Dragon's Storm (Legion Of Angels #4)(7)

When you joined the Legion, you joined for life.

“I gathered the shreds of my humanity and wove them around me like a cloak,” she said. “And I’ve worn that cloak of humanity ever since.”

“That’s beautiful. You’re a real poet,” I told her.

“Yeah, well this poet can still kick your ass.”

I knew she could. Two weeks ago, the First Angel had served notice that Nero would not be returning to his post commanding the New York Legion office and all its underlings, myself included. I’d thought my early-morning one-on-one training sessions with Nero would fall to the wayside, but Captain Somerset had taken them over. Though it didn’t hurt as much when she kicked my ass as when Nero had done it, it hurt more than enough.

“How much further?” I asked Captain Somerset, looking up the steep and snowy mountain trail.

The path was hardly wide enough for a person, let alone one of the gigantic off-road vehicles the Legion used to cross the world’s wildernesses. So we’d parked our trucks at the base of the mountain. At the rate the snow was coming down, we might have to dig them out.

“Tired already?” Captain Somerset’s mouth quirked.

“Of course not. I just want to know when to pull out my big, ferocious sword and wave it about in the air.”

“You can do that now if it makes you feel better.”

“Only if you light the blade on fire,” I replied.

“You try.”

I pulled out my sword and stared at the blade. Nothing happened. I stared harder. The sword remained stubbornly mundane.

“Leda,” Captain Somerset said.

“Just another few moments,” I said stubbornly, willing that accursed blade to catch on fire. “I think I’m almost there.”

It was a lie. I wasn’t there. Not even close. I was just too stubborn to admit defeat.

I wasn’t yet a master of elemental magic. It was called Dragon’s Storm, the magic to cast fire, water, earth, and wind. The perfect storm of the four elements. It was a fourth level Legion ability, which meant I was supposed to be working on it. Unfortunately, the elements had proven completely unresponsive to my efforts.

I was trapped. I couldn’t use elemental magic until drinking the Nectar that bestowed the gods’ fourth gift. And without some affinity for elemental magic, I wouldn’t survive that same Nectar. Some people had a natural power over one or more magical abilities. For me, that was Siren’s Song, the power to compel people.

Legion brats, those with an angel parent, could do a little bit of every kind of magic. For that reason, they were the soldiers most likely to survive the Legion’s promotion ceremonies—and to become angels. The rest of us had to train twice as hard for half the results. It sucked and was completely unfair, but such was life. My foster mother Calli had told me often as a kid that life was pitilessly unfair. And that you could either give up and be life’s bitch, or you could grab it by the horns and make it yours. I’d chosen the latter. There was nothing worse than feeling helpless.

“We have to keep going,” Captain Somerset said after a while.

“Right.” I sheathed my sword.

We had a job to do. There was a difference between being determined and being hardheaded. Hardheaded soldiers got themselves—and their comrades—killed. The rogue vampires of House Rune wouldn’t catch themselves while I stood here in silence, glaring at my sword. I could always glare at my sword later.

The trail was thick with snow. It was halfway to my knees by now. Every step felt more like swimming than walking. The vampires hadn’t selected the Wilds by accident. No one was crazy enough to come out here to this frozen, monster-infested wasteland. Not even the Legion sent soldiers out here unless there was a damn good reason. Criminals knew that. That’s why so many of them hid within the dangerous lands beyond the wall. Of course, most criminals hiding in the world’s wildernesses didn’t survive the first month. There were too many hungry monsters hunting for their next snack.

A generous pile of snow dropped into my path. If I hadn’t hopped aside in time, it would have landed on my head.

“I know I can’t set my sword on fire, but you can,” I told Captain Somerset. “We could melt the way to the vampires’ castle.”

“I’m not going to waste magic on that.”

I sighed. The snow was so high it was pouring into my boots.

“Suffering builds character,” Captain Somerset said.

That was easy for her to say. She was several inches taller than I was. The snow hadn’t yet reached the inside of her boots.

“Good one. But let’s not forget ‘what doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger’ and ‘if you can complain, it doesn’t hurt enough’,” I said, reciting some of Nero’s favorite sayings. My relationship with Nero was…complicated. Yeah, that was it. Complicated.

Captain Somerset nodded, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Exactly.”

“I didn’t think you were a disciple of the Nero Windstriker school of thought.”

“I’m not. But with him gone, someone has to whip you into shape.” She shot me a grin that would have sent a shiver down my spine—if I weren’t already frozen solid from the inside out.

“I’m sure Nero wishes he were here trudging through this snow with us,” I said. “He loves torturing himself to build his character. He’d happily push himself to the breaking point, all the while bearing it with angelic demeanor.”