The Swords of an Angel: The Guardian's Fall Chronicles Read online

  The Swords of an Angel

  The Guardian’s Fall Chronicles

  Book1

  Urania Sarri

  THE SWORDS OF AN ANGEL

  Copyright © 2017 by Urania Sarri.All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  http://www.uraniasarri.com

  Book and Cover design by MaeIDesign & Photography www.maeidesign.com

  ISBN: 1973900416

  First Edition: August 2017

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  CHAPTER ONE

  The Wrong Side of The Wall.

  There is no need to worry, Madison. Your training will resume according to schedule. This is just a slight change.”

  The broad, reassuring smile highlighting the finality in Jake’s words distracted me, but only for a second. And that was all it took; when I opened my mouth to protest, Jake was already handing me the printed training schedule.

  “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” I asked instead.

  Jake pursed his lips, his eyes desperately scanning the gym lobby for an escape.

  “To be honest, no. Jerome is the only available trainer at the moment.” His hand landed heavily on my shoulder. “You’ll be fine. As I said, just a slight change.”

  I silently cursed once more my former personal trainer, Matt, who seemed to have vanished for five days without giving anyone a heads up -me included. I had run out of any possible -and ridiculously absurd- excuses to put forward to Jake, the guy who ran the Academy gym, to avoid Matt’s substitute. That piece of paper was in fact, my defeat.

  Jake’s attention was now drawn to the treadmill section.

  “HEY, STEVE! ELEVATION IS NO GOOD FOR YOUR KNEE INJURY!” he shouted.

  “Look,” he glanced at me briefly, “I have to go.”

  “But, Jake…” I struggled for the words that’d make him stop and listen to me.

  My time was up. Jake just gave me a thumbs up before turning away.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Chill out. You’ll be fine,” he said over his shoulder.

  Letting out a heavy sigh that I hoped he could hear, I looked at the piece of paper he’d given me. Did he just say tomorrow? Great! My first session was scheduled for the following morning.

  I made a ball with the piece of paper in my hand and barely managed to resist the urge to throw it away.

  “Slight change. Just a slight change,” I tried to reassure myself when the gym door closed behind me.

  Slight or not, I had never liked change. That may be because I had too many changes in my life, all of them falling into the category of not being controlled by me. And although I would admit that not all changes in my life so far have been for the worse, the day I met Jerome was definitely the best of the worst changes that have ever happened to me. Best, because it’s been my only window to happiness. Worst, because the way it altered both our lives led to a dead end, crashing us into an enormous wall; one that would always keep our happiness on the wrong side.

  They say that the moment you are born is forever carved in the subconscious part of your brain, but it is impossible to recall it, at least under normal circumstances. I, on the other hand, have absolute memory of the day I was born -or rather reborn- in the murky water that flooded the streets of Hopkinsville after the hurricane hit. I have total memory of feeling cold and paralyzed, sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, muddy water. I can still recall my terror when things that must have been sinking along with me crashed into my body, pulling me deeper. I can still remember fighting for my life, struggling for one more breath and, finally, giving up. Until, all of a sudden, I was summoned back to life. That summon made me strong enough to kick hard whatever was drawing me deeper and try to surface. I still remember the feeling; the need for just one breath; the strong hands that pulled me up, and then …. nothing. All the memories from my life till then sank in the flood, and I surfaced a new person. Madison StClaire, a.k.a. the amnesia girl was born that day. Past-free. Before that, nobody knows what my name was or where I came from. Unsought. That’s how I’ve always thought of myself. Nobody was looking for me. Nobody was missing me. A human Lost and Found item that nobody needed.

  Two months later, the Sisters of St. Claire’s Convent practically adopted me after they had tried all possible means to locate my family. In the years I stayed at the Girls’ Shelter the nuns ran, nobody looked for me; the outcome of the investigation on my past was that my family was part of the statistics; two more digits to the number of the hurricane victims. It didn’t help that I could not remember my surname. Because I knew I had a first name. It was carved on a silver bracelet they found around my wrist. As for my surname, the Sisters gave me one.

  The Sisters of St. Claire’s Convent took care of orphan girls from all around the country, but I was the only girl in the Shelter who had suffered the hurricane nightmare. That, however, didn’t make me any different from the others; each one of us had gone through our own tragedy. It was at the Shelter that I met Megan and Blue. The two girls became my friends from the very first moment I met them. Even more, they became my only family. Sister Merentith, the closest to a mother figure for the three of us, used to say that we matched like a three-piece-puzzle. And so we should. We all knew loss. And grief. In that stark building, we were able to feel almost like little girls with normal lives just because we had each other; there was a feeling of strength that grew among us as and although we never talked about it I am certain that all three of us could feel it.

