by Meg Xuemei X
I managed to find captain’s logs in two ships. The records confirmed what I feared the most.
Kaara had told the truth, as had the female science officer of Species 581.
I’d been thrown into the past on this doomed planet.
16
The Angel
When I left the wrecked ships, Kaara and her team were gone.
A few scavengers were pulling off shoes from the corpses in the arena. The deceased’s weapons were missing. I figured Kaara and her team must have taken them.
No one dared approach me, but bolted away from me. When they saw that I paid no mind to them, the scavengers returned to work on the corpses.
I trailed back toward the Witch Tower, my blade in my hand, my broken wings dragging painfully behind me.
No one came to challenge me but kept a wide berth or hid behind half burned-down buildings. Word of my brutality must have gone out to the streets, and the aliens in the City of Nine might really believe I was the Furies’ stepbrother.
They’d seen my massive black wings.
I felt the pulse of magic as soon as I entered the witch’s territory. I chuckled, remembering the staggered, unhappy expressions on the faces of the guards when I’d entered the ward without incident. The lot had wanted me to fall to the ground and suffer in agony and humiliation.
This time, it was no different. I met no resistance.
Boar jogged toward me, almost angry. “How could you enter, newcomer? You don’t have Lady Fiammetta’s permission!”
There could be many reasons why the witch’s dark magic didn’t repel me. First, I’d fucked her, though neither of us had been satisfied. Her wild scent probably still clung to me, since I hadn’t had a chance to shower last night.
I stepped toward Boar, my face twisted in a snarl, and he immediately stepped back, realizing who he was talking to. He’d seen me cut down vampires like they were made of twigs.
“I need no one’s permission,” I said. “Now tell me, where can I shower?”
I’d been worried that water was a limited resource on this planet, because the lot—the majority of them—were unwashed.
Fiammetta, however, always smelled so good and clean.
“Shower?” he sneered, withdrawing further from me. “Good luck with that, fancy boy.”
I headed toward the tower.
“General Nightshades wants a word,” a guard called behind me. “She’s on the eighth floor.”
I didn’t care what Kaara wanted, but I was eager to see the witch, despite my dismay at the new discovery that I was stuck on Pandemonium.
I needed her to lead me back to my shuttle so I could fix Red Dragon. If she was the only one who could enter the jungle, then she could take me with her.
When I stalked into the hall on the eighth floor, Kaara and the logistics team had just finished distributing the supplies they had raided from the science ship.
The girl’s eyes burned darkly at the sight of me.
I smiled at her. “You asked for me, Kaara?”
She waved a hand for the others to leave the room, and they glared at me before retreating. They were fortunate I had fallen here. If it had been Seth, he’d have slain them.
“You’re either with us or against us, Gabriel,” Kaara said.
“I’m with you,” I said smoothly. I knew exactly how to soothe a kitten. “I’ve fought for you and your witch, haven’t I?”
“I’ve been putting up with your air of superiority. I even shared intel with you because I think we can work toward the common goal. My being friendly doesn’t mean I’m weak and you can walk all over me.”
“I haven’t walked all over you, and I don’t think you’re weak. However, my kind isn’t known for cooperating well with other species.”
“I understand you need time to adjust,” she said, “but remember this and I won’t say it again—don’t ever get on the bad side of Lady Fiammetta. Never betray her. She isn’t like me. She doesn’t forgive. She doesn’t offer second chances. So take care with her.”
“Where is she?” I asked.
Judging from how relaxed everyone had been when I’d come up to the tower, I knew she wasn’t around.
Kaara looked worried. “She should have returned by now.”
Fear for Fiammetta’s safety pumped into my heart. “How could you let her go to any dangerous place alone?” I snarled. “You’re her general. You’re her security detail. It’s dark out!”
Without waiting for her sorry excuse, I headed toward the door. If my wings hadn’t been broken, I could have easily flown out of the window and reached Fiammetta in no time.
“You can’t enter the jungle,” Kaara called from behind. “You won’t survive.”
I didn’t care. I couldn’t bear to let Fiammetta fight for her life.
I halted just in time as Fiammetta came up the stairs and crashed into my chest. I grabbed her instinctively. If frosty ice hadn’t immediately formed a shield around her and between us, I would have pulled her into my arms.
I regarded the ice particles on her skin and the icy dust on mine. It caressed my skin, but Fiammetta had meant to harm me instead of offering pleasure. She’d immobilized me with her ice magic in the jungle. If she hadn’t changed her mind and wanted to fuck me, she could have murdered me. I had seen the killing light in her eyes when she’d aimed her ice spear at my throat.
Now was the third time she’d thrown her dark magic at me, and I seemed to be getting so used to it that I had become immune. But I still couldn’t shake off her lust spell.
An electric current curved around us.
Fiammetta widened her eyes.
The feel of her and breathing her in sent a jolt through me, and my already hard cock strained against my trousers.
Fiammetta shook me off and stepped back, her eyes shimmering and her chest heaving.
My gaze dipped to her bountiful breasts barely covered by the bronze plates. She dressed like a provocatively sexy goddess.
