The Angel's Redemption Ch. 03

Abigail was pretty sure that ever since Mikhail had introduced himself to her friends it had been a dream. The next day, was like every other day. Mikhail greeted her with his usual platonic greeting.

"Good morning princess." He had said, wearing his usual attire of chainmail armour with an indigo tunic, a silver sun was intricately stitched on the material.

Black gauntlets held a long thin sword, called a claymore, with a blood red ruby set in the hilt surrounded by small diamonds and sapphires.

"It is time for training." He commanded, handing her two sai's.

"Don't tell me this is something out of Daredevil." Abigail joked, imitating the leather clad heroine Electra.

"No." Mikhail had firmly.

"This is something more like, how can I stop my greedy cousin from stealing the throne."

...

Abigail sighed deeply as she watched Mikhail and Peter spar. They were in an abandoned warehouse, the windows so thick with dust, sunshine barely penetrated through.

Abigail had no idea what was going on, day by day Mikhail seemed to drift further and further away from her. He no longer came to her in the night, speaking of Krytanian tales, tales of her father and more seductive tales of him.

"Are you paying attention Abby?" Mikhail called as he pushed Peter away; the boy stumbled slightly, but quickly righted himself.

"Yeah, I am you big dumb ass." She whispered. Mikhail's head shot up. Clamping a hand over her mouth she shook her head in denial.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Abigail I hear Hamlet calling to me, and I fear we may have to leave now." Abigail hopped from where she was sitting. Leave. Now.

"My mother." She whispered. Already Mikhail had one hand on her arm, giving her the security she needed.

"She and everyone will never know you existed." The words were harsh but were needed to be said. She supposed she was lucky.

Many people were attached to their parents. Joanna had been a kind mother, but there had always been something missing in her hugs and kisses.

"I'm ready." Abigail said. Holding on tightly to Mikhail.

...

It was like being away from home. Although this was not his home, he felt nostalgic upon entering Kryta.

His wings beat the air softly, making his landing as gentle as possible. Abigail clung to him, as if in fear he would be taken away from her.

"Relax cherub." He whispered into her hair. Her grip loosened and he felt slight bereft as she turned away from him. But it was as it should be; he could not take any chances of her growing attached to him.

As soon as her place on the throne was secured, he would return home to Soledad. Abigail couldn't believe her eyes. It was like walking through sixteenth century Britain.

Tudor houses lined the large street as Mikhail led the way. The women wore long skirts of blue, green, purple and low cut tops that seemed to cling to their very skin. The men looked like dashing rogues, in linen breeches and loose, laced shirts.

"Pick your jaw from the ground, we want to fit in." Mikhail hissed. Abigail laughed, as soon as every one saw Mikhail with his odd coloured wings, they would step back and gasp or cross themselves.

"Lucy get back here!" Shouted a small voice. A grey puppy ran past them with a red haired girl behind it. The girl did not notice the slippery mud and fell before Mikhail. Her knee scraped against a stone and she gave out a small cry.

"Shh, little one." Mikhail whispered. His palms warmed and a soft glow appeared, as the rough lines knitted intricately back together, his fingers ran over the red, angry skin and the colour soon returned to its natural colour.

Abigail smiled to herself. As much as he pissed her off, he was very good with children. A tired looking women burst from the crowd her eyes roved over him with disgust.

"Serpent! Demon, stay away from my child." The crowd jeered, and youngsters began to pelt Mikhail with rotten vegetables.

"Stop it!" Abigail yelled, but they paid her no heed, Abigail made her way to Mikhail, but was stopped with the raise of his hands.

"Little cousin, what trouble have you brought?" The crowed gasped, and began scurrying away, their heads bowed in reverence or fear. Abigail looked to where the voice had come from.

The woman sat upon a black horse, her hair long and golden cascading down her back. She wore a simple white shirt, draped in an emerald cloak and dark green shapely breeches.

Abigail had never seen such a beautiful woman in her life, and she felt slightly embarrassed at the torn jeans and worn sweater she was wearing.

The woman looked down at her and she could have sworn she saw a flicker of hatred in her violet eyes before a serene calmness over took her.

"You have taken well of Marie." Mikhail ran a loving hand down the horse's forehead, and chuckled as she nuzzled his hand.

"Of course, she belongs to you." There was an obvious hidden message, and Abigail could see Mikhail tense.

"Jibril..." Mikhail sighed.

"Let us not spoil this reunion, with harsh words my love. Come." She motioned to the bay horse tied to the black mare.

Peter had already mounted the horse; Mikhail took hold of Abigail, and with surprising ease placed her on the back of the horse. Abigail could see his jaw tighten as he allowed the woman to pull him onto the horse.

With a click of the tongue they began their journey to the castle.

...

"This milady is your room." Abigail smiled at the stout man, he was everything Mikhail had said he would be.

Her lids blinked rapidly as he opened the curtain, daylight flooded the large room and Abigail gasped at the beauty of it.

A large canopy bed dominated the room, yet there was enough space for her bedroom and living room to fit within. And her home had been on the excessively large side.

"These are clothes new and old, some belonging to your grandmother and your father's sister." Abigail fingered the beautiful gowns. Some in colours she never knew could exist, some in the colour of the rainbow.

The material was something she had never felt before, a mixture of silk and cotton.

"The bathing room is through here." Hamlet's muffled voice called. Abigail pulled a deep purple gown from the wardrobe, and placed it upon the bed.

Expecting to see a pewter tub of some sort, Abigail was surprised to a small pool in the room, trees reached for the roof, and somewhere she could hear the calling of birds. The floor was made of a synthetic material, which resembled grass.

