Her Guardian Angel 4-Her Angel Series

by Heaton, Felicity

  As she stood there with the angel called Lysander gripping her arm, everything began to dull to a more reasonable level, as though her eyes were finally adjusting to the obscene brightness of it all. It had only taken a few seconds of exposure to the light to give her a headache.

  Another memory of Marcus popped into her head and replayed, revealing a moment with him that caused a blush to burn her cheeks.

  Perhaps it was the returning memories that were giving her the headache. Since remembering their moment together in that other world where Taylor had sent them to keep them hidden, she had recalled at least six other memories of being with him. There had been a fight against two Hell’s angels on a rooftop overlooking a city, a meeting with another Hell’s angel who had been far more handsome than his predecessors and had seemed familiar to Taylor, a time when she had been high above the world in Marcus’s arms, their flight around the Eiffel Tower, the memory that had just come back to her, and then there was the one that had woken her today.

  It had felt like a nightmare at first and had left her heart beating painfully fast against her chest.

  Marcus had been before her with his silver-blue wings bloodied and torn, and his armour decimated. There had been pain in him and in her heart, a feeling that had ripped her apart from the inside out and still lingered deep in her chest. She hadn’t been able to bear seeing him suffering for her at the hands of a man he had called friend. She hadn’t wanted him to die because of her but she had hesitated, afraid of taking that pain and that death upon herself instead. When the power that had been blasting against him, aimed for her, had started to shred his flesh, she had reacted on instinct and had found the courage to take responsibility and face her destiny.

  She had leapt in front of him, desperate to shield him so he wouldn’t die. She had sacrificed herself.

  Her death had jolted her awake and she had panicked when Marcus hadn’t been there with her and there had been raised voices in the other room.

  She had sat in the middle of the bed, clutching the covers to her chest and struggling with the two sides of her soul. The one that Marcus had loved had returned, bringing with it a flood of emotions that had threatened to render her unconscious. It had been difficult to battle them and find a sense of balance again, to assimilate them and the memories into herself. There were times when she still felt like two people in one body.

  It wasn’t just memories of her life as Amelia that were returning. She had seen things in her slumber that she knew were flickers of her previous life. She had been through this before. The scenario was becoming familiar and a sense of foreboding was growing inside her.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a reason she believed angels were only fit for destruction and were cruel beings.

  “This way,” Lysander said, jolting her back to reality.

  She had almost forgotten where she was. How could she have? She had come to the place that had ordered her death at Apollyon’s hands and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do now. Leaving with Lysander had spared Marcus but it had hurt him, and part of her wanted to go back and change the past. If she could do it again, she would have left without letting him know that she had remembered him. She would have spared him that pain too.

  He had suffered enough because of her. It was time that she took her fate on her own shoulders and bore the weight of it. It was time that she faced Heaven and found out why they had killed her.

  The growing sliver of fear in her heart questioned her every move and sent doubts into her head, threatening to steal what little strength and courage she had found.

  The longer she spent in the white fortress surrounding her, the stronger the sense of foreboding became, until she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had been here before.

  Several times.

  Amelia walked forwards with Lysander and looked around, taking in the hallways that led off the long columned corridor and disappeared into the distance, their ends so far away that they were impossible to see. Opened doors led off those corridors, some of them revealing another hallway. The place was like a maze. She couldn’t keep track when Lysander turned down one hallway and then onto another, and then took her up several flights of white marble steps. They were cold beneath her bare feet.

  She glanced across at her guard. He seemed so out of place in this stark white environment. The brightness of it caused his black armour to seem even darker than it was, and the gold detailing shone so fiercely that it hurt her eyes. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, his blue ones meeting hers only long enough for her to realise that she wasn’t the only one with doubts about why she was here, and then faced forwards again.

  Amelia looked there too.

  They were coming to another junction in the featureless labyrinth of corridors. There were no windows. What did the outside of this fortress look like and where were all the other angels? She hadn’t seen anyone other than the man escorting her. Even the angels who had appeared when he had threatened to fight Apollyon and Marcus were nowhere to be seen.

  She shivered as a blast of cold air chased over her and then paused as she stepped out into another corridor.

  A double row of arches lined the wall opposite her, one set stacked on top of the other, revealing a large pale courtyard. Tall white trees rose up in the middle of it to tower beyond the reach of her vision. The whole image seemed false to her. Trees had green leaves, not silver-white ones that glittered and shone in the golden sunlight flooding the courtyard. The brilliant white trunks of the trees and the grass surrounding their roots twinkled like diamonds as the light filtered through the branches and caught them. It was beautiful, yet the sight of it filled her with sadness and left her with a sense of finality. Why? Lysander tugged on her arm and she continued to walk with him, her gaze fixed on the arches. There were other angels on the opposite side of the courtyard, walking along the corridor on the same level as her. They wore blue armour like Marcus’s. Would they know him if she broke free of Lysander’s grip and crossed the courtyard to them to ask? There were probably thousands of his kind, and the three angels he was closest to were all of a different class to him.

