imorean and his attacker crashed to the leaf littered ground and fell apart.

  Imorean scrambled to his feet as soon as he was able and looked at his newest aggressor. His blood ran cold and Imorean was certain his heart stopped beating for just a second when his eyes landed on Vortigern. Imorean swallowed hard. He was facing the demon commander without Michael at his back. He was defenseless.

  “Good afternoon, Imorean,” said the demon general, standing gracefully. He was built very differently than Michael. Where Michael was built like a career soldier, rippling with muscle, Vortigern was much more willowy, nearly feminine. He was almost thin, built like a dancer.

  “What do you want with me?” asked Imorean, struggling to keep his eyes on both Bethany and Vortigern. The fire roared nearby and a few flakes of ash rained down on them. Had the flames drawn closer? Imorean breathed hard and his blood ran cold in horror as he noticed orange light and flickers of movement between the trees. The fire had been brought closer. The very air felt as though it was ablaze. Thick and smoky. It was not air. It was a poison. It dried out his lungs and throat as he breathed. Imorean gagged as a familiar scent cloyed his nose. Sulfur. A terrible howling ripped through the air. Vortigern had brought his Hellhounds. The terrible dogs had surrounded them. Imorean knew. He could hear their jagged snarls and could practically feel their monstrous footsteps as they stalked through the periphery of the trees. Fight or flight instinct kicked in, but as Imorean looked up to take in the sky above, he saw more demons. Demons that were not quite human had landed on the tree branches overhead. Their livid eyes were fixed on him. Prey. Sport. Flight would not free him from this situation. He must fight his way out.

  “He really hasn’t told you anything, has he?” asked Vortigern, taking his sword from its sheath and studying the jet-black metal of the blade.

  A cry of agony was torn from Imorean’s chest. He felt as though he had been run through with the very weapon that resided in Vortigern’s hand. He thought for a moment that he could feel the razor-sharp point of the sword spearing him in the chest and carving its way through his body. He groaned and looked up, not realizing he had bent over. That was one of the few things that could kill an angel. One of the few things that could kill him. In the back of his mind, he could hear the laughter in the baying of the hounds, mockery in the cries of the demons overhead. Bethany’s ridicule ringing out louder than any other, but the spearing pain remained, stronger than the sounds around him. In spite of it, Imoren forced himself to stand upright and look at Vortigern. There was a greedy look of satisfaction in Vortigern’s eyes that drove Imorean’s thoughts about the other demons and the hounds circling him right out of his mind.

  “Make a deal with me and I will gladly tell you everything Michael may have omitted … and … who knows, maybe I know something he doesn’t …” said Vortigern, twisting his weapon in his hands and digging it point down into the ground. “Now, we are each as unarmed as the other. Let’s have a chat.”

  “No,” replied Imorean. He didn’t need to have angelic genetics in him to know that negotiating with a demon was wrong. Something ancient inside him screamed for him to run. Fly. Get away.

  “No?”

  Imorean flared his wings. “No. I would rather be loyal to Michael any day of the week than make a deal with the monster who tried to kill my best friend and who set a Hellhound on me.”

  “Details, details. I had to get you alone, didn’t I?” replied Vortigern, waving a hand and flashing a charismatic smile as he extended his hand. “I can help you unlock your part in this plan of Michael’s. Doesn’t it irk you not knowing what’s going on?”

  “Of course it does.”

  Vortigern took a graceful step closer. “Then hear me out.”

  Imorean paused. Curiosity matching his fear. Vortigern smiled. It was oddly charming, yet menacing. There was a masked aggression in those dark, gray eyes, a sharpness in those unnatural teeth.

  “I know you, Imorean. I’ve known you for longer than you realize.”

  Vortigern stepped closer again. Imorean stepped back.

  “Really, your white hair should have tipped me off immediately, but it is here, as we stand face to face, that I truly see it. Your eyes are the same. The last is the first.”

  Imorean inclined his head. The demon knew something. Something big and something about him. Something … something, it seemed, that Michael himself didn’t know.

  “Are you sure you want no deal with me?”

  Imorean thought of Roxy, and his temper flared against his adrenaline. “Positive.”

  “I should have known … I have known you, Imorean. Better than any other and all along, I have known one thing. You have just confirmed it for me.”

  “Oh, yeah?” snarled Imorean, his blood screaming for him to fly.

  Vortigern’s voice dropped and his eyes spa
rked vengefully. “That all I want is to rip your heart from your chest for what you did me.”

  “I’ve done nothing to you!”

  “They themselves must not know the truth.”

  “Know what?”

  Vortigern chuckled. It was a dark, smooth noise.

  “You have a great deal to learn about angels, Imorean, particularly Archangels. I have seen the flickers in your eyes. You already know all the answers you seek. They are already inside you, locked away. Without a deal set up with me, they aren’t answers I want you to find.”

  Imorean cried out, his hands flying to his chest as Vortigern pulled the black-bladed sword from the ground. That horrible pain had returned.

  “Toss the brat your sword, would you, Bethany?” said Vortigern.

  Imorean looked at Vortigern in horror. He had an awful feeling he knew where this was heading.

  “I want to bring you to heel or kill you, Imorean. Let’s see if I can do one of those two tonight.”

  Panic rose in Imorean and he trembled. He took half a step backward. Vortigern raised a finger and traced a lazy circle in the air. Imorean leaped forward as a ring of blazing, orange flames surrounded him and Vortigern. He was trapped between the hounds, the fire and the demons. There was no more escape. Vortigern’s game was set. The only choice was to play.

  Bethany landed lightly on the leafy ground in front of him and pushed a small sword into his hand. The handle was wrapped clumsily in leather and there was an odd, electric hum coming from the metal itself. Murder was in his hands.

  Wordlessly, Bethany sneered at him, then leaped back up to perch on a tree limb and watch from overhead. Imorean steeled himself. He could feel the glee in the air. He was their entertainment. Their fun. He gasped a few shaky breaths, trying to calm himself. The only education in swordplay he had ever had was from old movies about the Middle Ages. The weapon felt heavy in his hands as he raised it and met Vortigern’s eyes. The demon was pacing the outside of their circle, a dead look haunting his thin face. Imorean barely had time to block and protect his face as Vortigern attacked, swinging with calculated viciousness. The jarring feel of metal on metal reverberated all the way through Imorean’s hands to his wrists. He nearly dropped his weapon, but willed himself to hold onto it. It was his only line of defense.