Lipgloss on your Wings - Branded Angel Novels book 1

Chapter 13

   I lay in bed that night reliving our kiss over and over again, How could I not? I thought as I twisted my quilt around me and hugged my pillow, my eyes shut tight. Every time I did I got butterflies in my tummy and my face felt flushed. The night ended perfectly in my opinion, there was no awkwardness on the car journey home, Jarryd held my hand and still managed to change gear without breaking our touch or squashing my hand on the gear stick.

   When I got home there was no pause or indecision about whether we would kiss again. There was no need, our first kiss didn’t need to be solidified by a parting peck on the lips.

I wasn’t particularly tired but felt dreamy all the same. I opened my eyes once more to see my constellation burning brighter than ever, I always slept with my curtains open now. I must have fallen asleep with a smile still on my face.  

   It started suddenly and I was thrown straight into an affray. All around me decrepit weapons were being thrown and brandished by earthy looking men, they had a look of pure ferociousness on each of their weathered faces, not one of them held a look in their eyes that indicated they were susceptible to reason of any form. It was the main indication between the two sides, the feral look in the men’s eyes we’re polar opposite to the overwhelming sadness and regret lacing the opponents’.

All around me there were dogs barking, villagers screaming as an axe was swung at a dangerous proximity to one of the outsiders torsos.

   I knew they were outsiders somehow and not just by what I was seeing around me. I tried to get my bearings, it seemed we were in the centre of a cluster of wattle and daub and thatch roof barely-houses, there was woodland and fields all around, an almost derelict stone church sat intimidating and unwelcoming down a packed earth pathway.

   I heard a stream nearby although I knew my hearing wasn’t that good, it was like my mind was filling in the details of what my eyes couldn’t see. Smells of animals and dirt, physical feelings like itching, callous skin and grimy dirt caking hands, feet and faces. These were tough times for a peasant, my mind told me.

   I looked again at the fight taking place, I noticed that only the locals had weapons, spears, axes, a crude make-shift mace. Their clothing was basic, dirty, torn. Neutral colours, stiff and uncomfortable looking despite the fact they were well worn. The other men looked cleaner and healthier. The villagers looking on were scared, but they already looked sad. Like something bad had already happened. With that thought I knew there were fresh graves nearby.

   A peasants spear pierced skin, blood was drawn, there was a guttural roar and another, then another coming from each of the outsiders in turn as within a split second of shimmering silver light wings burst forth from their shoulder blades, the angels were pleading with the villagers, warning them in the middle age language I couldn’t understand, but their foreign words made my heart ache.

   The injured angel was knelt before his attacker with one last plea for understanding, the villager pierced him through his neck before he’d finished. The other angels were falling, defeated. Blood flowed as rain started to fall, every rain drop that landed on them induced golden light to emanate from their skin, the rain fell heavier and each body was soon awash with golden light I looked on helpless and horror stricken and saw each angel that was now shirtless, from their wings tearing through the fabric, had a glowing white mark, at the base of their throat.

    I fell to my knees in the damp earth and watched the bodies turn to rain that rose upwards, each golden drop soaring into the blackened sky above.