The Archangel's Daughter (Book 1 of The Angel Chronicles) EDITING PROCESS

Aengelicus (POV)

PHOTO OF AENGELICUS ON THE SIDE >>>

I entered the Sanctuary, holding my injured arm after Aengelle warned me away with lightning a few days back. I walked toward my father’s chambers to have my wound healed and to breathe out and rant. Angels may not have emotions, but by now, I’m sure I was pissed off and am looking for some sort of exhaust, and that was through my father. I left Aengelle and the mortal boy on their way to some sort of facility where I lost all signs of Aengelle’s energy, but then again, her presence is inside, calmed and satisfied.

“Father!” I called out from the hall.

“In here!” was the respond, I looked to where the voice came from and my eyes fell on his the doors of the library.

I knew better than to speak to my father as such, he is, after all, Archangel Gabriel, one of the Princes of Light and trusted being by the Creator. But then again, I knew him well enough; he is far from Father Michael who lives to his name as the leader of the Creator’s army. Father, well, he was… childish. But so was Father Metatron, but Father was just too silly for my taste. But I do deeply respect and care for him, he did gave me a chance to live, even to be the Angel of Death to the young.

I teleported outside the room and stepped inside and saw him reading by the window.

“Aengelicus,” he looks up from his book and saw my wound. A smirk appears on his face, irritating me. “You and Aengelle had another fight?”

I shook my head, “She has been very protective since she moved into that academy for freaks.”

He walked up to me, settling the book on a table and reached for my wound. “Academy for freaks?”

I gritted my teeth as he starts to poke on my wound, I don’t even know if he knows what to do. “The students there possess abilities that no normal mortal has.”

He nodded, still checking on my wound. “And Aengelle is one of these freaks?” he raise a hand over my wound and I felt his energy start to cover it.

I looked up at him, “Of course not! She’s one of us-“

“Who choose to live like a mortal.” He gave me a look, then I felt him let go of my arm, I looked down and flexed my arm, no longer feeling pain. Father picks up his book and sat down, he points to the sofa across him, asking me to seat with him. “So tell me, is a mortal boy the cause of this… irritation?”

You mean aside from her brother and cousin?” I grumbled, as I settle across him, “Yeah, the Flame Master.”

“Is this the same boy he saved?”

“No, that’s his cousin.” Remembering the boy, “She’s very fond of him too, loves to pick on the mortal boy’s lame excuse for a brain. They were the grandsons of Master Czharles of the Red Dragon; The Flame Master being the heir to the throne of the Dragons.”

He raised a brow, “That man was her last target wasn’t it? The one she refused to kill.”

“She’s been acting as a peace maker between that Flame Master and her brother too.”

He tipped his head like he always would when he starts to think. “Well she is an angel.”

“An angel of death!” I shouted, “Angels should have no emotion!”

“And yet here you are consumed by anger and jealousy.” He points out, I was about to argue but he raised his hand, “Besides, whether she is a messenger or a seraph or cherubim, she is nonetheless an angel.”

I shook my head and slumped on the chair. Then father sat up and put down his book on his lap. “Son, Aengelle is a free being. True, you bear the power that weakens her, but once she learns to over come that weakness, you’ll be nothing against her.” He leaned forward. “Now, you want to know why she’s in that academy.” I didn’t move and just stared at him, “From what I’ve heard, it is for security measures. Her family being part of the greatest archeological minds puts her in danger. Some of the people who surround her are studying our history, and somehow they had found a way to track her and probably, us.” He frowned upon saying this, “And though she comes from a powerful family, they find it hard to protect her.”