by Mandy Lee
Dark Angels (Book One)
Lucifer
Mandy Lee
Twisted Mirror Press
Copyright © 2020 Amanda Jones
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7751014-0-6
I’d like to say a big “Thank You” to the very special people that helped me get this book off the ground. Frank and Angela – thanks for having the supremely weird conversations that get a writer’s mind ticking. Howie – you read some painful draft versions, thanks for not laughing out loud! Mike - thanks for not letting me give up on getting this out there! I couldn’t have done it without you folks!
In the absence of light, darkness prevails...
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Dark Angels: Lucifer
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Coming Soon...
About The Author
Dark Angels: Lucifer
Dark Angels: Lucifer
Chapter One
Lucifer glanced around the bar from his corner table and sighed. Not much had changed here for the better part of a century. In fact, the establishment had been there far longer. It had changed its’ face and name with the times, but was always accessible as a way station and watering hole for creatures that leaned toward the dark side of existence. The Devil’s Advocate was the only place in the city where demons, shifters, vampires, and the fallen could drop the veneer of humanity.
A series of complex spells kept the entrance to the building hidden from the view of Joe human off the street, but if a mortal did manage to wander in accidentally, all bets were off. The enchantments guaranteeing a state of non-violence within The Advocate’s walls didn’t extend to humans. Located directly above the North American Sheolic conduit, folks had a straight shot home to the Netherworld city of Outer-Sheol at the end of a long day. Inside the colored lighting cast a red glow, making everyone and everything look like they’d been bathed in blood. Cliché, but fitting seeing as there wasn’t a single patron that didn’t have a body count, Luc included.
The band was playing a catchy folk tune from the small stage as conversation flowed with the ale. Luc sighed again, took another long swig of beer, and looked down at his hands, eyeing the dried blood he hadn’t been able to get out from under his fingernails. His stomach hadn’t lurched at the sight of blood on his hands in centuries. Numbness had crept over him gradually, his heart slowly becoming encased in an icy coldness that allowed him to carry out the dark deeds that were asked of him. What was it the humans always called him…right — The Prince of Darkness.
“My ass,” he muttered under his breath. Millennia of the same bullshit and no end in sight. All he’d ever wanted to have some kind of control over his own destiny — free will — to lead a life of his own choosing. He chuckled bitterly to himself. Look how well that had gone. He’d traded one set of shackles for another. He’d been tossed out of the heavens with no second chances, no redemption. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, go straight to your new boss. And boy, was he an asshole!
Luc peered over the rim of his mug at his buddies. They had been among the original angels, created to be princes of the heavens. Azazel, Belial, and Asmodeus were over at the bar spewing vitriol at each other over which hockey team would win the cup this year. Baal and Samael were shooting pool and checking out the new bartender. Gadreel was busy fixing his hair and admiring himself in a mirror at the back of the bar. Luc had never seen anyone so in love with reflective surfaces.
Instead of work hard, play hard, the crew had rebelled hard, fell hard. Now they hung out at The Advocate on a regular basis trading war stories and drinking themselves into oblivion to forget the horrors of the day. Serving Satan really sucked. The guys tried not to get too serious when they were together, but they all felt the darkness, despair, and the constant weight of eternity bearing down on them. Luc closed his eyes for a moment as exhaustion rolled over him. With his defenses down, unbidden images bubbled up to torment him.
Two warring factions. The renegades had followed Lucifer Morningstar into battle; his loyal troops headed up by his six closest friends. They had followed his lead, galvanized by his impassioned speeches about free will and destiny, no longer being shackled to duty. All he’d wanted was the same freedom the humans had been given.
With the light of the sun filtering down upon him, Lucifer had stood in all his glory — his wings spread, his robes white and pristine, a golden glow emanating from his body. They had come together in their desire for freedom, ignorant of the terrible price they would pay for their selfishness.
Battles began, small skirmishes at first that soon escalated into a full-blown war. Angel pitted against angel. Snowy-white wings and robes bathed in blood as the renegades fought for freedom, felling friends and brothers that stood against them. Metatron, the Voice of their creator, had pleaded with the Morningstar to stop his campaign, that it was not too late for him to be forgiven.
But the Morningstar had persisted. As Lucifer stood alone at the end of the war drenched in the blood of his brothers as they lay fallen around him, he had felt a part of his soul crack. He finally saw the awful results of his foolish quest as he gazed out over the field of battle.
Luc sighed and gave his head a shake, trying desperately to will away the horrible images of his fall from grace, wishing he’d known then what he knew now. They had been much like children in the beginning, despite having the appearance of grown men. Their freedom wasn’t withheld, they were being given the opportunity to mature, to grow up.
