Page 37 of Wings of Lies
“A military ranking. Pretty high up there,” he shrugged like it was no big deal that Oliver went up against a Power who had control over three elements and ranked high in their military.
“How’d we survive?” What tale could Oliver even tell that I’d believe?
He ignored me, focus glued on the fire. “Virtues are the last level. They are also part of their military but do more healing than fighting. Not that they can’t. I’m pretty sure every level of angel is trained to fight. They are the most level-headed and friendly. Not that that’ssaying much. For some reason, all pure-blooded angels act like they have a stick shoved up their asses, unlike us, the Nephilim half-breeds who are above the disgraced Fallen and other manner of supernatural creatures. And that wraps up the short overview of the angels.”
“How, Oliver?”
“My powers, Lucille.”
He hardly ever used my full name. And never in such a severe tone. Whatever he did, whatever powers he used, he didn’t want to talk about it. We were safe, and I was pressing too much. I needed to let it go for now.
“Yourpowers have aspects of an Archangels. Even your healing is accelerated. That blast that incinerated the thick tree should’ve knocked you out after all you’ve been through. A Nephilim would’ve passed out or died.” He stared at me, fire flickering from the emerald depths of his eyes.
“So, you’re convinced I’m potentially a stone-cold killer with a stick shoved up my ass?”
He snorted, breaking his moment of seriousness. “I’m saying your memory isn’t reliable; you almost killed me twice now, at times have murdery eyes, have Glory, which only Archangels have, have accelerated healing— more so than a Nephilim—and can potentially have a mother that isn’t blood-related. That’s what I’m saying.”
Was I an Archangel?But I didn’t blip into existence. I was born and raised by my mom, not a ruthless Archangel. If that were the case, then I would’ve been able to protect her. Oliver said angels were all trained in their military. If I were one of them, I would’ve never cowered behind a corner, hesitating to protect the only person I loved.
Oliver, noticing my internal battle and wrongly assuming my thoughts, said, “Blood doesn’t matter when it comes to love.”
“I know.”
He gave me a weak smile, then stared into the fire. “I had—Ihavea sister who isn’t blood-related to me. Not with her inky dark hair and olive skin.”
Entranced by learning something personal about him, I listened to his soft words.
“I remember when my mom brought her home. She was so tiny and cried way too much. But sometimes, my mom let me hold her, and she’d stop crying. She’d look up at me with her dark eyes and stare. Only with me, though. She didn’t talk to my mom at first, and I was too young to ask why or where she came from. I just remembered liking that I was no longer an only child, and she liked me more.” An inner light lit Oliver’s face. Not joking, not moody, not the mischievous smirk he frequently wore, but a genuine smile. It was the first one I’d ever seen grace his face.
“What was her name?” I asked.
“Melanie. But I called her Lainy.”
“Called?”
His smile dropped as he rubbed his scar. “Marcus took her a long time ago.”
“Why? Where’d he take her?” But I had a sneaking suspicion that I knew where. “You think she’s in Elora, in the Tenebrous Kingdom?”
I knew nothing of Elora, but Oliver associated Marcus with that kingdom. A lackey, he said, meaning someone worse was above Marcus pulling the strings.But if Marcus kidnapped angels for his sovereign, why was I caged on Earth and Oliver’s sister taken to Marcus’s kingdom? Unless kidnapping, and drugging to the point of uselessness was the first step before he handed me over to his sovereign in Elora.
“You’re sure she’s there?”
“I know she is.” He kicked at the fire again, then abruptly chucked his plate and barely eaten food into it.
I swallowed. “How?”
He glanced at me—his expression filled with guilt, anger, and glassy pain. “My mom kept us sheltered on Earth. She never liked to talk about my father, only telling us the bare minimum of what we were. Maybe she would’ve explained more when we were older, but she never got the chance.” He turned away, not elaborating. “I grew up in foster care, such a joyful experience. Instead of picking fights like any normal, abandoned kid would, I dove headfirst into research about angels and Elora. They thought I was crazy. When I was old enough, I figured out how to travel to thisdifferentworld, but I still never found her. It wasn’t until I became desperate enough that I made an associate.” He dropped his head, rubbing his wrist. “Afteryearsof me floundering, they helped locate her,” he said, voice cracking. “Years,only to learn that my sister was being kept in an impenetrable kingdom.”
I poked at my bones and the little bits of meat I no longer had the stomach for. “Do you think he took my mom there?”
Oliver jerked to look at me. “That’s why you want to go to Elora. Not just for answers, but for your mom.”
I nodded. We acknowledged each other, connecting on a shared understanding of want and pain. Then, something flashed in his eyes as he turned away.
Compassion? Guilt?I couldn’t tell.
“It’s possible. He had you. But not knowing what or who your mom is, I don’t know why he’d take her.”