  A mediator, a hunter, a destroyer, and a guardian.

  Why did she know them? It wasn’t only her memories as Amelia that contained them. She had known them in her past life too, was aware they were always there at the start but never there at the end. Did they die? At the end, there was only ever a guardian.

  Marcus.

  A memory glimmered in the corner of her mind, just out of reach, and she struggled with it, wanting to bring it into focus so she could know its contents. A flash of colour and brightness that faded into red as deep as blood filled her vision and she stopped and closed her eyes against it. She couldn’t close her heart to the pain that rushed through her though. It blazed in her chest, burned in her veins, and sent her trembling.

  She knew Marcus.

  Not in this life.

  But in her last one.

  Why?

  Had she met all of them before, in her previous life?

  Lysander tugged on her arm and led her down another corridor and she lost sight of the other angels. She looked back, hoping to catch a glimpse of others, but no one was there. Time lost meaning as she walked with him. She wasn’t sure where they were heading but her feet were freezing now and her legs were tiring, trembling beneath her.

  Amelia searched her mind, trying to see why she felt she knew these corridors and that courtyard, and why she knew Marcus and the others. Her head felt fuzzy and heavy, and every time she tried to focus, her thoughts became tangled. Perhaps she didn’t know them or this place at all. Perhaps she was mixing things up in her mind. It was hard to assimilate two sets of memories and make sense of them.

  She looked ahead at the end of the corridor and a bright room beyond. Her heart started to pound. Her palms sweated. She slowed her steps as a sense of awareness swept through her and Lysander pulled on her arm again. Her foot
steps faltered. Fear crawled through her veins.

  She knew this place.

  Her gaze tracked up the tall thick white columns that rose into the bright heavens above her, disappearing there. Sunlight streamed down onto her, warming her skin, but it was the flush of panic that heated her through.

  This place was familiar.

  It pained her.

  Why?

  She walked forwards, heading towards the wide aisle between the gargantuan columns that speared the dazzling sky.

  Her heart missed a beat and she hesitated again, a sudden wave of fear pinning her feet to the floor. A deep sharp ache throbbed in her chest and a desire to turn back filled her trembling body.

  “Come along,” Lysander said and Amelia shook her head.

  He tugged on her arm but she didn’t move.

  She couldn’t.

  Whatever memories she had of this place, they were full of pain, as though all of her experiences here had been bad.

  She had made a mistake.

  A terrible one.

  She backed away from Lysander, casting a fearful glance around her. She shouldn’t have come here. She should have stayed with Marcus or asked him to come with her. Lysander might have allowed that. She wanted to go back to Marcus.

  “Is something wrong?” Lysander looked genuinely concerned, his blue eyes bright with it.

  “Where are you taking me?” she whispered and swallowed hard, gaze darting around the columns and fear that she wasn’t alone here with him creeping down her spine.

  Others were watching.

  She could feel it.

  “I want to know where we’re going and what’s going to happen to me.” She backed away again when he stepped towards her and shot a glance at the door they had entered through. If she was quick, she might reach it before Lysander could catch her. What then? She couldn’t remember the way back to the entrance and even if she could, she didn’t know how to get back to Earth. Could she fly back there?

  Her shoulder blades itched and the first feathers broke the surface of her skin, growing out of her in a way that turned her stomach. Lysander took another step towards her and her silver wings burst out of her in response. She cried out in pain and clutched her shoulders. Sharp throbbing waves spread over her skin from her shoulder blades but quickly faded.

  “There is no need to panic,” Lysander said in a soothing tone and her gaze darted back to him. He held his hands up, palms facing her, and paused in the same way Marcus had when Einar had been talking to him telepathically. Receiving orders from those watching her? He smiled. “We only need to keep you here for a short while.”

  “Why? Until when?” The door was starting to look like a good option. There was something about this place that made her skin crawl and urged her to escape, that called to her instinct to take flight and get the hell away from it. Why couldn’t she remember what had happened to her here?

  “Until Marcus comes.”

  She stilled and her fear lessened at the sound of that name and the thought that she would see Marcus again.

  “Marcus is coming?” she said, her brow furrowing, and steadied her breathing so her panic began to subside. Maybe she was overreacting and being here without Marcus was causing her fear rather than any memory she might have of the place.

  Lysander nodded. “He will be. We shall get you comfortable and then they will call Marcus to you.”

  Amelia glanced at the door again. The thought that Marcus was coming soothed away some of her fear but not all of it. The unsettled feeling she had whenever she saw the columns stretching into the distance before her wasn’t going away, and neither was the sense that this was a bad place. No matter what she told herself, no matter what she wanted, she couldn’t deny that she had been here before, just as she couldn’t deny that she had known Marcus in her past life.