Rubbing his hands over his face, Luc looked down at the document in front of him — a summons from the boss, hand delivered by Red Devil Courier. Satan was such a fucking egomaniac. As usual, the missive was written in what looked suspiciously like blood…which may or may not have been human. The boss did love to have fun with his souls…before they died at times, and the tortures he meted out were…unique at best. Luc had once made the mistake of entering Satan’s private office without an invitation. He’s witnessed a rather disturbing
scene involving a St. Andrew’s cross, razor wire, and one of Satan’s souls being whipped with a lash made of human vertebrae. If only he had the option of putting in a complaint with human resources…
Some days Luc just wanted it to be over. Too bad decapitation was the only way out for an immortal…a bit tricky to cut off your own head, and he didn’t see any of his friends lining up to do the honors. Not to mention, killing himself would guarantee his soul would belong to Satan eternally. He’d already earned indentured servitude; he’d keep what was left of his cracked and damaged soul, thank you very much.
The longer he was away from Heofon, the more he lost of his angelic essence. The blood in his veins now felt like an insidious black sludge that slowly permeated every cell in his body while replacing everything that was once good and pure with undiluted evil. Over time, the demons had developed the ability to exercise free will, much like the angels. Those who chose to remain tethered to Satan belonged to him body and soul and Luc expected nothing less for himself. Just one more “fuck you” to add to the list.
For centuries, Luc dreamt of finding a way back home. At this point, the dream was gone, its memory like a whisper of the angel he once was. His light was gone, now he lived in the shadows with only his fellow fallen-angels as companions. Now he’d been summoned once again for a little face time with Satan, which meant another trip to the inner ring of Sheol and the fortified castle, Halja, at its center.
Luc rubbed the heel of his palm against the angelic sigil etched into the skin above his heart. The sigil had once glowed with a bright gold light. Where it was once light, it was now a black mark that burned a bit more painfully with every task he performed in the service of Satan. The once smooth, pale skin surrounding it was now a mess of blackened veins radiating from the sigil like snakes spreading out across his chest. The heart beneath it felt dead and frozen — like the lake of frozen blood surrounding Satan’s castle.
Luc dreaded every message he got from Satan, you just never knew what he’d be after. Most often, it was soul-reaping duty, sometimes it was contracting murder-for-hire, occasionally he had to get his own hands dirty…deeds he’d rather forget. Each time, he felt a bit more of his own soul chip away and the darkness within him grow. Death, destruction, and pain were routine, much like his morning coffee. Sad, he thought, that delivering souls was considered a best-case scenario.
Cold comfort, but at least he could tell himself the souls had brought it on themselves. When you make a deal you should always read the fine print…buyer beware. Luc knew exactly what Satan and his minions were capable of and eternal torture was not worth youth, wealth, or power. Once a human was marked by a demon’s sigil, there was no turning back. Their name was permanently etched in Satan’s Red Book. Game over.
Across the bar, a loud groan and a victory whoop caught Luc’s attention. Glancing past a group of Vampires playing poker, he watched as Samael smiled as he pulled the black eight ball out of the side pocket of the pool table. He chucked it carelessly at Baal and tossed out a “Better luck next time!” He turned toward Luc’s table, eyeing the dark look on his face, and raised his eyebrow in question. Samael began threading his way through the crowd toward him. As he made his way, the women turned one by one to mark his progress.
No surprise there, Samael attracted attention everywhere he went with his short, stylishly-disheveled, light brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and dusting of five o’clock shadow. He dressed casually in worn jeans and a black T-shirt that showed off his toned body to its best advantage. Given all the female attention you’d think the guy had it made, but things weren’t always as they seemed. In his former life he’d been the angel of death, an angel of high rank who oversaw the collection of souls to be brought into Heofon.
After his fall, Samael had been ordered to continue as a Reaper for the Sheolic side, working closely with the dark, skeletal Thanatos – Death himself. Not much of a change on the surface, but the devil was in the details…he was cursed to never come into contact with any living being. As soon as he came into direct contact, Samael’s curse would activate, ripping the soul right out of his victim, condemning them to an eternity in the deepest abyss of Sheol. They would have no chance of entering the light. Samael was cursed to kill them, then to escort their soul into the darkness. The only beings able to touch him directly were other fallen. Though he was magnetic and attractive, the women could only admire him from a distance. He had been cursed to an eternity of abstinence.
Samael arrived at Luc’s table, pulled out a chair, and plopped down across from him. He signaled to the bartender to bring another beer. “So, my friend, what’s this — a royal summons?” he said, indicating the missive still sitting unfolded in front of Luc.
