chapter 2

Airet

I slowly start to regain consciousness; the smell of this place is unpleasant. That metallic scent fills my nostrils and makes me feel sick. I try to open my eyes, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot; I feel they are covered by… fabric? I am not sure. I attempt to move my hands, but they are bound by something rigid. My arms remain stretched out, while my legs are pressed together and also tied down; I seem to be lying on some kind of hard surface.

Minutes pass, and I try again, now attempting to free at least one of my legs, but it is useless. I feel a burning sensation spreading across the skin where I am restrained, and the pain is so intense it makes me want to scream. I do not give up; I know I have to get out of here, but the pain grows sharper until tears stream down my face. I have never felt discomfort of this magnitude before.

“How was it possible that I was left to fend for myself, knowing I know nothing of the human world?” I ask myself, tears still running down my cheeks.

My body begins to tremble from the agony until I can bear it no longer and stop; whimpers of suffering escape my mouth. My wings still feel heavy—not as much as before, yet I still cannot move them—and the wound at their base throbs with every motion.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps in the distance. They are not fast, but they are heavy, and the sound echoes throughout the room. I hear the door open and someone enters… not several people, just one person, who stands still in the doorway, watching me. I feel their eyes fixed on me.

I think back to the question I was always taught: Is being an angel the same as being human? The only difference is that we do not sin as they do; we are pure from the moment of our creation.

“Help… please,” I say, my voice pleading, hoping they will understand me.

However, the figure does not move at all, and I realize a huge problem: I do not know the dialect of humans. We angels communicate through our minds, so we never developed an interest in speaking, since everything was made easy for us in another way. That is a unique quality of our kind; no matter what type of angel you are, we all communicate through thought and share knowledge internally. Although, I have heard that dark angels are very determined to learn spoken language, as it makes it easier for them to manipulate humans, turning themselves more and more wicked in the process.

I feel their hand touch my foot, right where I am injured. I tremble, and my breathing quickens instantly. Then, I feel their fingers tracing the wounded area along with something thick they are applying to it; it burns terribly, and tears spill even harder.

When they finish, I feel their breath very close to my legs. They touch them gently, as if they were the most delicate thing they have ever held in their hands.

Alexei

“Igor,” I pause as I look at the man tied to the table, “you only had to keep your mouth shut. It wasn’t that complicated, was it?”

I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms. The smell of this place makes me sick; I have never liked hospitals. People only come here trying to heal themselves, even when they know they will die sooner or later. I recall something that always gives me an advantage: the only weapons capable of killing an angel are those crafted from osmium—that metal so rare and hard to obtain. It is a great advantage in these times.

“Now then… I won’t kill you. You’ll be fine in here,” I pause briefly and watch as his expression relaxes for a second, “but because of your betrayal, you must give something in return… and you know it.”

“No… please, my lord…” He thrashes desperately on the table, trying to break free from the handcuffs which have already left deep marks on his wrists.

“Loyalty is everything in this world. We gave you so much, and this is how you repaid us—selling intelligence about the battle to the Americans.” I sigh wearily as he struggles frantically, trying uselessly to stand up.

Suddenly, my phone starts vibrating. I had no intention of answering until I had made Igor’s punishment clear, but I see it is my right-hand man, Thomas. I answer the call.

“My Phankan, we have something interesting for you,” in the background, several men can be heard talking quietly.

“Thomas, I am busy,” I reply sternly. I glance at the man on the table, who now seems very interested in the conversation, and I step out of the room to continue speaking.

“Someone came down…” He pauses, his tone shifting to something more serious. “It’s her… Phankan.”

In the distance, I see several of my men gathered in the middle of the road under the rain, but I cannot clearly distinguish what is happening from here. I step out of the car, and Lucia immediately approaches, holding an umbrella to shield me from the pouring rain.

I walk toward my subordinate.

“Where is she, Thomas? If I find out you have lied to me, forget about ever having a vacation again,” I warn him coldly.

He nods his head, pointing toward the other side, and there I see her. She looks so… fragile and broken.

She tries to spread her wings desperately to escape, but she struggles with it; the effort is so great that she eventually falls to her knees onto the wet ground. She looks absolutely terrible. I approach the spot where my men surround her; they immediately open a path as I arrive. I gesture with my hand, and they step back slightly, leaving just her and me with more space.

I walk slowly until I am standing right in front of her.

“We don’t mean to hurt you,” I say in a calm voice, taking one step closer.

Again she tries to open her wings, but a cry of pain escapes her throat. She curls into them, trying to protect herself. I try to come a little closer, but suddenly her wings flare open, and she loses consciousness, falling forward.

I catch her in my arms before she touches the ground.

“Thomas! Jake! Come here!” I shout while holding her carefully.

They run over, still soaked by the rain, which is now easing significantly.

“Hold her wings and help me position her to carry her. Make sure they don’t hurt her.”

They move behind her and arrange the wings so they do not get in the way. We angels have the ability to hide or compact them so they are never a hindrance; it is not uncomfortable to do so at all… yet she frowns in pain even when we move them gently.

We arrive at the mansion and head straight down to the basement; no one else is allowed to see or know she is here. Thomas had all the staff evacuated long before we arrived. In the basement, I lay her carefully onto one of the tables we use to treat our own people.

“Bring the doctor. Now,” I order.

I turn her carefully onto her stomach, and her wings fall slightly open, revealing their base: it is obvious they tried to rip them from her when she was brought into the human world. Her feathers—once pure white—now bear small dark stains beginning to spread across them.

“When you recover and are able to wash yourself… you will be able to clean them… and be as beautiful as the angel you are,” I whisper, more to myself than to her.

Hours pass, and finally the doctor arrives. He has given her stitches and medicine to help the wounds on her wings heal better.

“Jake, prepare the chamber, please,” I tell him as soon as the doctor finishes his work.

“What? Why?” He looks at me confused, furrowing his brow. “Are you going to sacrifice her just because she is of the light?” he asks, concern in his voice.

“No… nothing like that. We need to stop her rebirth,” I answer, offering no further explanation.

I look at her one last time, lying there unconscious, and head toward the exit. Jake stays there a moment longer, leaning against the doorframe, staring at her intently.

“I don’t believe it… I don’t believe she did anything to deserve this…” he murmurs.

I leave the basement and go up to my office, where Thomas is waiting for me.

“Leave,” I order.

Even before I finish the sentence, he stands up from the sofa and leaves the room without a word, closing the door behind him.

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