Dark flight - Lore of the angelic book 1

Cage of iron

John

My back slams into the roughhewn stone wall of the ouroboros cell. it's tight, too tight for the three of us to sit next to each other comfortably, but I am determined not to despair. These bastards will not break me. And I won't let them break my friends either.

The guard locks the door to our cell, and I watch closely as he leaves our chamber- but he does not hook the ring to his belt. Like he is carrying it somewhere to be hung up and placing it on his belt would just be a bother. My eyes narrow, but there's a sharp bend in the hallway beyond our chamber, so I lose sight of him.

I sigh, and carefully shuffle an unconscious werewolf aside to sit down. I can see Ophelia across the way from me, with her long legs drawn up to her chest. she isn't crying, just staring at the wall, devoid of all emotions.

Persephone on the other hand is bawling and throwing herself against the bars on her cell.
"DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM!"
She cried.
"THE COUNCIL WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THIS! oh..."

She sinks to the hay strewn floor and sobs quietly into her flowy skirts.
"I can't be a prisoner, I just can't..."

As distasteful as I find her personality and demeanour, I cannot afford to be picky about my comrades now.
"Persephone, Ophelia."
I call out to the women, and both stand, looking at me expectantly.
"Have hope. if we work together, we can find a way out of this. But I have to trust you, so let us strike a deal."

Ophelia clenches her jaw, and nods.
"We are listening."
I take a deep breath.
"We escape here, and we go our separate ways. you give us a tenday to get back on track before continuing your pursuit, alright?"

The cage bars are just far enough apart for me to fit my wrist through, so a handshake is not in the cards for us, but Ophelia confirms verbally.
"I swear it on my sire's blood."

I sink back to the ground and bury my hands in Nazeem's soft white fur. If I can just find a way to get at the key ring... Well, first I will have to figure out where they keep the damned thing. But we have a Vampire, a seer, a werewolf, and two angels... that's a small rogues gallery of magical creatures.

The door at the end of the hall is shoved open and slams into the stone wall with an ear shattering crack that reverberates around the small, circular chamber. Heavy steps approach, heavy iron soled boots on stone. A huntress of the grey elves. One of us is going to suffer tonight, and if I have any say in it, it will be me.

I have seen a handful of the generals of the Luthril in my many years, but the woman that steps into the dim blue light elevating the chamber is terrifying. Her thick blonde hair lays braided over her shoulder, her skin is pale, almost translucent, and her eyes are as dark as coal, with the only light inside them, being the smouldering of a long-extinguished flame, keeping an iron rod hot enough to use for interrogation. Her armour fit her immaculately, and when she opened her mouth to speak, her teeth were needle sharp.

"Bring me the Angel."
I brace myself as the guards grab me in a tight lock, about to shackle my wrists.
"no... not the fallen. bring me the twink. He'll wake up in time..."

I throw myself against the guards.
"Don't touch him."
I threaten, despite the pain of the men gripping into my flesh.
"Don't touch Michael or I will kill you."

She calls my bluff.
"Put the fallen to sleep, bring me the one I asked for. This one is feisty, he will be harder to break so I am saving him for last."
Mournfully, I can't stop them from knocking me over the head with the back of a sword and pressing a rag to my face. I struggle, but my world grows dark regardless, even as I taste my assailant's blood in my mouth.