by Riley London
Brand New Blade
Angel Academy Year One
Riley London
Brand New Blade: Angel Academy Year One
Book 1 in the Angel Academy series
Copyright @ 2019 Riley London
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: Jacqueline Sweet Design
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
Epilogue
“Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.”
Chapter 1
“What are you doing out here at night, little lady?” The man’s voice carried down the dark alleyway. “Are you alone?”
Are you alone?
I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t let him know that I’d already caught onto his twisted game.
The most annoying thing about creeps is that they typically do a good job of not seeming like creeps.
And despite this man’s innocuous questions, he was definitely a goddamn creep.
He’d been following me ever since I’d left the bar, staying far enough behind me that he wouldn’t raise suspicion, but not so far behind me that he would’ve lost me in the streets.
If I hadn’t noticed that he was stalking me, right now might be the time when I’d turn to him and plead for help.
Or at least that’s what he was expecting me to do.
Please, help me! I’m all alone and it’s so dark. Can you help me call a ride?
In that same moment, he’d probably decide to do whatever creepy thing he had on his mind.
A small shiver went down my spine at the thought.
How many women had he done whatever to?
How many of them had made the mistake of trusting a soft, friendly voice in the night?
I crossed my arms against my chest, before I turned back towards the stranger in the alleyway. “You don’t want to do this. Not with me. Not tonight.”
“What are you talking about, little lady?” The man took a step closer to me, and his bright teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “We could all use a little help, sometimes. Here, I’ll even let you use my phone—”
“Back up.” There was no kindness in my reply. “This is your final warning.”
“Oh yeah?” The man laughed, as the kindness bled out of his voice, too. “And what exactly are you gonna’ do about it, bitch? There’s no one out here but you and me.”
His hands went towards my waist, as he forcefully pushed my frame back against a filthy brick wall. He then used his body weight to keep me in place, and I felt a jagged piece of brick dig into the side of my arm.
Ow.
Huh. This guy was stronger than he looked.
Not strong enough, though.
No one ever was.
“So, is this what you do? You follow girls home from the bar?” I asked, as I stared him straight in the eye. “What’s the matter? Can’t get a phone number the old-fashioned way?”
“Fuck you.” He grunted. “And shut the fuck up. Don’t ruin this for me.”
“Oh, no. I’m going to ruin this for you.” I sighed, as I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist. “Watch your head.”
“What—”
I didn’t give him a chance to finish whatever the hell he was going to say to me. I was already in motion, with my fists flying down against the side of his face, into his neck, right on top of his head.
“What the fuck?! What the fuck!” He stumbled backwards, but it didn’t matter. My legs were still wrapped around him, and my punches continued to land.
I didn’t stop. Not even when his blood seeped between my fingers.
Not even when he lay unconscious on the ground.
Starting a fight was always easy, like it came to me naturally.
But stopping? Stopping was always the hardest part.
Stopping took the kind of self-restraint that I could never quite muster up.
It was the reason I'd never lasted too long in any of the homes I’d been placed in, courtesy of the foster care system. Hell, for all I knew, it was the reason my parents had given me up for adoption in the first place.
Maybe they could tell there was a wild rage inside of me, something they’d never be able to control.
Maybe they didn’t want someone, something like me around.
But fighting is what kept me safe. It kept me safe from men with wandering hands. It kept me safe from girls at school who’d try to make fun of me for not having the latest clothes or the newest phone. And most importantly, it kept me safe from ending up as just another poor, lost soul on the city’s streets, because my fighting wasn’t purely physical.
Nope.
It made its way into my very soul, how I carried myself and how I interacted with the world.
I was a fighter, through and through, which is how I ended up with a job as a bartender, despite not having my license yet or even a working knowledge of how to make half of the bar’s menu.
I’d convinced the owner that I’d be a worthwhile hire, someone who could greet the regulars with a genuine smile, but also break a few fingers when a loser tried to run out on their tab.
I hadn’t expected to be followed back to my apartment, and I really hadn’t expected to have to knock a grown man unconscious, but so goes the life of an almost-bartender.
Fuck.
I needed to get away from this creep, and I needed to take a good, long shower.
I finally stopped, wiped my hands against my jeans, and then checked my leather jacket for any dark stains.
All clear.
Good.
The creep was lucky that he hadn’t managed to bleed on my beloved jacket, or he would’ve gone from unconscious to no longer breathing.
I hadn’t killed anyone before, but a creep who’d also fucked up my jacket?
Yeah, that was someone who the world wouldn’t miss.
