Extending a foot, I touched the ground and tapped it with my toe. Once assured it was really there, I stepped down on both feet. Expecting them to release me since we weren’t flying, I nodded. Looking ahead, they dragged me up the fifty-some stairs and into a massive well-lit foyer where people moved past us as if we didn’t exist.
Three staircases led upstairs, each one connected with a bridge. The roof was wide open, and I believed there was enough space to drop from the sky directly into the foyer.
The angels dragged me toward the left and entered what appeared to be an office space with a single massive wooden desk that sat in front of a strange chair. Generally, a comfortable office chair came with a plush back support. This chair supported only the lower back. Behind the chair, an intricate, careful, beautiful map with calligraphic handwritten notes scattered around it covered the entire wall.
The two released me and stood by the door, their hands folded in front of them. “The commander will deal with you right away,” an angel said. “Have a seat.” A pair of chairs faced the office chair across the desk. Instead of sitting, I approached the windows on the left.
Dark clouds gathered above the city. This structure seemed vast and had three levels, each with a different yard, if you could even call it a yard. On the first, uniformed people and angels assembled into groups, some larger than others. A man paced before each group and addressed it. I didn’t know much about the military, but you didn’t need to know much to get the feeling this was something military. On the second level, they trained with wooden sticks, and on the third, they pitched tents.
From the sky, lightning crackled and angels fell. They crashed to the ground, bleeding, missing limbs, some with broken wings. I couldn’t look away from the defeated beauty. It was surreal, though clearly only to me, as the other humans kept moving. On the ground, some angels got up and walked inside the house. Others limped behind them. Some crawled, while others didn’t move at all.
The clouds cleared and revealed an angel with massive golden wings, the span of them at least twelve feet. His golden hair swirled around his head, reminding me of Medusa. Blood dripped from his sword, but not a speck of it touched his flaring white kilt, which swirled, also in Medusa-like fashion, around his boot-covered feet.
The hair, the wings, the blood, the weird kilt and the bleeding cuts couldn’t distract me from the muscular structure of his bare chest. The first thing that came to mind was bloody perfection. My thoughts jumbled, and a vision of us on the bed appeared. The muscles of his powerful nude body flexed as he ground into me.
The male barked something at his wounded comrades on the ground.
They cheered, and my vision disappeared.
After landing, he climbed the steps, different pieces of his kilt floating above the ground as if they were living things. Abruptly, he stopped and jerked his head toward me. I ducked.
Crouching, I waited him out a few seconds, then peeked through the window once more. Golden eyes lifted at the corners as he smiled. He then proceeded to fly inside the fortress. The need to flee overcame me, and I stood, searching for a window latch, running my hand up and down the frame. When I couldn’t find one, I slapped my palm on the glass and tried to slide it up. It wouldn’t open. But the office door did.
He entered, both angels bowing before him.
There stood the angel I’d tried to kill. Shit shit shit.
I eyed the window, the desk, the filing cabinets on the opposite wall. No weapons, not even a damn pen I could poke his eyes out with.
“Hello again, mortal.”
Unable to make a sound, I stared.
The One I Tried to Stab flicked his wrist. Small metal latches I couldn’t find before flipped over the window frames, effectively locking them. “Leave us, but don’t leave the premises,” he ordered the guards.
Oh no. I didn’t want to be left alone with this dude.
The angels appeared confused, locking eyes with each other, but the second he turned toward them and tilted his head, they practically ran outside. The door behind them closed—I swore on its own— and I began to understand the terror that caged birds felt. Exposed, vulnerable, unable to flee…
My heart pounded, and I backed away until I hit the glass. A pigeon and a lion stuck in one room. This couldn’t be good for the pigeon. Ironically, the person with wings was no pigeon. In the bird hierarchy, he was an eagle.
“We have doors,” he said, approaching the window slowly, as if knowing I would jump through it at any sudden movement. He stopped before the glass, eyes on the city below, his profile to me. His nose was perfect. Masculine, though not curved, large but not too large.
“Tell me about yourself,” he ordered.
I remained silent. In the Mafia movies, the lawyers always advised the less you say, the better. I applied that rule now.
“You are from Los Angeles?” the angel prompted.
I wrung my hands, looking around for something to ground me. In my chest, something fluttered, and the energy in the room changed. I couldn’t explain it, and yet I felt it. I worried he’d recognize me as the girl who tried to kill him, though he seemed disinterested in the event that had happened only yesterday, and more interested in…me. Which was way worse. “Yes, sir.”
“Tell me more.” He brushed his wing with a fingertip, gaze sliding casually over my body. It was so brief that surely I dreamed it.
“I’m not sure where to start,” I said. This felt like an interrogation. Or maybe a job interview, and I’d