Fiammetta stood still. Her scent of arousal wafted toward me. I could picture her nipples taut under the plates and her silky pussy wet and inviting. All I could think of was dragging her down on the stairs and fucking her right there.
I swallowed. Among Angels, my peers often admired my self-control, but I was losing it. I tore my gaze from her breasts while I still had the presence of mind to notice her guards around us.
They stared at the ground.
Although her scent told me she wanted me, Fiammetta looked at me as if she’d never met me before. As if she hadn’t the slightest idea she’d ridden me wildly yesterday.
She wasn’t pretending.
Her irises dilated before returning to their normal size, which indicated I was a stranger to her and she was surprised to see me.
It was the biggest insult a woman could throw at me.
In my entire existence, females had been pissed off at me sometimes but longed for me more often. None had ever treated me insignificantly, as if they could brush me off like dust.
Fiammetta watched me, waiting for my reaction. She’d seen my outraged reaction, and she was poised to strike.
I sneered. I wasn’t going to kneel or bow to her, if that was what she’d expected.
“My lady,” I said with mocking sincerity. “I see you’ve forgotten how you rescued me from my crashed ship in the dangerous jungle yesterday.”
I was hinting at how she had fucked me. I wouldn’t be too blunt with an audience around us.
She looked like she’d just found an error and needed to correct it. Had she thought our brief, unfinished coupling had been a mistake?
Keep pouring salt on the wound, lady!
My face grew cold, hard, too.
And I almost shouted at her, Own your actions, Wicked Witch or not.
Fiammetta fixed her gaze on my majestic black wings. Then she blinked, as if just waking up from staring into a nightmare.
I folded my arms across my chest.
Keep insul
ting me! The great Archangel Gabriel can take anything.
I sent out my High Sense to probe her, but all I got was a blank state, as if she stored nothing in her mind. She was excellent at shielding herself.
Her gaze flicked from my wings to her left arm.
Glyphs glowed and flowed on her pale skin. They weren’t tattoos like mine. They weren’t etched with ink but with magic. They were mesmerizing.
Fiammetta stared at the symbol of a pair of black wings carrying a bridge of fire under her own name. Some mystic runes entwined with a language I didn’t recognize.
I didn’t understand the elaborated runes either, but I distinguished one mark beaming on and off on her wrist. It was a universal royal birthright.
I’d been wrong. She was into me. She’d even magically tattooed my wings on her skin last night, fascinated with me.
The witch was the most pretentious woman I’d known, but I could cut her some slack.
I grinned. “When did you etch my wings on your arm? Aren’t they fetching?”
Her face changed instantly. A near panicked expression flitted through her paranoid gray eyes before ice twirled in them.
She darted a quick glance at the guards around her before turning to me. I caught the guards stealing a glimpse at her arms with a puzzled look before dropping their gaze again.
They couldn’t see her glyphs.
They were visible only to me.
That was why Fiammetta had a moment of panic there. She’d thought her secret well guarded, until I’d blown it up.
What secrets had she kept? And who would carve her own name on her skin? Unless she couldn’t remember it. Was that why my High Sense had detected nothing in her mind?
It couldn’t be. It was too bizarre. Fiammetta didn’t look like one with a broken mind. She’d been running the Witch Tower for three years, which was a hell of a task, considering how many enemies she had.
If I could take a photo of her magical glyphs and send them back to ThunderSong, I could decode the intricate runes and unfamiliar language peppering her skin.
That reminded me that I needed to remain friendly with her if I wanted her to help me return to my ship in my time.
But Fiammetta’s face contorted in a cold rage, a murderous light flashing through her piercing gray eyes.
That look could freeze hell over, but it pumped my blood with ardor.
Maybe I hadn’t had a woman for too long, but a few weeks weren’t that long.
It had to be her horny spell that made me feel this way. Yet she acted as if she had no fucking idea who I was.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked icily.
The temperature dropped abruptly. Ice coated the walls, ceiling, and the stairs.
Fiammetta breathed out puffs of icy frost. “How dare you talk to the Wickedest Witch this way?”
Her guards trembled.
Prickly little thing, wasn’t she?
“I flattered you,” I said with a shrug. “I praised your tattoos.”
Her ice slammed into me, its force terrifying.
But I stood my ground and did not move an inch at the blunt attack.
I was an Archangel.
“It’s as good as a shower,” I said with a grin. “I need this after a long day.”
Vaguely, I knew I should not undermine her authority in her own tower, but Angels were a dominant, superior race. We didn’t know how to act submissively even if we wanted to.
Darkness rippled from her like a living thing. It swirled, expanding toward every space, snuffing out any light and color.
It was an endless net with claws and teeth.
Her subjects dropped to their knees and begged, “Mistress.”
I smiled at her, though it wasn’t warm.
I planned to come out a winner after the duel.
Her darkness seized me.
All light and hope in me fizzled out.
My Angel Flame erupted in me, trying to burn away the horrible darkness, but the dark only filled me. It was darker than the abyss of deep space.
My flame dwindled.
What would happen if my Angel Flame went out completely?