After making sure my hands were clean, I continued the walk back to my apartment. The dark alleyway was my usual shortcut, and the high-rise would only be a few minutes down the road.
My mind wandered, as I thought about what was left in the fridge.
Remnants from the last time I cooked, which was ages ago. A few eggs. Maybe a little bit of milk. Bottled water. Peanut butter...
Shit.
I was going to go to bed hungry, wasn’t I?
I couldn’t remember if Charlie had decided to make us veggie lasagna tonight or tomorrow afternoon.
His eggplant-infused pasta was to die for, and honestly, Charlie was the only reason I ate a real meal every now and then.
Charlie Collins.
My best friend. My roommate.
I’d found him nearly dead on the side of the road, a few years ago. He didn’t have a heartbeat when I’d checked, but a few moments after that he sat right up and started coughing up blood.
Thank God.
I wouldn’t have known how
to explain coming across a dead body to the cops. Even though I’d had nothing to do with the knife wound in Charlie’s chest, I’m sure the police would’ve wanted to talk to me about it.
And since I’d been homeless at the time, it would’ve been impossible to give them any valid contact information, which would’ve only made me look that much more suspicious.
Soon after the whole finding-Charlie-nearly-dead incident, we started hanging out, one on one. Spending time with Charlie was always the best, because he never judged me and he never once tried to creep on me, either.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I’d been born with blonde hair and bright eyes. Even though I thought I exuded an energy that screamed “not interested”, I’d often found myself on the boring end of men's attempts to flirt with me or buy me a drink or follow me home...
But Charlie wasn’t anything like that. In fact, he seemed to have no interest in me, romantically, at all.
Which was kinda’ weird, because for a minute there, I’d been having daydreams about some pretty cutesy shit, like holding his hand or kissing him underneath a waterfall.
But whatever. It was good that Charlie and I were never going to be a thing. It meant that our friendship really stood a chance, and when I floated the idea of us living together, he hadn’t hesitated to sign the lease.
“Please God, let there be lasagna in the fridge, let there be lasagna in the fridge...” I repeated the phrase underneath my breath, as I continued to make my way home. “Please, please, please—Whoa.”
My words were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a young guy wearing all black.
He looked like he was about my age, and I wondered if he was twenty-one years old, like me.
His hair was a striking shade of red, and I couldn’t tell if it was dyed or natural. His posture took me by surprise, too, because he wasn’t standing like a normal dude.
He was standing like a soldier, with his arms folded behind his back.
And Jesus Christ, his eyes.
What an unreal color of blue.
I shook my head with confusion, as I looked up at the stranger. “Uh, sir? Did you need something from me? Or?”
“Who are you?” He asked, his posture unmoving. “What’s your name?”
“Hmm. No. I don’t think I’m going to tell you that.” I chuckled, after I replied. “Sorry. I’m not big on sharing personal information with complete strangers.”
“Who are you?” He asked again, this time moving closer towards me. “I know that you’re one of us. All I need is a name, and I’ll be able to place you.”
“Place me? One of us?” I was still confused by the conversation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m super hungry and I really don’t have time for this tonight. Just let me go home, guy.”
“I saw your wings.”
“...What?”
“I saw your wings.” He nodded. “Back there, when you, err, knocked that gentleman unconscious—”
“Hey. He was not a gentleman. And I probably should’ve done worse—”
“I’m very glad that you did not do worse. It’s against the commandments.”
“Oh. Are you, like, a religious person?” I asked. “Look, whatever you’re trying to get me to convert to, I can promise you that you’re barking up the wrong tree—”
“You do not have the option of converting to anything besides what you already are.” The stranger laughed, but it sounded like it cut off halfway through. “Please. Stop wasting my time. I’ll go first. My name is Benjamin Nash. I’m a freshman at the academy. Who are you?”
“...Celeste Venoix.” I slowly replied. “And I’m a bartender down at Garry’s Funhouse. Does that answer your riddle? Can I go home now?”
“Celeste Venoix? I’ve never heard of that family name.” Benjamin tilted his head to the side. “But...you are an angel. How is that possible? Were you lost to us?”
“I’m not an angel, Benjamin. I’m just a very tired bartender. Please. Let me go.” I sighed, as I cracked my knuckles. “Don’t make me knock you out, too.”
“There they are again!” Benjamin’s eyes lit up with pure joy. “Your wings! My God. They’re beautiful.”
“Yeah, alright. Let’s get this over with.” I ran towards Benjamin, wanting to get a head start on kicking his ass.
But the last thing I saw was an eerie, glowing object in his hand.
And then, I was out like a light.
Glock.