  When we turned eighteen, the Sisters decided that Brassington Academy was the best way to proceed with our studies. The Academy was a non-profit institution founded by the family of Sir Conrad Darnell Brassington, the Convent benefactor. So, we left the Shelter forever, and the Academy became our home for the following two years. The Sisters’ farewell gift to me had been a generous amount in my account in Brassington Bank. Having Martial Arts as an obligatory course of my foundation year was the only pitfall in the Sisters’ contribution to my future.

  And this is how I found myself in the boxing ring, fighting my new coach -the guy I had struggled to avoid.

  Jerome.

  That first session with him was absolute torture. As if weight lifting and rope jumping had not been enough, Jerome took me to the exercise mat.

  “Now show me what you’re capable of,” he said, arching a brow at my flustered face.

  I only nodded and joined him on the mat, already aware of my incoming mortification. I had worked hard to build the image of the constantly sulky girl who had no time for jokes. It had been easier to establish those barriers around me this way. I just had to let people know that I didn’t care ab
out anything else but getting on with my studies and achieving the grades that would get me a scholarship to the military school. That was the plan. To become a joke myself? Definitely no part of it.

  Hard as it was, I made another effort to concentrate on the fight. Had it been my regular trainer I was fighting against, I’d have no distraction issues that made me forget any self-defense techniques I’d taken a painful couple of months to acquire. As if that wasn’t enough, I couldn’t help thinking that there had to be some kind of a plot against me that morning; Jake was probably avoiding me because he was out of sight when I arrived and Jerome -the sulky, dark semi-god version of a trainer- showed up instead, determined to take over my training with just a nod of his head and two simple words.

  “Come on.”

  Thinking that any other option besides trying to get along with Jerome would make me seem even more immature, I followed him to a warm-up session that didn’t seem necessary to me; I had been too warmed up from the very first minute he stood close to me or watched me run on the treadmill. When I eventually spotted Jake standing by the vintage pinball machine in the lobby a few minutes later, I thought about asking once again if Matt was back. Yet, I dismissed the thought the moment I caught a glimpse of Jake’s and his friends’ grins as they cast side looks at Jerome and me. It seemed that my inconvenience had become a joke among the muscular trainers. And the worst part? The whole thing had been my own mistake. I’d made a big issue of it. So, what if the most detached, mysterious, stunning guy became my trainer?

  I have to admit that I could not tell what made me dislike Jerome so much. I’d never exchanged a word with him during the couple of months I hung around at the gym, following my obligatory fitness program. Lack of verbal communication, however, didn’t mean that there was no communication between us at all; not if the annoying, weird prickling on the back of my neck that always came with Jerome’s scrutiny every time we worked out in the same section of the gym counts as a way of communication, or the way my heart stuttered whenever his dark eyes accidentally met mine. Thankfully, this didn’t happen very often as the charmingly aloof hottie was always upstage, indifferent to the female students of the Academy who struggled for his attention. So, there it was; I avoided him because I didn’t like that he made me apprehensive and uncomfortable whenever he was around.

  Well, that was only part of what made me feel awkward, lose my focus first and then my balance on the exercising mat, as Jerome tried to test my reflexes in a hypothetical attack. The thing was this guy was too attractive in his black judo pants and matching vest to have him train you. Besides, self-defense involved too much of physical contact and... closeness. It didn’t help that I had left too much of my skin exposed with my white gym shorts and pink athletic tank-top. Darn heat!

  And here I was now, all flustered and glowering, fighting Mr. Six-Pack, aware of the fact that his friends were only pretending to be interested in the vintage pinball machine while they were, in fact, eyeing Jerome and me among whispers and chuckles. Great! More distraction was not exactly what I needed, not since the thought that I could play pinball on those killer abs had occurred to me. Ugh! I shook my head to get rid of the incongruous images that made me lose focus. With my flexible body, I had always been capable of confusing my opponent in order to strike. And I could strike hard; amazingly hard for my slim figure, as Matt used to say. Now my muscles refused to flex, and I melted away every time Jerome exerted the slightest pressure on me, my thought flying to how much I’d like to set free his shoulder-length, silky black curls that were pulled back in a ponytail, or what the strange tattoo on his forearm stood for.

  Almost kneeling in front of him after a blow, I took my time to stand up. I felt tingles spread on my arms when Jerome grabbed them to pull me up.

  “You keep losing your balance. Bend your knees!” he barked at me.

  I took a defensive pose; well, I tried.

  Jerome lifted a hand to stop me. “No. I want you to attack me this time. Show me some kicks and punches.”

  I made no effort to impress him, but I hoped I would be better at attacking him than defending myself against him. Of course, Jerome blocked all my blows with anticipated easiness.