"We aren't even on earth are we?" Abigail sighed dipping her fingers in the pool.

"Just another plane milady." Hamlet began to rummage around in a dresser cleverly disguised as a tree trunk. He handed her portrait, it was the castle and many people stood before it, in all manners of dress.

But what surprised her was not that some people where dressed in modern day clothing, but the fact that some of those dressed in expensive upper class clothing where black.

"I don't understand."

"Your father told me the prejudices in your world. In Albion and absolutely Kryta, no-one is judged by the colour of their skin. "Your father's great-grandmother was black. Some people from your world have found ways to live here, here you are free of many things."

Abigail brushed the tears from her eyes, and felt a weight lift from her chest. Since their arrival she had wondered whether the people of Kryta where as prejudice of those, from their time in her world, would they hate her or treat her badly because her mother was coloured?

Tears of relief coursed down her cheeks as she clutched the portrait.

...

Mikhail stood stiffly in the dining hall as Jibril poured them a drink. His cousin had long since unbuttoned his shirt leaving an expanse of muscled flesh. For Mikhail's benefit.

"Come now, my love. Relax." Mikhail took the drink from Jibril and downed it in one go. Jibril was unerringly cheerful for some one about to be usurped. But Jibril was odd that way.

"Please Mikhail; you know I can't bear it when you are angry at me, what have I now done to cause your anger?" Jibril smiled shyly. Mikhail shook his head, easing Jibril's fears.

"I am not angry at you Jibril, but you realise why I brought Abigail here. Your reign is over. This is your home, but you cannot be ruler." Mikhail saw a little of the colour fade from Jibril's eyes, but it was soon covered by his large grin.

Jibril launched himself into Mikhail's arms inhaling his scent as if these were his last muments on earth. Mikhail remained rigid only for a second before enveloping Jibril into his arms.

"I have missed you Mikhail." He ran his tongue along his throat to the corner of his lips. Tentatively he kissed his lips gently. Allowing Mikhail lips to open slightly. Jibril took the chance to invade his mouth. Jibril sought out the sweetness of Mikhail's hot orifice, his hands trailed to the firmness of his butt.

Mikhail knew it was wrong to tease Jibril like this, to give him such hope. But like Albion, Jibril was also part of home to him. He would never mate with Jibril; it was not unheard of, he knew a few male angels who had male partners.

But Mikhail loved his cousin as a cousin. Maybe if he and Abigail had never met, then Jibril would be his. But it could not be for his heart was not with Jibril. Jibril felt the rigidness return to Mikhail's body and pulled away. Mikhail tightened his grip around Jibril and with a sigh laid his head upon his.

"It just cannot be Jibril, I love another." Mikhail pressed a soft kiss upon his head. Jibril knew this, how could he not. He saw the fire that burned in Mikhail's eyes when they arrived at Kryta castle as they gazed upon the caramel skinned girl, with long unruly black hair.

He had seen the chain that held Mikhail's two primary wings. His own flinched with the pain it must have caused him, clipping them. Jibril ran a hand down Mikhail's cheek tracing the three scars, placing soft kisses upon his cheeks and lids.

"I understand my sweet, I also understand that she is my uncle's child." Jibril took Mikhail's hand away from his waist and walked to the large window that over looked the city. He had not been a very good ruler, and he was fine with that.

It was never his intention to be king. But at least he was still allowed to live in his mother's home. Mikhail sighed with relief; he had thought that Mikhail would have been angry with the news. But he seemed to be taking it fine.

As the sun set, it cast a low glow in the room, and Jibril looked even more beautiful. It was amazing. But his heart did not pound in the way it would if Abigail where to walk into the room.

"But what I do not understand, is how you can promise yourself to the human, when you have no intention to stay in Albion." A sinister smirk flittered over Jibril's mouth.

A look Mikhail had hoped he would not see in a long while.

"She has her own kingdom, my love. She cannot leave hers and you can not leave yours"

Jibril smiled as Mikhail winced, the truth hurt, but it had to be addressed. Mikhail walked to the over stuffed chaise lounge and ran a tired hand through his hair, unleashing his long hair from his braid.

Jibril could hardly breath; Mikhail was so beautiful it ached not being able to touch him, to have him, love him, but contend with only kisses.

"There is no hope for you my sweet." Jibril purred. Sitting upon Mikhail, his head resting on his broad shoulders. Mikhail held onto Jibril as the tears fell.

He was an evil bastard. How could he give Abigail, give himself the belief of a future together? But now that the binding chain had been put upon her neck, no force on earth could remove.

"I did not think Jibril. I want her, I love her, yet I did not really think about the laws of the land. I forget that in Kryta that once she is married her husband must be ruler with her. I forgot about Soledad. When I am with her I forget everything."

"Then there is only one way this can be absolved. My love." Jibril began raining light kisses onto Mikhail's face.

"No, Jibril." Mikhail hissed as the angel began trailing soft fingers to the fly of his trousers.

"Not that my love, never that." Jibril whispered pulling his hand back and wrapping his hand in Mikhail's hair.

He looked over Mikhail's shoulder and noticed that the door was slightly ajar. The girl, Abigail gasped softly as their eyes met, hastily she ran down the hall. Mikhail sat up slightly, straining to hear.

"Nothing my love. There was nothing there, now to my plan. All you have to do is make her fall out of love with you." Jibril could see Mikhail's brain at work, and although the excitement he had seen in his eyes began to fade as he told him of his plan, he seemed alert and determined.

As Mikhail kissed him goodnight, Jibril couldn't help but open his bedroom window, he jumped onto the railing of the balcony and launched into the sky. A grin on his face. If he couldn't have Mikhail's love nor could she.