Court of Sunder (Age of Angels #2) - Milana Jacks Page 0,9

one knee bent, elbow resting on it, gaze down, fingers picking something on the sand. It reminded me of how I’d often found him sitting in the keep, broken yet beautiful, muscular thigh showing through a tear in his pants. It made me want to reach and stroke it.

Instead, I groaned and sat up, rubbing my shoulder and working out the kinks in my neck. Raphael had kept me warm and alive. Otherwise, I would have died in the first few hours of this escape.

He glanced at me, expression unreadable.

“What?” I asked.

“Let’s keep moving.”

Suppressing a groan, I stood and followed him, my eyes glued to bleeding wounds on his back, out of which bones protruded, and I kept wondering how in the world he would grow back his beautiful wings.

I’d seen him walk around the House grooming them. That was likely why the commander chose to rip them off. It was Raphael’s pride and perhaps some vanity the commander had taken away. If he wished to wound Raphael, really wound him, he could have done worse things. The commander showed the enemy no mercy. He trained us to show no mercy. He trained us to kill the Marked even if they turned out to be our closest family members. But he had spared his brother.

I doubted that was how Lord Raphael saw it.

I doubted that was how the commander reasoned either. He wouldn’t admit to mercy.

When we reached the top of a hill, I surveyed the area. The sand, the smooth terrain with strange tall green trees with large leaves, and the cool but not cold weather all made me want to camp here. I bet the fishing would be wonderful.

I bent to catch my breath and looked up at Lord Raphael, who crouched and let out a screech. I clamped my ears shut as he continued screeching. Then he stopped and scanned the sky.

“What was that?” I asked.

“My bird call. Nom-nom.”

I chuckled.

Something screeched back. Oh shit.

“And that?” I asked.

“Transport.”

“Is it another angel?”

“No.”

“What is it?” It sounded like a massive Ras, the damned leather-winged, flesh-eating monsters Lucifer flew with. I wanted to be prepared, even searched the ground for some sort of a weapon. I picked up a stick, swung it a few times, assumed my battle stance.

“What are you doing?” Lord Raphael asked.

“Preparing for whatever this is just in case.”

“You will beat a lino with a stick?” He started laughing. “She’ll think you’re playing with her.”

“What is—” I clamped my mouth shut just as the clouds parted and a massive purple-feathered bird with a wing span of over two hundred feet dropped from the sky. Her eyes, violet and narrowed, glowed. The bird hovered above us, batting her wings, creating strong winds that whipped my wet body. Sand spun around us, pelting my skin, and I covered my nose and mouth, squinting.

Lord Raphael took my hand and moved us away so the creature could land.

When she did, the ground under my feet shook.

He screeched again, and she lowered her head, breathing on us, blowing sand with every exhalation. Long neck extended, she moved her head toward me, and her bright yellow beak, as long as Lord Raphael was tall, touched my leg. I stepped back.

“I made her come here. She’s not happy about it. Remain calm.”

“What’s she doing?” Her nostrils alone were the size of my head.

“Scenting.”

The creature gave me a side-eyed view as only a bird could, her eye blinking with the eyelids closing sideways.

“I don’t think she likes what she smelled,” I gasped.

“On the contrary. She does like it.”

The lino produced a rattling sound, and Lord Raphael answered in the same way, then approached her and pet the shiny red-and-green-speckled feathers on her head. He turned to me. “She will give us a ride, even though you smell like something she’d like to eat.”

“That’s comforting.”

Lord Raphael waved me forward. I approached with caution, keeping an eye on the bird and gripping my stick tightly. He bent at the knee, grabbed my hips, and threw me. I flew up and landed on a bed of feathers. Good Lord. I gripped the bird’s feathers tightly, not daring to move even when Lord Raphael walked in from my left and lay down on his side.

“Why couldn’t I have walked on her wing?” I asked, then mirrored his pose.

“You could have.”

“So why throw me?”

“I’m in a hurry.” He covered my hand with his, and I noticed his palm was cold and clammy. “Rest,” he said and scooted closer. He tucked the