Her Guardian Angel 4-Her Angel Series (45 page)

Partly
demonic, he surmised as he finally reached the circular courtyard.
An angel would have been able to walk out of the cell as though
there wasn’t a door at all.

A twinge
stabbed his chest at the thought that there was no turning back for
him now. He had given himself to Amelia, and he was glad that he
had and didn’t regret it, but it was going to take him time to come
to terms with the fact that he was no longer truly an
angel.

He
unfurled his wings and looked at their hybrid form. Neither demon
nor angel. Something in between. Something new, like Amelia. If she
could cope with what she had become, could bravely accept that she
was different now and embrace that side of herself, then so could
he. He had asked her for these wings and she had blessed him with
them, and he would never forget that.

Amelia
had given him purpose. She had given him a reason to
fight.

And fight
he would.

He would
fight so she didn’t have to. He would fight so no one would dare
come after her or seek to harm her ever again. He would fight so
they could be together.

Marcus
scanned his surroundings. Black and deep blue doorways punctuated
the bright white semi-circle of cells behind him. Black meant
occupied. The doors on either side of the cell he had exited were
as dark as sin, but there was a red hue to the one to the right.
The one with a special blocker in place.

He needed
to buy himself time to get out of the detention block and into the
main fortress, and pandemonium would give him just that.

Without a
second thought, Marcus swept his hand towards the crimson tinted
door on his right. It responded to his power and faded to reveal
the cell on the other side.

A man
stood there.

His
red-ringed eyes shifted to Marcus, narrowed, and turned vivid
scarlet. Marcus felt the man’s anger reflected within him. He
should have known that his superior had lied to him about the
demonic angel killing itself in transit. Escaping the light was
impossible. His superior had told Marcus the man was dead so he
wouldn’t ask questions about him and his motive for attacking
Amelia. He had done it to keep him in the dark so he would continue
to obey his orders.

“I am not
here to fight you.” Marcus spread his wings so the Hell’s angel saw
them. “Our fight has long passed. Amelia has awoken and I will not
allow any to harm her again. If you wish to fight me, then do so,
but know I will kill you.”

The man
looked him over, gaze lingering on his wings, and then stalked out
of the cell.

“Go,
escape with the others when I release them… I only ask you cause a
little devastation on your way out.” Marcus held his gaze until the
man grinned to reveal sharp red teeth and nodded.

His skin
blackened and he doubled in breadth and grew in stature.
Dragon-like wings unfurled from his back and he growled before
unleashing a roar.

There was
a moment of silence and then alarms blared.

The
Hell’s angel grunted, beat his wings, and took flight, ascending
into the open air above the cells.

Marcus
swept his hand out towards the other black door and it opened.
Heavy footsteps rang down the corridors on both sides of him. This
was taking too long. He needed to get all the doors open at
once.

He
glanced up. Angels were already battling above him, trying to
subdue the Hell’s angel. If he flew, they might spot him, but he
needed altitude if he was going to set all the captives
free.

With a
single beat of his wings, Marcus lifted into the air. They felt
different, strange and new, and it took him a few moments to grow
used to flying with them. By the time he was accustomed to them, he
was over forty foot above the cells. They created a spiralling
pattern of circles below him and he could see the ranks of angels
as they marched in formation through the complex.

Marcus
focused his power, flapped his wings to remain stationary, and then
unleashed it with a wave of his hand. One by one, the black doors
disappeared and their inmate escaped. The angels below broke rank
to deal with the demons as they wreaked havoc. He smiled grimly,
turned in the air, and dove back down so he was flying only a few
feet above the flat tops of the cells. He flung his hand out before
him, opening every cell between him and the detention block exit
ahead.

Demons
spilled out into the corridors and tried to grab him as he flew
past. He twisted and turned in the air to evade them and then
landed heavily in one of the corridors of the outer ring of cells
and broke into a run.

The
moment he was clear of the last row of cells, he dived down a side
corridor and focused. With the angels occupied by trying to
recapture the demons, he would be able to pass as a regular angel
but only if his wings were away. His armour was different to anyone
else’s but only in colouring. If luck were with him, the angels
rushing into the detention block to help contain the demons would
be in too much of a hurry to notice.

The
angels that waited ahead in the fortress would be a different
matter, and he still didn’t know where Apollyon had
gone.

Marcus
waited for the next wave of angels to pass him and then bolted out
of his hiding spot and made a break for the exit. He pounded the
steps and kept his head down as another group of angels came
towards him. None of them even looked at him. They were too busy
listening to the orders of their commander as he led the charge.
Marcus’s heart pounded and he fought to steady it and to contain
the turbulent emotions racing through his blood. Now wasn’t the
time for fear or doubts. Now was the time to fight.

He could
feel the fear of battle later, once he was back in Amelia’s arms
and she was finally safe.

He turned
down one corridor after another, heading upwards whenever he could,
and finally broke out into the open white grounds of
Heaven.

His eyes
widened.

He didn’t
need to search for Apollyon after all.

The dark
angel was standing barely two hundred metres away, surrounded by a
mixture of mediators and guardians, and the occasional hunter and
angel of death.

In
amongst them was a face that Marcus had been itching to see since
Apollyon had taken Amelia’s life.

His
superior.

Marcus’s
wings burst free of his back and he sprinted towards the older
sandy-haired angel, driven by fury and the pain of seeing Amelia
die. He drew both of his curved silver blades, kicked off the
ground, and flew at him.