“It’s a birthday card from my mother.”
Samael snorted as he reached for the beer that had just been deposited in front of him. “Yeah, I might buy that if you had a birthday…or a mother for that matter. Nothing says “I love you” like a message dripping in blood.”
Luc gave Samael a wry look and slowly folded up the letter. No matter how many times they went through this song and dance, they always tried to make light of it, as though these little summons and nightmarish assignments weren’t hellish for all of them.
“Well, we’re going through a rough patch in our relationship right now. Having some mommy issues and she’s paying me back for my teenage years.”
Samael laughed again then gave Luc a quizzical look. “What’s he after this time? You look like you’d have more fun climbing the tallest building in the city and taking a header just for shits and giggles.”
“That’s just the problem, Sam, it’s pretty vague this time, which has me freaking the fuck out. You know how he is. Normally he just comes out and says what he wants and demands our presence to give the specifics. This time he’s just saying: Your presence is required. There is an important assignment that cannot be delayed. Arrive within six hours of receipt of this request. Be late or absent at your own peril. Of course, he did sign off with the usual, ‘Love Always,’ the sick fuck.
Sam leaned back, propped his feet up on the seat of the chair kitty corner to him, and tilted his chair onto its two back legs. He looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Luc looked back down into his mug of beer as though he could divine the answer to the question at the bottom of the glass. A few minutes ticked by in silence — both men lost to their musings, trying to figure out how bad this could be or what it could mean. Sam suddenly righted his chair, dropping back down onto all four legs with a loud thud; Luc’s head snapped to attention.
“Have you heard any rumblings through the grapevine? Anything that might interest our erstwhile employer? I mean, if it were a standard soul-snatching, he would have just said it. Unless…you haven’t turned down another one of his fucking requests, have you?”
Luc frowned in thought and slowly shook his head. “Nope, I haven’t heard anything new or interesting through my contacts, and I haven’t turned down any of his recent requests…not since he asked me to kidnap that kid to use as leverage. I had to draw the line somewhere.” Luc shuddered at the memory.
He had brought Satan the thirty-nine-year-old lawyer who had sold his soul in exchange for winning a high-profile case defending a serial killer and Luc had had no qualms doing it; the guy was slime. But when he’d been asked to kidnap the man’s son; that had been the outside of enough. That little instance of rebellion had earned him twenty-four hours of torture.
Luc now had an intimate knowledge of how it felt to have the skin peeled from his back with a dull bone knife. He also knew exactly how long it took to regenerate said skin in order to have it peeled off again. In total the process was repeated six times over the twenty-four hour period. In his many centuries of life, Luc had experienced different kinds of torture and had come to learn that there are several levels of pain: tolerable, agonizing, excruciating, and finally, the stage at which all the pain receptors in the body have ceased to register. Th
at final stage comes directly before one passes out. Luc had reached that particular level of pain all six times. It was a relief when he finally got there because he knew he would be unconscious soon, and he would have at least thirty minutes during which time he could float in blissful darkness.
He shook his head, clearing the horrific memories and bringing himself back to the present. “Heard anything on your end?”
Sam shook his head and twisted in his seat, waving Baal over from the bar where he’d joined the others. “Let’s see if B knows anything. He was at Halja last. Maybe he heard something while he was there.”
Baal strolled over, grabbed a chair, flipped it around, and sat down crossing his arms over the chair-back in front of him. “What’s up?”
“We wanted to see if you’d heard anything new and interesting last time you were visiting The Supreme Douchebag? Oh, and you owe me fifty bucks from the pool game. One of these days you’ll stop putting money on it. I just keep handing you your ass on a silver platter.”
“Sam, first of all, you know I don’t have fifty bucks on me. Second, when have I ever actually paid up on a bet?” Luc and Sam looked at each other and started laughing. Baal smiled, reached across the table, grabbed Luc’s beer, and took a big gulp. “You know I’m always broke as shit. By the way, thanks for the beer.”
Luc rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Remind me why we’re still friends with him?” he asked sarcastically.
“Because you can’t live without all my awesomeness.” Baal smiled. “As for your other issue, what type of new and interesting information are you looking for? I hear a lot of things from a lot of people. I guess I just have one of those faces that screams, “Tell me everything.” Either that or there’s a flashing neon sign on my forehead.” He shrugged and drank more beer. In reality, it was probably option one. On the surface, Baal had clean cut good looks. Like he’d just stepped out of a magazine ad, all sunny smiles and good clean fun. The guys knew better; they all had their inner demons to fight. Baal had always been the best at hiding his.
