twenty-three
We slept in the branches of the tallest tree we could find. The archangel thought the idea was absurd when I suggested it, first asking if the beasts could climb before scaling the tree alone. I didn’t care if he followed; I only knew that I needed sleep, and I wasn’t going to get any knowing that I could open my eyes and be served a death sentence.
To my surprise, the archangel did follow. We nestled in thick branches, one next to the other. There were no further discussions of war, no bedtime stories of the creatures of the dark. No, we sat in silence until I felt confident enough to close my eyes and doze off. It wasn’t a relaxing sleep by any means, but it was more than I would have gotten had we camped on the ground.
Now, my body aches. My backside is numb from the branch it straddled, my thighs exhausted from locking me in place, my back stiff from arching against a tree trunk. I stretch, wiggling my limbs to encourage the blood flow.
The archangel twists his torso in an effortless movement next to me, looking more rested than I do. I’m not sure if he slept, but the glow returning to his features tells me he at least recharged a little.
I don’t realise I’m staring until he shoots me an amused look before swinging both legs over the branch and jumping right off.
My head snaps forward to follow him as he falls, and his smile only grows wider as he looks up at me from the ground. I’m at least thirty feet high, a drop that would likely break my legs, and he knows it. Hence the smirk that I’d love to punch clean off his face.
“You coming or what?”
His voice echoes through the trees.
Cocky asshole.
“Maybe I’ll just drop straight on his head, dagger first,”
I mutter quietly to myself as I swing my legs over the side. “Then we’ll see who’s laughing.”
“What was that, Slayer?”
Can he hear me?
Worlds, it just never ends with this guy.
“Oh, nothing, just appreciating the scenic route down the tree.”
I place my feet on the branch below and hold the one above for support.
His chuckle sends a wave of warmth through me, a deep sound that shakes my bones every time. Menacing but melodic.
“Just swing off the branch. I’ll catch you.”
I shoot a glare down at him, mostly to see if he’s serious or not. I dangle off a branch and swing my legs forward to meet the next one. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”
The archangel sounds almost offended as he calls, “You don’t trust me?”
Well, that’s a loaded question. I let out a humourless laugh. “To catch me from thirty feet high? That’s an easy no, bird boy.”
“Is someone afraid of heights?”
His mocking tone is back, and I think about snapping off a twig and throwing it down at him.
Afraid of heights? No, not at all. Afraid of falling? Absolutely.
I don’t tell him that, though. I’ve spent my entire life keeping my fears hidden, never wanting anyone to discover how weak I really am.
“Do you think I’d have voluntarily slept in a tree if I were afraid of heights?”
I ask instead.
“Hmmm. Well, do hurry. We are running awfully behind schedule.”
This time there’s no stopping myself. Before I know it, a dagger has left my hand and is hurtling down towards the archangel below.
It pierces the earth next to his feet as he dodges it as easily as expected, but the slight inconvenience of him having to do so is enough to satisfy me, despite his amused chuckle.
“Bite me,” I mutter.
“Don’t tempt me.”
I gasp. “You can hear me!”
His gaze only narrows, his smile animalistic. “Your whispers are like screams.”
I scoff and climb the rest of the way down in silence, swinging from branch to branch, retracing the steps I took to climb up last night. As I land on the ground, the archangel gives a slow clap that has me shoving his shoulder.
He throws his head back in laughter at the display of aggression, and my eyes roll backward. That’s it – I’m leaving him here.
I pick up my dagger and walk away without waiting for him, knowing he’ll catch up within a second. “Well, do hurry, archangel. We are running awfully behind schedule.”
I shoot a smirk over my shoulder before returning my gaze to the trail ahead.
We return to walking in silence for a while, stopping whenever we hear leaves rustle. The sun that shines through the canopy is a blessing, warning off any creatures of the night who might be hunting us. We need to find this facility by sundown. We need to find Jeremy.
He’s clever. One night alone he may have made it through, thanks to his intelligence. Two nights and he might be forced to fight for his life.
Three and he’s likely dead.