I pulled out my sword to slash at it, but the darkness only laughed in menace, shifting between being formless and taking on shapes. It was a living entity that spoke the language of wrath.
I collapsed onto the stairs.
The Wickedest Witch was determined to eliminate me. She’d regarded me as a threat after discovering I could see her magical runes.
I cursed and laughed without humor at the irony of my final moment.
It was not my finest, and definitely not the way I’d imagined going down.
Who would have believed I, Gabriel—an Archangel, the great Captain of ThunderSong, and a decorated hero who had helped the High Prince of All Angels end the eons of the reign of the tyrant Dark Lord—would die at the hands of the Wickedest Witch after being half-fucked by her in this hole in space?
17
The Witch
Why did the winged creature look at me with such heat and possessiveness? Everyone else feared me, but there wasn’t a hint of alarm in his eyes, nothing but boldness and lust. And why did my body react to him as if it remembered him and wanted more of him?
I stepped away from him, though my hand craved to touch and trace his hard chest.
He was tall, masculine, and tanned, blessed with the physique of a warrior god. His face was handsome and aristocratic, and his eyes were a stunning green. A black-inked, mystic tattoo twined up from his neck to his temple and gave him a dangerous edge.
He was appealing, but as the Wickedest Witch, I must have seen a good number of pretty faces and enjoyed hot bodies. I shouldn’t act like a teenage girl crushing on someone for the first time.
A zing of electricity whipped between us like a living thing, caressing me, yet I didn’t sense any magic from him.
The creature wasn’t trying to influence me.
My markings did not mention our encounter as he’d suggested, which meant he wasn’t a necessity in my life. I hadn’t bothered to record him on an inch of my skin. But then why was the symbol of his wings on my arm? It wasn’t a new glyph, but the oldest one that had come along with my stigma of “the Wickedest Witch in the universe.”
The scorching heat in the being’s seductive eyes hinted at an untold story between us, but I had no memory of it.
I hadn’t recognized him.
Or had I been so ashamed of our affair that I’d intentionally left out our history?
I had put it together that he was the pilot who had escaped the shuttle Red Dragon, and I had just come back from his ship, now mine.
I had a symbol of this being’s wings above the riddle of Icearth 2788h 450.7m, −88975.01° (Y-1034b).
Was he the key to getting off this godforsaken planet?
“When did you etch my black wings on your arm?” the creature asked with a smug grin. “Aren’t they fetching?”
My heart slammed against my ribcage. Blood pumped in my ears. I scanned our surroundings quickly. The guards—among them I recognized the two who had served me with a glass of water this morning—stared at my arm before gazing down. From their perplexed, nervous looks, I was convinced they couldn’t see my glyphs.
How could this winged being see through my secrets? Could he read the runes? Did he know about my amnesia?
He flashed me a lopsided grin, showing me his gorgeous, white teeth and his sparkling personality.
But I couldn’t take the time to appreciate either.
I had to kill him before he could further expose my fatal weakness. I had to kill him before he turned on me and finished me off. Instinctively, I’d recognized him as a top predator from the moment I’d laid eyes on him.
The heat and need in my body wouldn’t spare him.
The Wickedest Witch wouldn’t let lust dictate her actions.
I struck him with my ice storm, but he stood his ground instead of crashing to the marble wa
ll with his skull cracked open.
My eyes widened at his incredible strength.
That was a first, wasn’t it?
But how dare he keep defying me?
My darkness tore into him with delighted, wicked hisses.
The winged male crumpled to the stairs.
He wasn’t smirking now as my dark magic deprived him of hope and light, draining all color from him. But he still held his own against my magic.
I tightened my clutch, and his angelic Flame came up to meet me.
A violet-haired woman scrambled out of a room.
She was a couple of years older than me. At her presence, I calmed, yet my anger and panic were still brewing.
Her face paled, her eyes widened, and my heart tugged at her panic.
She was Kaara Nightshades, the one my markings said I could rely on.
“Fia,” she called urgently.
I didn’t think anyone else dared call me that except her. Which meant she and I had a special relationship. What was she to me?
There was no fear or disgust but unconditional loyalty in her warm violet eyes. I was wicked, but I could recognize qualities other than vileness.
“Lady Fiammetta,” Kaara corrected herself, “please don’t kill the Archangel. He’s new and hasn’t learned our ways. He’s also insufferably arrogant, but he’s an asset. He fought bravely for us today.”
I darted my gaze between them, debating with myself.
This Archangel was a threat to me. He’d learned a part of my secret and challenged me. If I let him live—
“Please, Fia, trust me,” Kaara said.
I looked at her in displeasure. Didn’t she know the Wickedest Witch trusted no one?
“His ship will get us out of here.” Kaara shifted to another language, which sounded intimate, as if it was my mother tongue.
I scanned the faces around us quickly, coldly, and had the confirmation that no one else would understand her words.
“He—only he—will be able to aid us,” Kaara said. “Killing him will kill your own future.”
My face hardened.
In my dark mood, I wanted to throw my ice storm at Kaara for her interference, but then I thought of the symbol on my arm.