  Lysander held his hand out to her.

  Amelia hesitated and then stepped forwards.

  There was no turning back now. She had come here of her own free will, out of desire to discover what was happening to her and to spare Marcus more pain.

  Only, Marcus was coming.

  She hadn’t spared him at all.

  Amelia told herself that it was only fear of those watching her and her surroundings that was unsettling her and forced herself to believe it so she could continue on the path she had chosen to walk. She would go with Lysander and await Marcus’s arrival. Once he was here, she would feel safe again, stronger, and they would face Heaven together and uncover the truth behind her existence.

  She could trust Marcus. He would protect her from any danger that lurked in Heaven. He would uphold that promise she had remembered him making.

  Her nerves didn’t fade as she walked along the aisle with Lysander. They steadily grew worse as the sense of danger inside her increased. She kept telling herself that Marcus would come for her soon and she would feel foolish for being so scared when he did. He would find it silly of her not to trust the people who he worked for when she trusted him so much.

  What was silly about not trusting the people who had ordered her death and forced one of their own to kill her?

  Amelia closed her eyes, pulled in another deep breath to calm her nerves, and ignored that question and the memories that threatened to surface in her mind.

  Heaven had killed her and had almost killed Marcus too.

  Her hands shook so she clenched her fingers into tight fists to steady them.

  She couldn’t lie to herself.

  But she could face her fear.

  Amelia tilted her chin up, straightened her spine, and tucked her wings against her back. She walked with her head held high. Her heart beat hard in her chest and blood rushed in her ears. Marcus would be here soon. She just had to hold it together until then and she would be safe.

  Lysander turned right at the end of the long aisle and she followed him down another corridor lined with columns on her right and a wall on her left.

  Bright golden light shone out of the doorways at intervals in the white wall, warming her as it touched her as she passed.

  She glanced inside one of the rooms and froze as cold swept through her from below.

  Amelia stared at the raised white marble altar in the middle of the large bright room and her eyes widened when it was suddenly overflowing with blood, the crimson stark against the clean marble. Her heart stammered and she couldn’t breathe when an angel appeared in front of it, his back to her, silver-blue wings spread so they covered her view of his arms.

  He lowered his hand to his side and her gaze fell with it. The sight of it chilled her down to the marrow and she felt as though her heart would stop. Blood ran down the length of the curved silver blade, dripping from the gleaming tip to the grooved white marble floor under his feet. She panted hard, panic pushing her to the limit, and forced her gaze back up to his head.

  He turned his head to one side but moved at the same time and his large wings concealed his face from her.

  He was so familiar.

  A shiver tripped down her spine and spread over her arms and thighs, reaching right down to her fingertips and toes.

  Lysander tugged on her arm and the vision faded, leaving a clean white room behind. She stared at the altar, unable to shake the terror that had gripped her.

  She was in danger.

  Lysander yanked her arm and she stumbled forwards and into him. He grabbed her other arm and she tried to break free, fear driving her to escape. She stamped on Lysander’s toes, kicked him in the shin with the flat of her foot, and then kneed him hard in the groin. He released her and she turned and ran for the vast columned room. She only made it a few steps before he grabbed her from behind, restraining her arms. With a low growl of frustration, she beat her silver wings, battering him in an attempt to force him to let go of her. His grip tightened until she cried out and he twisted her right arm hard behind her back.

  An older looking sandy-haired angel wearing blue armour like Marcus’s appeared at t
he end of the corridor near the cathedral-like room she had run towards. Two bright curved silver blades hung from his waist. His cold eyes fixed on her.

  Amelia’s gaze darted to the altar in the room to her right, fear rushing through her veins. Her head spun.

  They were going to kill her again.

  She struggled with all her might, kicking and writhing and beating her wings as the older angel approached her, his steps measured and slow, driving fear deep into her heart. Lysander tightened his grip on her arms and she cried out again when her right shoulder almost popped out of its socket. Intense pain swept through her and she sagged forwards for a moment, and then rallied and threw her head back, smacking it into Lysander’s nose. He stumbled backwards with her and she broke free of him. Before she could beat her wings, he had caught her right wrist and twisted it, forcing her to bend forwards to stop her arm from snapping. Her knees gave out and she hit the white marble floor hard, the impact reverberating up her spine.

  Lysander wrapped one arm around both of her wings near her shoulder blades, effectively pinning them, and grabbed a fistful of her silver hair with his free hand. He yanked her head back and she looked up into the cold eyes of the guardian angel.

  He towered over her, his immense power washing through her, keeping her on the ground as much as Lysander was.

  She stared at him. He might be powerful, but his strength was nothing compared with what she had felt in Marcus the other night. Her heart reached out to him. Her only hope. Her guardian angel.

  The older angel smiled slowly and drew one of his curved silver blades.

  Amelia screamed.

  “Marcus!”

  ***