  “Now that’s something you don’t see every day!” I heard Jake behind me and lost my focus as I clumsily attacked Jerome’s chest with a blow. He took advantage of my distraction and grabbed my arm to swirl me around, making me turn my back to him. I tried to elbow his ribs and kick his knee at the same time, but my feet did not seem to be in the right place. I lost my balance, pulling him over me as I fell to the mat with a thud.

  I was hyperventilating under his weight, but I made no real effort to move. His dark eyes fazed me, and I lay underneath him, utterly dazed as his perfect face was excruciatingly close to mine.

  Jerome looked pissed. “Never. Lose. Focus.” I took in the warm, chocolate breath that hit my face as he talked.

  “Am I really seeing this? Has Madison made our mighty Jerome fall?” I heard Jake among chuckles and cheering somewhere behind me and I knew I had to move.

  “Madison?” Jerome asked, locking his eyes with mine, ignoring the teasing of his friends.

  “Yes?”

  “You can let go of my vest now.”

  It took me a second, but my eyes widened as the words sank in. My fingers were gripping his vest; it probably happened as I fell and tried to get hold of something to support myself.

  “Oh! Sorry,” I mumbled.

  I released him, and Jerome came to his feet, offering his hand to help me up.

  “I wouldn’t do that, pal. I think you’ve pissed her off,” Jake kept on teasing.

  Jerome cast his friends a warning look.

  “Don’t pay any attention to them. They are really bored lately. They’d pick on anyone just to make their day.”

  “That’s okay,” I said bashfully, still avoiding looking at the gang behind me.

  “I think that’s enough for now. Some stretching to cool down and we’re done,” Jerome said, grabbing a clean towel from the hanger to throw to me.

  I wiped my chest and the back of my neck noticing he was not sweaty at all. There I was, melting and breathless while he seemed calm and fresh, smelling like a candy shop. My eyes scanned the room for an escape.

  “My friends are on the stretching part too. Mind if I join them?” I said, nodding towards Megan and Blue at the back of the room.

  Jerome turned to where I’d nodded and then back to me. He searched my eyes for a moment before his face turned to the usual aloof expression saying “Sure. No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Relieved, at last, I took my mortification to my friends. They were the only ones allowed within my inflexible barriers and being close to them always calmed me down; made me feel safe.

  I found Blue slowly bending forward, trying to touch her toes with the tips of her fingers.

  “What the heck just happened down there Mads?” Blue asked.

  My hopes that the humiliating incident would have gone unnoticed vanished.

  “I fell. That’s what happened.”

  I could still feel the heat on my cheeks. It didn’t help that Blue exchanged a naughty look with Megan before saying “Too much chemistry between the two of you?”

  I chose to ignore the question. “You know what? I know people who’d call his training method torture. I wish there were a way to get rid of it all,” I complained instead.

  Megan chuckled behind me. “Should I remind you, you’re the one who wants to be G. I. Jane?”

  That used to be the plan, I thought. It seemed so distant now. “I’m not so sure what I want to be anymore. How come from the three of us I’m the only one having to take this Martial Arts course? Why can’t I just join you in the regular fitness program?”

  “Apparently, we don’t need Martial Arts for a career in journalism!” Megan laughed as I lost my balance again, trying to curl my leg backward by pulling my foot to the level of my hip.


  Frustrated by my unparalleled clumsiness that morning, I gave up stretching to take a sip from my water thermos. When I found out it was already empty, I threw it a little harder than I intended. I was aiming for the corner where the girls had stashed their backpacks, but it hit the floor instead.

  Both girls looked at me alarmed. They weren’t the only ones; everyone around us was now staring at me.

  “Geez, Mads! What’s wrong with you today? And why do you have to be so grumpy?” Megan said, trying to keep her voice down.

  I wasn’t just grumpy. I was furious. And the fact that I could not tell why I was behaving like that made things worse.

  “Gym sucks! I wish Matt didn’t have to go,” I mumbled. That was totally childish behavior, I knew it. But I couldn’t stop myself.

  “Do you know how many girls in this room envy you? Matt was hot. But Jerome is scorching!” Blue giggled. “He must have a girlfriend. Guys like him are never available.”

  Megan came to her feet and wiped the sweat off her chest. “If he has, he must be keeping her locked away because nobody has seen her.”

  Blue gestured for a towel. “How do you know?”

  An innocent smile lit up Megan’s face. “I did my research when I heard he was working out with our Mads.”

  At that point, I decided I’d had enough. “That’s it. I’m done here. Are you coming?” I threw my towel at Blue and made for the showers; the girls’ giggling following me until I reached the door to the locker rooms.

  It was then that it first happened.

  I paused and turned with the strange sensation that someone was whispering my name. The instant I turned, my eyes met Jerome’s angry stare. Leaning against the wooden racks on the wall, he kept glaring. I felt my blood boil. I glared back at him when I saw his mouth twist into a wry smile, his gaze shifting to my body and back to my face.