There was a Glock right beside me, laying on a nearby table.
I squinted my eyes for a better view, as I raised a tentative hand towards it.
Glocks were always on, weren’t they? That was the reason people loved the guns so much?
They didn’t have a safety feature, which made them easy to learn, and even easier to shoot.
I pulled the weapon down towards my frame, until I was able to slide it into my back pocket.
Fuck.
Where the fuck was I?
I twisted my head to the side, taking in the white walls and the even whiter floor.
White. White. White.
Why the hell was everything white?
Was I in some kind of mental hospital?
No.
They probably would’ve strapped me to the...bed?
I looked down at what I’d been lying on top of, and now noticed that it wasn’t a typical bed at all.
It was just a pile of blankets, all scrunched together atop a steel frame.
Oh.
Interesting.
I’d obviously been kidnapped.
But why leave the gun out? Was the person who kidnapped me trying to play a sick game with me, too? They wanted me to try to defend myself, before they blew my head off with a rifle or something?
Fuck. My head felt so fuzzy.
My thoughts felt even fuzzier.
I tried to remember how I got here, but all that came to mind was the creep in the alleyway, and the blood between my fingers.
Wait.
Had he somehow done this shit to me? Had I only imagined that I’d gotten the upper-hand in our fight?
“Your recovery time is slow.” A man’s voice entered the room before he did, and I turned my head towards it.
Benjamin.
I remembered him now.
His blue eyes focused on my face, and there was the hint of a smile at his lips. “You haven’t had any sort of training, have you?”
“Let me go.” I answered, as I rolled away from the “bed” and made my way down towards the floor. “Please. I just want to get home. I don’t want to fight you.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. I want you to fight me.” Benjamin replied.
“...What?”
“I want you to fight me, Celeste Venoix.” Benjamin’s smile was now plain as day. “Come on. Come at me with everything you’ve got.”
“Everything I’ve got, huh?” My hand reached for the gun in my back pocket. “Are you sure about that?”
“Hmm. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Do what?”
“We both know what you’re about to do, Celeste. But I’m warning you, it’s not a worthwhile opening move. I’ve been trained to sustain attacks from manmade weaponry. You should try hand-to-hand combat first—”
A bullet flew through the room and landed right in the middle of Benjamin’s chest.
And I held the gun out in front of me, as I took in a shaky breath.
I hadn't wanted to kill him.
Fuck, I really hadn't wanted to kill him.
But he'd given me no choice.
Why hadn't he given me a choice?
I held onto my position, the gun still in place, as I waited for Benjamin to go down.
There was no way in hell that he could still be standing after a sure shot like that.
And yet, there he stood.
The smile on his face had faded, as he let out a tired sigh. “Predictable. That kind of move will get you killed, Ms. Venoix.
At best, you’ll have earned yourself a few more minutes to survive, but that’s not enough time. It’s never enough time—”
I fired another bullet into Benjamin’s chest.
And then another. And then another.
He groaned with what seemed like annoyance, before he looked back up at me. “Are you done? Are you finished?”
“I think I’ve got a bullet or two left.”
“Stop wasting time.” Benjamin huffed, before he quickly closed the distance between us. He then slapped the gun right out of my grip and gave me an intense stare. “Come on. Where are your wings?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re right. I don’t need a gun to kick your ass.” I nodded at my own words, trying to psych myself up for God-knows-what. “Let’s do this.”
“Let’s do this.” Benjamin repeated my phrase, and only a second or so afterwards, I was hurtling backwards across the fucking room.
I seamlessly slid down the furthest wall, before I landed, roughly, on my side.
What the hell?
Had he just...thrown me?
He didn’t look like he was strong enough to do that, but I guess I’d underestimated him.
I got back on my feet and, without wasting another second, charged at Benjamin’s chest.
I balled my hands into fists before I reached him, and then I landed them against the places I’d shot him, over and over.
I wanted him to feel those gunshot wounds, one way or another.
Benjamin let out a pained grunt, before he grabbed onto my left fist.
And then, he bent my hand back towards me, until I heard a distinct snapping sound.
I screamed, as I fell down to my knees, my now broken wrist radiating with fresh agony.
“Ready to go again?” Benjamin asked, as he stood over my frame.
“You broke my wrist! Fuck you!” I answered him through gritted teeth. “I’ll fucking kill you! I swear I will!”
“Not like that, you won’t.” Benjamin scoffed. “Honestly, you won’t be killing much of anything, demonic or otherwise. Although, I am impressed with your little shoot-first-then-punch trick. That actually hurt. I haven’t been hurt in quite some time.”
