Airel - Aaron Patterson [111]
Then Kreios issued his first order: “Demons first. The strength of the men will then fail and their desire to fight will crumble.” The thought rang out in the minds of the angelic army, and the earth beneath them began to shake as the Sons of God assembled themselves in battle formation. “You will join the battle in waves so that we can minimize the drain of the horde. Half of you will take to the air with your Shadowers while the other half engages the enemy in combat with theirs. Keep your distance until my signal. I will lead the attack. Yamanu, you will lead the angelic host in the air. When the time is right—we merge and destroy the horde.”
“What about the Sword?” Yamanu queried Kreios privately. Everyone within a small radius of the sword would not lose strength. “Thirteen of the best fighters will stay with me throughout the battle. That many will stay strong if they stay close to the Sword.” The thirteen angels, singled out and now assembled, agreed to fight at Kreios’s side to the death. He was deeply touched by their willingness to sacrifice themselves. He knew that this was about more than Eriel, or even he and the Sword. These few men knew that. He wished he could grasp the hands of the angels in his little army to show his gratitude—but he could not.
Yamanu turned to Kreios and they embraced like warriors. A billowing mass of fog appeared, obscuring the angelic army. Kreios unsheathed the mighty Sword.
Chapter XIII
Somewhere in the Mountains of Idaho, Present day
I opened my eyes, though I didn’t want to. Nothing this day could hold appealed to me. Kale and I left at 4 in the morning and I passed out in the front seat. Crying was hard work, and my eyes felt crusty and swollen.
My head hurt so badly it felt like someone had used it as a drum, pounding on it all night. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I looked over at Kale. He turned and gave me a sort of half smile.
“You were talking in your sleep.”
I groaned and pulled the visor down and gasped at my reflection. In most cases, after a night of crying and sleeping in a car I would be a hot mess. I was not, in fact, I looked fine—good, even. I ran my hands through my hair and sighed. “Sorry. I hope I didn’t say anything embarrassing.”
“No.”
I tried to block the memory of Michael standing in the kitchen. He had turned toward me, looked me in the eyes and lied, straight-faced. To think that I almost kissed him. I had wanted to kiss him. Even now, I still wanted simply to be with him—that was the worst part—I still loved him. How could he have done this to me? And how could I still love him?
“You okay?” Kale asked. He was looking at me with a concerned expression on his face.
“Yeah. Just having flashbacks.” I wiped a tear that had slipped past my defenses and smiled as best I could. I wasn’t okay; not even close. I wanted to run and curl up to die alone. But I might not die. I might have to live for thousands of years. It felt like I stood before the yawning chasm of eternity, and it was fast filling up with misery. A change of subject: “How long was I out?”
“About an hour. We’re still two hours out. I did some digging and found out that Stanley Alexander is a defense attorney. He’s widowed; his wife died of cancer, according to her medical records.”
“How did you get all this information?”
“I have a source.” He let a smirk cross half his face.
“A source?” It was clear that he was not going to let me in on this secret.
“I think I know where he will be. He has two homes. One of them he rents out, but it’s been vacant