The thought sharpens the dull ache in my chest to a sting, and I find myself massaging the flesh above my heart. I see the archangel watching me out of the corner of my eye, but I ignore his questioning gaze.
I try to focus on everything I’ve learnt from the past two days, and what it means for humanity. If the AIA hasn’t already, they’ll be sending teams back out into the field soon, and every single one of them will die. Between the hordes of daemons, angels, hellhounds, and whatever other creatures of the Darklands roam the Earth nowadays, the agency is not prepared. Their weapons may kill daemons, but they’re otherwise defenceless and they have no idea.
My mind wanders to the image of sharp-bladed wings and the fallen angel they belong to. The one who took Jeremy from me so easily, so quickly. He flew into that alley in middle of the day and within a few seconds, Jeremy was gone. I find myself wondering what would have happened if Jeremy had stepped out the front of the building to get air instead. Would that have deterred the fallen angel? Would he have found another victim?
“What is wrong with you?”
The archangel’s voice pulls me back to the trees ahead.
I only realise how hard I’ve been frowning when my eyes widen and I relax my face. “As of the past two days, the answer to that question starts with a ‘y’ and ends with a ‘u’.”
He doesn’t laugh like I expected. The annoyed expression he usually wears has returned. “You were staring ahead so intensely I thought it might start a fire.”
I hesitate, thinking silence may be a better option, but the look on the archangel’s face tells me he won’t accept that response. I tell a half-truth, hoping it satisfies his curiosity. “I was just thinking about how unprepared the agency is to send agents back into the field. They have no idea what’s out here. Their weapons won’t save them.”
“Yes, unfortunately I agree.”
“We’ve been training all this time and it’s not going to do anything to save us.”
I shake my head, thinking over all of the lessons and hours spent training with weapons that won’t make much of a difference in the end.
The archangel looks away from me, ducking under a tree branch with such elegance that I envy his effortless coordination. “They should have been focusing on training you all how to wield swords. Swords are the only weapon fit for a war like this.”
The agency doesn’t know that, though. The war has evolved in the two years that we’ve been hidden behind those borders. Two years ago it came down to angels and daemons, and we have trained to kill one of those enemies. Nobody bothered to tell us that there were new players on the board. Nobody warned us that the gates to the Darklands were well and truly open.
“What makes you think they haven’t?” I ask.
The archangel doesn’t look at me as he says, “I saw the way you held my blade yesterday.”
The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly. “Your grip had me feeling sorry for any blade that has had to endure it.”
Playfulness returns to his eyes as his words pose their next challenge. We’ve called a physical truce; we won’t draw blood with blades, but we seem to be in another sort of constant battle, and he’s trying to gain the upper hand.
A smile bubbles to the surface, but I force my lips to stay in a thin, unimpressed line. “I know how to wield a sword.”
The archangel stares at me with his brows raised, his own lips curving into a sinister smile that has my cheeks flushing.
“Stop.”
I almost stutter the word under his heated gaze.
One eyebrow raises higher than the other, but it’s not confusion that spreads across his face. No, it’s the look of a boy challenging a girl to give him the satisfaction of admitting what she knows. That he’s flirting with me. “Stop what?”
His question feigns innocence, but it’s unconvincing. The silver in his eyes burns wild; it’s a tell that I’m becoming familiar with. He’s toying with me, keeping himself amused. Although I know that, although I am sure of it, I can’t help the strange feeling that rises in my stomach.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
My words are followed by a shy laugh that feels foreign to me. I meet his gaze again and instantly regret it. At some point I stopped walking; we both did. Somehow he now stands only inches away. When did we get so close?
His eyes darken, and his voice drops to the low pitch that raises each hair on my body one by one, though not in fear. “Like what?”
I should stop this conversation now. I could turn and continue to walk without saying another word. Better yet, I could call him a pig and endure his chuckle. But I’ve never been good at backing down from a challenge, and I’m not about to start. So instead, I mimic the playful look he gave me earlier. I give him a menacing smirk, forcing my eyes to flicker with the same heat as his.
