Read Online Angels of War (Angels of War Trilogy Book 1) by Andre Roberts - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Andre Roberts
Ads: Link
back, the air blown from her lungs.
Joan coughed, her lungs burned. A powerful ache throbbed in her head as hot anger flared up within her. She sat up, blinked her eyes, and recovered from the closed fist to the jaw. She scrambled to her feet and readied her gladius as Michael retook his spot at the fifty-yard line.
“Are you going to sulk, or fight,” he said.
Joan bit her bottom lip in concentration. Red heat warmed her face. She jogged forward as Michael remained in the center field with his sword drawn. His blade glinted from the spotlights above the artificial turf.
She told herself not to follow his sword. She needed to remember her tactics. They would save her life. Do not stare into his eyes, she told herself, ignore his hands. Take in his entire body. Even consider his feet weapons. Even his hands could kill.
Joan picked up her speed. Michael held his position. He stood still like a Greek statue. His face serene and his blade held down at his side as she neared him. She cleared the forty-yard line, forty-five, and forty-seven.
She aimed her blade at his ripped golden abs, and wondered if his true abs matched the armor. He slipped to his left. Her blade sliced into air.
Joan spun to her right as Michael danced away from her. She moved in close. He kept a five-foot distance before he lunged forward. He lifted his blade above his head to deliver a downward stroke.
She raised her gladius, countered the blow. He feinted left and jammed his blade towards her ribs. She parried the attack. Metal struck metal to create a high musical note she enjoyed. She escaped his lunge towards her throat and tapped his sword away with her blade.
Joan pursed her lips, amazed at how her body moved light like a feather. She stopped and twirled her blade as Michael zipped forward. She slipped his blow, the bright steel passed inches from her face, so close the wave like ripples within its folded metal danced before her brown eyes.
Michael held the blade to her neck. “You lose, Joan.”
Joan smiled as the archangel allowed his blade to touch the delicate skin just a hair beneath her jugular vein. “Below, Michael.”
The archangel glanced down. Her sword tip sat against his inner thigh. “But that is not a killing blow. Losing your head is.”
Joan grunted as he lowered his sword, and she removed hers.
The archangel nodded. “Good, but now you understand the concept of how we fight?”
Joan lifted her eyebrows. “Yea, don’t loose your head.”
“And to answer your question, yes they are.”
Joan blinked, paused at the archangel’s statement before her face flushed with heat. He smiled at her.
Michael sheathed his weapon and placed a strong hand on her shoulder. He leaned his head forward until his helmet touched hers. “Don’t lose your head.” He clapped her shoulder as his wings spread large and wide upon his back.
Michael stepped away from her and his face became stern. He closed his eyes and inhaled deep, his chest heaved, and a frown crossed his beautiful face. “Their stench is so close.” After those words, he gave his wings a powerful flap. The first push sent him headed for the Georgia Dome’s roof, and the second sent him through the steel and concrete.
Joan turned from the fifty-yard line and jumped into the air. Her wings unfolded and each powerful stroke sent her higher and higher. The artificial turf fell away until she went through the dome and into the rain beaten air.
The dome became an egg below her. Soon the city turned into a maze. With a thought, she changed into her regular clothes. She preferred a more relaxed dress and decided to reserve her armor for battle. Her thoughts trailed to California, to her oath, and those who depended on her.
Again, anger sparked in her. God killed her family. The Creator didn’t search hard enough to find another way to get her attention. For the moment, she pushed the thought aside and headed north, to start her journey and
Joan coughed, her lungs burned. A powerful ache throbbed in her head as hot anger flared up within her. She sat up, blinked her eyes, and recovered from the closed fist to the jaw. She scrambled to her feet and readied her gladius as Michael retook his spot at the fifty-yard line.
“Are you going to sulk, or fight,” he said.
Joan bit her bottom lip in concentration. Red heat warmed her face. She jogged forward as Michael remained in the center field with his sword drawn. His blade glinted from the spotlights above the artificial turf.
She told herself not to follow his sword. She needed to remember her tactics. They would save her life. Do not stare into his eyes, she told herself, ignore his hands. Take in his entire body. Even consider his feet weapons. Even his hands could kill.
Joan picked up her speed. Michael held his position. He stood still like a Greek statue. His face serene and his blade held down at his side as she neared him. She cleared the forty-yard line, forty-five, and forty-seven.
She aimed her blade at his ripped golden abs, and wondered if his true abs matched the armor. He slipped to his left. Her blade sliced into air.
Joan spun to her right as Michael danced away from her. She moved in close. He kept a five-foot distance before he lunged forward. He lifted his blade above his head to deliver a downward stroke.
She raised her gladius, countered the blow. He feinted left and jammed his blade towards her ribs. She parried the attack. Metal struck metal to create a high musical note she enjoyed. She escaped his lunge towards her throat and tapped his sword away with her blade.
Joan pursed her lips, amazed at how her body moved light like a feather. She stopped and twirled her blade as Michael zipped forward. She slipped his blow, the bright steel passed inches from her face, so close the wave like ripples within its folded metal danced before her brown eyes.
Michael held the blade to her neck. “You lose, Joan.”
Joan smiled as the archangel allowed his blade to touch the delicate skin just a hair beneath her jugular vein. “Below, Michael.”
The archangel glanced down. Her sword tip sat against his inner thigh. “But that is not a killing blow. Losing your head is.”
Joan grunted as he lowered his sword, and she removed hers.
The archangel nodded. “Good, but now you understand the concept of how we fight?”
Joan lifted her eyebrows. “Yea, don’t loose your head.”
“And to answer your question, yes they are.”
Joan blinked, paused at the archangel’s statement before her face flushed with heat. He smiled at her.
Michael sheathed his weapon and placed a strong hand on her shoulder. He leaned his head forward until his helmet touched hers. “Don’t lose your head.” He clapped her shoulder as his wings spread large and wide upon his back.
Michael stepped away from her and his face became stern. He closed his eyes and inhaled deep, his chest heaved, and a frown crossed his beautiful face. “Their stench is so close.” After those words, he gave his wings a powerful flap. The first push sent him headed for the Georgia Dome’s roof, and the second sent him through the steel and concrete.
Joan turned from the fifty-yard line and jumped into the air. Her wings unfolded and each powerful stroke sent her higher and higher. The artificial turf fell away until she went through the dome and into the rain beaten air.
The dome became an egg below her. Soon the city turned into a maze. With a thought, she changed into her regular clothes. She preferred a more relaxed dress and decided to reserve her armor for battle. Her thoughts trailed to California, to her oath, and those who depended on her.
Again, anger sparked in her. God killed her family. The Creator didn’t search hard enough to find another way to get her attention. For the moment, she pushed the thought aside and headed north, to start her journey and
Similar Books
