Court of Sunder (Age of Angels #2) - Milana Jacks Page 0,2
I’d say riding it gets uncomfortable after a while.”
“I’m happy to see you’re in good humor.”
“I’m keeping my spirits jolly. What’s bugging you?” Raphael’s jaw tightened. I struggled against him. I needed to hide!
The commander chuckled. “How did you know Julia’s soul was immortal?”
She was immortal? Oh no. Massive info dump. I should not be here. The less I knew of angelic business, the better it’d be for my health and general survival.
“I didn’t,” Raphael replied.
“You gambled and hoped you were right?”
“Am I right?”
The commander said nothing.
Raphael glared somewhere up there. “Fuck off, Michael.”
At the top of the stairs, the commander laughed and then descended, making just enough noise that I could hear him. I might pee my pants. The commander would not forgive, and no amount of begging or pleading from my mother would sway him.
“I promised him sanctuary,” Raphael said.
Footsteps halted. “You did what?”
“You heard me.”
“He will take your entire Court.”
“Free me, and he won’t.”
Rushed footsteps echoed, and then the door upstairs slammed so hard, the bars of Raphael’s cage rattled. We remained in this position. His hand over my mouth, the other at the back of my head, pressing me against the bars where his body stood like a rock of heat and…well, divine hotness. I dropped my gaze from his eyes to his prominent Adam’s apple.
Finally, he removed his palm from my mouth and stepped back. As if nothing had happened, he returned to his corner. A breath of relief whooshed out of me. I looked down. He’d walked all over his food.
“I’ll bring more as soon as I can,” I whispered.
“Don’t even think about it,” he bit out. “Get out of here and never return. If you do, I’ll break you in half.”
“You’ll starve.” And Lucifer will mark me.
He snorted. “I am an immortal, girl. Starving is the least of my problems. You’ve caused me more problems by showing up here. To save your life, I had to use the only card I had to play with Michael. So fuck off and leave me alone.”
“Don’t be rude.”
My throat constricted as if an invisible hand clamped around my jugular and was squeezing the breath out of me.
“I never want to see you again,” he said.
My body, as if on strings, turned. My legs moved forward, and before I knew it, I was climbing the steps, the invisible hand around my throat releasing me. At the door, Lord Raphael’s power lifted my arm and made it knock on the door. Three times sharply, twice softly. If the commander was waiting up here and opened the door, he’d execute me. As I stood there, Lord Raphael’s power released my body.
Cayen opened the door and grabbed me by my uniform, then slammed me against the wall. The back of my head hit the concrete. Stars played over my eyes, and I blinked to sharpen my vision. Cayen flared out his white wings. Tipped in black, they contrasted with his emotionless gray eyes.
“Did he see you?” Cayen asked.
By he, he meant the commander. I shook my head no.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
The angel punched the wall above my head. “Tell me,” he whisper-hissed. “Tell me what transpired between the brothers.”
“Raphael told Michael he helped Lucifer free Azrael.” I made this shit up on the fly. I couldn’t tell anyone what I wasn’t supposed to know in the first place.
Cayen paled instantly and stepped back, seemingly shocked. “Why?”
“Why what?” I asked.
“Why would he do that and tell the commander he’d done it?”
This angel was crazy. How would I know this? “I don’t know.”
He grabbed my shoulders. “If anything—”
Cayen’s body flew back and hit the wall, the back of his head cracking the stone. Chunks of rock fell over him, and he shook his head, then glanced at the keep’s door and back at me, eyes narrowing.
Shouting outside made me turn toward the kitchen windows. Cayen ran toward them, and I followed, stopping as far away from him as possible and next to my mom, the chef.
The sky was filling with angels, and by their stance and the insignias on their belts, I recognized the Command Fleet assembly line. Of all the forces in the mortal realm, they were the most feared, the elite. Golden wings appeared before them, and the commander addressed them in Heavlense, their angelic tongue.
“Where have you been?” Mom hissed.
“Guarding the prisoner.”
She side-eyed me. “Don’t lie to me, young lady.”
“In the bathroom.”
She glared. “Little Miss Nevaeh, you’re lying to your momma.”
Right. “There’s a boy I’m seeing.”
Momma smiled wide.
One day,