“Like I’m your next meal.”
I make my voice low, smooth. Unlike I’ve ever heard it.
The archangel sways forward slightly, his eyes breaking contact with mine only to drop to my lips. With that one look, I know that I’ve won this round.
“With your attitude? No. You’d taste far too sour.”
His smile fades, his eyes dim, and the distant mask I’ve grown to recognise slips back on so quickly that I wonder if I imagined the playfulness in the first place.
He begins to walk again, and I take two steps to catch up to him, satisfaction coursing through me. There’s not a single part of me that considers that might have been an insult. “I’ve heard angel meat is super gamy. Maybe I should find out.”
I stop again and gesture to the hidden sheath on his back where I know his sword sits. “Go on, give me the sword. Claim that I don’t know how to use it. I’ll chop myself up some dinner.”
I was joking, feeling my confidence spike after our last round. I don’t expect him to actually hand me his sword.
“Do your worst, Slayer.”
He pulls the blade from behind his back and flips it over before holding it out to me, hilt first.
I take the weapon slowly, forgetting how heavy it feels in my hand. I give myself a moment to readjust to the weight before holding it in front of me in a ready stance.
The archangel doesn’t step back an inch. He doesn’t move at all, actually. He stands still, with a bored look on his face that I aim to wipe off.
I follow his earlier action and flip the sword over my wrist once, twice. Then step forward with my left foot leading, my right hand slicing from left to right, aiming for his abdomen.
The archangel merely steps out of the way, so quickly that he’s two feet away before I finish my move.
Okay, maybe this is going to be harder than I thought.
We’ve trained with swords at the agency, but since it’s not really a modern-day weapon, it was a low priority. I try to remember what I’ve learnt, spinning to the left to face him again, swinging the blade with me as I do. I don’t account for the weight with this movement, and I stumble one step further to the side than I intended.
The archangel raises his hands, palms facing outwards. “Oh no, I am so afraid. Please don’t eat me.”
Every word is laced with laughter, his eyes full of amusement.
“Asshole.”
I look down at my form, noticing the dull ache from holding the sword and the awkward feet placement. “Alright, teach me.”
His eyebrows shoot high. “Hmm?”
I gesture down to my stance. “I can’t wield a sword, so teach me.”
I don’t smile; I don’t tease. I’ve realised that if I do ever have to fight with a sword, it could be what gets me killed. “Please.”
The archangel’s amusement disappears and he nods as he moves to stand directly in front of me. He stares at my wielding hand, and tilts his head towards it. “May I?”
Too stunned by the fact that he’s asking permission to say anything, I only nod.
He places his hand under mine and moves it up so that I hold the sword parallel to my chest. He guides my thumb from angling in the same direction as the blade to clutch around the pommel. “The sword is too heavy for your grip. You won’t be able to wield it properly if you hold it like that. You want to wrap your thumb around and sit it on top of your knuckles.”
He traces a line down my thumb lightly, the touch making me shiver despite the warmth that accompanies it. “Alternatively, a pommel this big has enough room for you to grip with two hands.”
The archangel walks around me slowly, until his chest brushes my back and his hand lightly guides my left elbow. He guides it slowly; my left hand holds the pommel below the right. He readjusts my fingers gently, moving in close to be able to reach. I suck in a breath, the closing distance between us setting every instinct on edge.
“You want to hold the pommel just above your belly button.”
With a hand on each elbow, he guides them slowly until they match his instruction.
With each deep breath I take, my back only touches his chest more closely. My body screams at me to put distance between us, that he wouldn’t even need this blade to end me if he chose to. I ignore it, telling myself that I need this lesson.
A small gasp escapes me as his hand finds its way to my right hamstring, gently pushing until my right foot takes a step forward.
“What are you —”
“You’re leading with the wrong foot. Your right side is your dominant side?”
I draw in another breath. “Yes.”
The archangel takes a step back, perhaps noticing my discomfort. “Then you lead with your right foot. That’s where the power comes from.”
He walks back around to face me. “Now try again.”