Dragon's Storm (Legion Of Angels #4)(75)

“Is it better to be a slave with wings than a slave on the ground?” the female angel posed.

Before I could ponder the question, the rift flashed, swallowing us in a blanket of silver light.



I drew in a deep breath. Cool air flooded my lungs—cool air that smelled of summer flowers. Soft grass tickled my cheek. I opened my eyes to find I was lying in a sunny field. Roses and sunflowers quivered in the gentle wind. The desert was gone, nothing but a distant memory. Even my lips had lost their dry, cracked texture.

“Where am I?” I wondered aloud.

“At the Sanctuary,” replied a light and breezy voice.

I pushed myself up, surprised when my arms didn’t collapse under me. I felt stronger than I had in a long time. A young, beautiful girl with blonde curls and big, blue eyes sat on a rock beside me, her hands folded primly over her pink flower-pattern dress. She didn’t look older than ten.

“Giselle and Taron brought you here.”

“The angels?”

“Yes.”

“How long have I been here?” I asked.

“Ten days.”

“I’ve been asleep for ten days?”

“Yes. Your injuries were severe. My brother kept you in a sleeping state to speed along your recovery.”

“Your brother?”

“Our healer.”

I fluttered my fingers and toes, testing them. There wasn’t even a flicker of pain, a small miracle considering the near-death state I’d been in before the angels had found me. The healer had done a remarkable job. I was in perfect health. But had Damiel fared as well? And Nero? Had the Legion learned of what we’d done? I had to find them, to make sure they were all right. I turned, looking for anything that resembled an exit.

“You can’t go,” the girl said. “It’s not safe out there.”

“Giselle and Taron left.”

“They’ve passed the test.”

“What test?”

She reached into the picnic basket at her feet and pulled out a gold goblet. It looked a lot like the one the Legion used in their promotion ceremonies.

She giggled. “They got the idea from the Guardians.”

She’d read my mind.

“I’m a telepath.” She set the goblet into my hands. “If you want to leave, you must drink.”

I stared at the thick liquid swirling inside the cup like melted silver. “What will it do?”

“It will balance your magic. The Legion sent you down a narrow path, giving you access to only light magic. That is just a piece of magic. Wouldn’t you like to experience true magic?”

I had to admit the idea was intriguing. “If I pass this test, I can leave this place? I can go find my family?”

“In time,” she replied. “This is just the first test. The road to magical enlightenment is a long one. Those who reach the end may go back to their own world. If they wish.”

“And do they?” I asked. “Ever want to go back?”

She smiled. “No one ever has.”

I stared into the silver liquid. I would pass these Guardians’ tests. I would find my way back to Damiel and Nero. With that decided, I drank from the goblet. The liquid wasn’t as smooth as it appeared. A bitter flavor burned across my tongue. The fire spread out, flashing through my veins like a forest fire. My blood was boiling, my body quaking in agony. Tremors tore through me, sending me to my knees.

The little girl was dancing in front of me, her fluffy pink skirt twirling like a gigantic spinning peony. She spun, the world spun, and I blacked out.



I sat perched on the glowing wall over Purgatory, magic masking my body. If someone were to stare up at my exact spot, they wouldn’t see me. They would see only a shimmer of moonlit mist rising from the wall. Taron was crouched beside me, his blue wings tucked against his back. My ever-vigilant babysitter.

“We’ve been waiting for nearly an hour,” I said. “Nothing is happening down there.”

“Evelina is never wrong.”

Maybe not, but her foresights also didn’t come with a timestamp. We could be sitting here for another hour—or for another week.

A door swung open, and a vampire dressed in leather pants and a silk shirt burst out of the Witch’s Watering Hole. He sprinted down the street, heading for the wall. A woman in a tank top and summer shorts hustled after him, her long braid streaming after her like a comet. Her hair almost seemed to glow in the moonlight.

She was running like her life depended on it—but the vampire was faster. He was already scrambling up the wall. The hunter drew her gun and shot him.

“This isn’t her first time,” I commented as he fell off the wall.

Taron ignored the woman, his eyes following the man who’d just emerged from the shadows. “He’s the one we’re looking for.”

I watched the vampire kick both their asses. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just watch. We need to be sure.”

The Guardians had an uncanny habit of telling you only as much as you needed to accomplish the tasks they set you—and not a tiny snippet more. After nearly two hundred years with them, I still didn’t like it, though I couldn’t find fault with what they were trying to accomplish.

Taron said we were after the man, but I found myself more intrigued by his female companion. Her moves weren’t elegant—in fact, she looked like a street fighter—yet there was a raw beauty in her tenacious spirit. And no one could deny she was resourceful. She fought with anything and everything she could find. I chuckled when she wrapped an old sweater around a rock and slammed it against the vampire’s head.