His
superior turned towards him. So did several other high ranking
angels.

When his
superior raised his hand to signal the others to stand down and
narrowed his gaze on Marcus, he expected to feel the pressing
weight of his power driving him into the ground. He didn’t. Rather
than the oppressive sense of weakness that he usually felt when his
superior lost his temper and tried to put Marcus in his place, he
felt only a small amount of pressure.

Marcus
brought the ends of the grips of his two blades together and they
melded and then extended into his double-ended spear. He roared and
cut through the air with it, scattering the angels surrounding his
superior in all directions, and then levelled his glare on
him.

Anger
pounded through his body and thrummed in his blood, a drug that
addled his mind and called him to surrender to his desire for
violence. He battled it, told himself that fighting this man would
get him nowhere, but the lure was too sweet to resist. He growled
out his frustration, twirled his spear in his hands, and swept it
through the air again, sending another shockwave crashing into the
ground. It rent the earth bare metres to the left of his superior,
gouging a great gash in the pristine white land.

Blue-white sparks of power crackled across the backs of
Marcus’s hands and along the shaft of his spear.

He wanted
more.

“Marcus.”
Apollyon’s voice cut through the red haze of rage in his mind,
bringing clarity with it.

Marcus
looked down at the scored ground, the angels as they struggled to
their feet, and finally his superior.

The man
kneeled below him, pallid and clutching his stomach. Sweat dotted
his brow and exertion tightened the lines of his face.

Marcus
didn’t understand.

His gaze
tracked down to Apollyon. The dark angel stood off to his right,
his face pale and expression grim. His limbs visibly trembled, as
though he was battling to remain standing. Was he still weak from
using his powers to gain Marcus access to Heaven? Apollyon’s blue
eyes brightened and he grunted and fell to one knee, his right hand
pressing hard into the white grass beneath him. His laboured
breaths and the pain in his face as he raised it towards Marcus
were familiar enough that he realised what was
happening.

His eyes
widened again and he looked around him at the other angels. They
weren’t struggling to their feet at all. They were fighting his
power. His gaze leapt to his hands, to the brilliant sparks of
power as they leapt along the engraved silver and blue staff of his
spear. He couldn’t believe it. He stared at it for long minutes,
trying to comprehend his own strength. He had rendered the
strongest of angels powerless without even realising it.

“Marcus?”
Apollyon sounded hoarse and Marcus shot him an apologetic look and
closed his eyes, focusing on his power.

It took
him a few attempts to bring it back under complete control and to
let his anger flow out of him so he no longer craved the delicious
tang of blood tainting the air and the feel of it sliding over his
skin.

“What are
you doing here?” Apollyon again, but this time he sounded
incredulous rather than pained.

Marcus
opened his eyes and regarded the angels gathered before him as they
slowly got to their feet. He held the gaze of each high ranking
angel until they looked away, and eventually settled his eyes on
his superior. The man instantly looked down at his feet.

“I have
come to deliver a warning,” Marcus said and descended. He touched
down close to the deep scar in the white grounds and glanced into
it. There were places along the ragged line where his power had cut
through to the other side, revealing chinks of light. He swallowed.
He hadn’t even unleashed that much of his power in the strike. Just
how strong was he now?

He pushed
away his fear of his newfound power and embraced it, letting it
flow through his body and imbue strength in his heart. He was
strong enough to protect her now and that was all that mattered. He
would protect her.

“I desire
nothing more than to destroy this wretched place, to bathe the
white lands of Heaven in crimson as revenge for what it has done to
me and my master, but she would not want that and I have vowed to
be a good man for her sake.” Marcus lowered his spear and let the
staff shorten.

He broke
it apart into two blades and held them down at his sides to show he
was no danger to the angels present. He would not sheathe them
though. They were a deterrent, there on display so no one would get
any ideas. They had witnessed what he was capable of and would be
foolish not to believe that he would resort to the destruction he
had spoken of if they tried anything.

“My
demands are simple. None will come after us. Not Heaven nor Hell’s
legions. None will seek to harm Amelia. You bear witness to my
appearance and my power. Amelia has the voice to command an army,
to raise warriors who will aid her, to take from your ranks and
give them new strength. If you leave us in peace, then we shall
offer you the same respect. If you do not, then we shall destroy
all who stand against us.”

The
angels gathered before him glanced at each other and then looked
back at him, no response leaving their lips and no sign of
acceptance shining in their eyes. Their expressions remained
schooled. It was the reply he had expected.

He hadn’t
come here for an answer.

He had
only come to deliver the warning.

He nodded
and turned to Apollyon.

“I cannot
involve you in this, old friend.” Marcus sheathed one of his blades
and placed his hand on Apollyon’s black-armoured shoulder. “You
have done enough. Return to Paris with the others. Though we shall
never see each other again, I will not forget you and all you have
done for me and for Amelia. I wish you good fortune.”

Apollyon
nodded. “And I you.”

The dark
angel beat his black wings and shot into the air. Marcus waited
until he was lost to the distance and then turned back to the
angels.

He
regarded them all and slowly released a fraction of his power,
keeping it under control this time, steadily applying the pressure
on the angels until one by one their faces contorted with the
strain of resisting him and they crumbled to their
knees.

He took a
step back, held his superiors gaze, and then took
flight.

In time,
he would know Heaven’s answer, whether it was through peace or
through war.