Exodus (Imp Series Book 8) Read Online Free PDF Page B

swords and the burly, six-winged angel I saw through the red haze of blood.
    “Wings, Cockroach. Hit their wings,” he roared. Muscles bunched in his arm as he cleaved angels in half like they were wet napkins.
    And now I had something else that I wanted to do instead of desperately fighting to stay alive. Have sex—with Gregory, specifically. Because seeing him so angry and determined, swinging that sword of his like the end-times had come…well, I was finding it hard to focus on keeping the angel in front of me from taking my head off.
    Had he said something? Wings! They were the most sensitive part of an angel, the section of their physical form where they couldn’t withdraw their spirit self. A hit there would be far worse than the legs and torsos I’d been hacking away at. Of course, it was hard to reach around to the back of an angel who was facing-off against me and cut their wings.
    Which meant I needed to not be facing-off. And I needed to dislodge this sword sticking through my middle as quickly as possible—which meant as painfully as possible.
    There was a huge, waist-high slab of concrete to the left of me, a protrusion of rebar blossoming from it like headless flower stems. Ducking my opponent’s swing, I dove downward onto the concrete, pushing the blade of the sword back through my body.
    Now I had a sword sticking nearly two feet from my back. I jumped up, feeling the weight of it angle the sword downward at the hilt and upward at the tip—driving it right through a whole bunch of muscles and lung tissue that had previously been undamaged. The angel I’d been fighting was frozen mid-swing, staring at me in astonishment. I figured I might as well take advantage of this momentary reprieve and swung sideways, trying to knock the sword out of my body by slamming the hilt against the concrete.
    Everything went white. I staggered, dropping my borrowed sword and groping with my free hand along my back. If only I could reach the fucking thing.
    When my vision cleared, I saw that my opponent now lay in a heap on the floor, a vision of male angelic loveliness standing in his place.
    “Need help with that?” Raphael grinned, and I got the feeling he was finding this whole thing—battle as well as my predicament—vastly amusing.
    “Oh no. I’m fine. Just go on about your business and leave me here with a fucking sword dangling out of my spine.”
    He jumped forward and past me, impaling an angel just as he was beginning to swing. Then he yanked the sword out of my back. I fixed the physical injuries and took a deep breath, still in agony over the damage to my spirit self. I’d suffered worse. I could deal. I could still fight. There would be plenty of time for rest once I got out of this alive.
    “Can I keep it?” Rafi held up the sword coated with my blood, then flipped it around with a flourish. Show off.
    I grabbed the one from the floor that I’d dropped previously. “Have at it. Not like I’ve got three arms.”
    He winked. “You should. That would be totally hot.”
    And then he was off, leaving me with a second to breathe and take in my surroundings. The dust was so thick I could barely make out the groups of angels fighting in front of me. What I could see was Gregory, single-handedly slicing the fucking shit out of six angels. He moved so fast that he was a blur of wings and sword. Every time one tried to break free to come at me, he blocked them, herding the group together where each swing of his blade carved through multiple opponents.
    Yep. Totally hot. But I couldn’t let him have all the fun. With a scream that would have done a banshee proud, I raced toward them, finally in a position to take my angel’s advice and go for the wings. It was like the games we’d played in the forest as demon-children, catching piesars and trying to tear the wings off them. The only difference was this time I had more than claws and teeth, and my opponents weren’t spewing acid into my eyes. I hacked