Court of Command (Age of Angels #1) - Milana Jacks Page 0,1
years as I stared at the most beautiful creature in existence. My mind could barely process his divine presence, and inside my chest, a light ignited. I closed my eyes and then opened them again. He still stood there.
My gaze dropped to his bare chest, then tracked down to his belt and the strange white kilt, for a lack of a better term. It was made of several long, flowing pieces of silk-like fabric that twined around his legs or floated around his ankles. The hem of one piece lifted and moved in the air. The windows were closed. There was no wind. It was hot as hell outside. Why was the kilt moving?
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
One corner of the angel’s mouth quirked, showing a fang.
Oh no. From my back pocket, I grabbed a knife, then bent at the knees and threw.
The knife stopped midair, spun, and hovered in the air pointing toward me.
Oh, hell no. Gonna make a run for it. Cuts and bruises were nothing compared to what this guy could do to me. I'd seen angels pick us up off the streets and drop us from thousands of feet.
I jumped on the kitchen counter and crashed through the window, landing awkwardly on my side. Ignoring the pain, I ran across the lawn, along the driveway—which I swore was ten miles long this time—over the gate and…and nothing. My pants caught on the pointy finial of the iron gate. With one arm, I struggled to free myself, but that only made the pain in my other arm worse.
I tugged at my jeans, but couldn’t rip them. I swore I’d wear tights next time. I tugged my jeans again. They tore. I slid, stopped, and grabbed the gate with one hand so I didn’t bust my head open. If the hole ripped all the way, I was gonna hit the ground headfirst and probably break my neck. I couldn’t move my right hand. Listless, it hung upside down like the rest of me, a giant piece of glass sticking out of my bicep. Warm blood trailed down my skin and dripped onto the pavement. It hurt so bad, I could cry.
Stuck upside down, hanging from the gate, my backpack over my head, I prayed he’d kill me fast, and not the way I’d seen them kill other humans. Where the hell had the damned angel come from?
Ah crap. There he was. Holding a sword longer than my leg in his hand, he walked out of the house. The sword was thick, golden, and looked like it weighed a ton, with elaborate blade markings and an even more elaborate hilt that curved around the angel’s powerful arm.
The angel locked eyes with me and smiled the way a tiger might at a helpless rabbit. He came for me. I was gonna die. Like a butterfly trapped in a spider’s web, I hung from the fence. I didn’t even attempt to wiggle. What was the point? He’d catch me anyway. His golden eyes glowing, a strange chant pouring from his lips, he lifted his sword and plunged it into the earth.
I sat in the mud at the edge of the lawn, near the tall wall made of stone. The finest, softest patch of California grass ever was all gone. I grew up in LA. I knew fine grass. Where was the fine grass?
Voices drifted to me, and I looked up. The daylight waned as the sun set, announcing the night. But just seconds ago, it had been the dead of night. And that wasn’t all that had changed. The gate had disappeared. A muddy lawn with frozen edges and evergreen trees now replaced the driveway, the house, the bushes. Maybe I’d died? This could be heaven or hell or something in between.
Scrambling up, I snatched my backpack—yes!—and slung it over my shoulder. The other arm hung listless, glass still sticking out of it, and thank God for that, because the pain kept me grounded, told me I hadn’t dreamed up the angel. I’d jumped out the window and hurt myself.
And yet, before me stood the largest structure I’d ever seen. A modern castle, something one would find in England, except England was on the other side of the pond. This looked as if four random structures of different shapes and sizes had been joined together to make one.
On the property, angels walked along with humans, going in and out of the massive front door as if this were normal. The angels