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Chapter Three
I had always imagined the Angels as the good men and women up in the sky when I was younger, before the Rogue Demon Hunter duties became more vicious.
I am the only RDH- there aren't any others.
So, like a fool, I prayed to the Angels for, I dunno, help and protection and stuff.
They ARE real, don't get me wrong.
But the majority are the most annoying sons of bitches you could ever had the disfortune of meeting.
I prayed for help- I got Grace, the runt of the werewolf pack. Not that I'm ungrateful- we're like sisters.
Anyway, I prayed for protection- I got the Warrior Symbol tattooed on my right hand that burnt like a bitch whenever I was near one of the Underworlders, and a Reaper Scythe and Golden Whip.
Funny sense of humour, they have.
So walking down an almost completely abandoned, suspicously long alleyway (empty save for a couple crackheads and scruffy starved animals) a breeze that chilled what was left of my soul flew down the alley, seeming to block out the sun, if only for a second.
Parents tell you not to walk down abandoned streets and alleys, because of rapists and muggers and stuff. They don't faze me. I was REALLY worried about the Angels however, who could pop up whenever and make me look insane.
Don't normal teenagers have troubles with Angels too??
Of course not. Coz then something worse would be going on with me.
Sighing, I felt the shadows curl away in fear, and the warm strength of the golden whip curl around my wrist and up my arm under my jacket sleeve.
It was a pretty jacket too- shame to have to ruin it with Angel Essence.
'What do you want?' I snapped, not daring to turn around, just in case the Angel decided it would come in its true form- and blow my atoms to pieces.
A laugh that danced with beauty and music sounded wrong in this particular scene as the Angel said, 'Cursed ones still allowed to run around like they do I see?'
I shook my head then whirled around suddenly, golden whip cracking. It missed the Angel by inches- not even- but managed to scrap against his wing as he turned out of the way.
If flickered into view, a beautiful feathery mass of light as essence dripped off of it, if only for a second, as the Angel Michael righted himself and hissed.
I couldn't make sense of what happened next, but I was suddenly half-pressed to a dirty wall with a gun to my head.
What happened to all the chivelrous men in the world?
Michael was God's warrior Angel, so he wasn't that high up on the hotness scale.
Considering his image was almost always displayed with a flaming sword, he was built rather brutishly.
Over six feet of hard-packed rolling muscle with dark blue eyes and a shock of brown hair, holding a clumsily made gun to my head, he looked more deranged than usual.
I felt SO sorry for the dude he was possessing.
I sighed. I didn't know the name of the gun, but faraway it would be a crooked and messy miss. But at point-blank, like right now, there was no way I could survive from this.
And I did NOT want to go back to Hell.
'Angel's don't get special treatment anymore, not down here.' I said pleasently, smiling slightly, as if there weren't a gun pointed to my temple.
'And freaks like you do?' He laughed, slightly deranged, but I couldn't judge. We had both been in more battles than we had fingers.
'Apparently so.' I moved slightly, and was greeted with the click of the safety being clicked off.
'Careful there.' I said calmly, even though I felt the exact opposite. 'You could hurt someone with one of those.
'That's the point.' He grunted. 'Now see, I was talking to one of the other Angels, and he asked me to come down here and put a bullet in your brain.
