“Not your mind. Your eyes. You squeeze them tight when you’re thinking loudly.”
“There’s no such thing as thinking loudly,” she argued.
“Do you want to bet? Your head is positively screaming.”
“Oh yeah? And what is it saying, smart man?”
“It’s saying you want to cut out of the party early to come home and do the nasty,” he whispered so Jas didn’t overhear. “Don’t lie. You have some dirty thoughts going on in there. And who am I to say no to you? I haven’t been able to for the past eight weeks.”
“You are something else.” Georgia smacked him lightly across the chest. “Come on. We’re going to be late otherwise.”
She’d rented a car for the evening. It was better to arrive in style. She wanted to go all out and hire a limo but Oriel talked her down from the idea. Jasmine was all for it, stating she wanted her first party to be the best of her life so that none others could stand up to it. They’d make do with what they had: a black SUV with room to stretch out in the back.
She laid her head on Oriel’s shoulder and enjoyed the ride. Enjoyed Jasmine’s wide smile and infectious excitement.
This was her family, she thought with a smile. The family she would have never thought she could have. Or deserve, if she was being honest with herself. When she’d been at the height of her fame, she’d dreamed of vacations. She’d dreamed of places she could visit and roles to play. The perks of living the Hollywood lifestyle. There had never been time to add a husband or children into the equation.
Even though she wasn’t sure she could have children, Georgia was content with what she had. A wonderful man who loved her unconditionally despite her faults. A sister to share her dreams and thoughts with, to gab about Oriel when he wasn’t paying attention to her.
A business to run. A home to create. She couldn’t ask for anything else.
The party was a fundraiser, the supernatural creatures of the Midwest coming together to host a few select members and honor them for their commitment to making the world a better place for those of the paranormal persuasion.
Once word got out about what Oriel had tried to accomplish—and ultimately given up—they were sent an invitation as honored guests. No one knew there was still a bit of the potion left. It was kept under lock and key in a very, very deep vault. With only three people in the entire world who had the key. Well, make it one. The vault was impenetrable to anyone who didn’t have her blood, anyone who could move through the darkness and become one with the shadows. It was as safe as they could possibly make it.
Two months since the events with the bear shifters and the infamous alchemist. Georgia’s life was back on track. There was a handsome man warming her bed. What else could she ask for?
The event was the highlight of her year. She stepped into the room with her arms linked with Oriel and Jasmine. Eyes turned on her and for a moment she shivered, afraid of the reactions. The first set of hands came together followed by a round of applause that threatened to deafen her.
Hours later, with her stomach and heart full, she indulged in a quick spin around the dance floor. “This is all I could ever ask for,” Oriel told her.
“And you look so damn good in your suit.”
“Language,” he scolded softly.”
“Yeah, I’ll show you language,” she muttered n response, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him.
Screams broke out at the other end of the room. In tandem, she and Oriel whipped their heads around toward the action. In the doorway stood three men in black hoods, their shoulders tense and their heads down. The crowd around them were backing away and allowing them room to enter.
Bad idea.
“Those guys look like trouble,” she murmured under her breath. Knowing Oriel could hear her.
His grip on her waist tightened. “Leave it to them to ruin a good time.”
“You don’t have to look so happy about it.”
“Me? I would never. Maybe I just get excited over the prospect of kicking a little ass.”
“Give the man a taste…” she sighed and shook her head, taking off first one earring and then the other before slipping them into her tiny clutch. Tiny for just such an occasion. She then maneuvered the clutch through the garter around her right upper thigh.
“They friends of yours?”
“I’ve never seen them before in my life,” she said. “Probably your run of the mill baddies. Out for a little mayhem and destruction. We’ve seen their type before.”
“Sweetheart, we are their type. There’s no getting around it anymore. Can you do the thing you do?” Oriel gestured toward the lights with his chin. “I don’t want people to see how messy this will get.”
“Already on it, champ.”
As she spoke, the lights began to flicker. The one overhead popped and crackled before dimming, followed in quick succession by the line of bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Each one went out until only two bulbs remained on the sconces near the front door illuminating the three baddies.
When Oriel glanced at her again, Georgia was already fading into the shadows. “You ready for this, my love?”
“I’ve been waiting all night.”
The last thing he saw before she went completely transparent was her smile. She made sure of it. And even though he couldn’t see her body, Oriel bent down in the near darkness and captured her lips with his own.
“See you on the other side,” he murmured against her mouth.
The flip in her stomach was one part anticipation and one part the incredible reaction she felt whenever he touched her. She couldn’t wait to see what the rest of their lives had in store for them
But first…
“See you on the other side,” she repeated, her muscles tensed. Ready for action.
The End
Thanks for reading!
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About the Author
BREA VIRAGH is a contemporary and paranormal romance writer based in the Blue Ridge Mountains. She is a proud Gryffindor, a graduate of Brakebills, and a member of Fairy Tail. When she isn’t writing and daydreaming about her newest project, her hobbies include binge-watching HGTV, scouring thrift shops for goodies, and maintaining her alpha status among her puppy and three cats.
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Chosen Blood
S. Lawrence
The Demon Bayou Series
Copyright © 2019 by S. Lawrence.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied 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.
For information contact:
[email protected]
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Cover design by Sanja Balan (Sanja’s Covers)
ISBN:978-1-950851-99-7
First Edition: 2019
Created with Vellum
CHOSEN BLOOD
Turns out Hell isn’t the worst place you can end up!
Thousands of years ago some angels fell. Chose to fall. That day a war started for all of humanity. It’s fought right in front of us but we are unaware. Those that fell, hate us and want nothing more than to kill us all. Slowly.
Fighting for us are some very unlikely heroes.
Lillian longs for death to escape a living hell. Instead, her own secret identity thrusts her into the war for humanity.
Torryn woke up in Hell thousands of years ago, the second of Lucifer’s Princes of Hell. He searches the Earth for the Fallen, the angels bent on the destruction of the world.
When these two cross paths, it threatens to destroy both of their purposes. But just maybe together they can save us all.
Prologue
Lillian: slave, hostage, prisoner. That’s me, but I dream of freedom.
I’m sure you’ve heard the myths about Avalon -- mystical island, hidden by magic, home to fae. The truth isn’t so sunshine and roses; it is dark and truly horrifying. If there ever were fae here, they were long ago murdered by those that reside here now.
Avalon isn’t an island and it isn’t hidden either, although powerful magic protects it.
They don’t hide.
Avalon is wherever they chose to live, changing appearance to fit each new location. For the last few thousand years, the ones that took it over have moved it like a piece on a chessboard as they waged a war on all of humanity.
I live here with them. I hate these bitches, but I hold my tongue, biding my time and waiting for death.
There is no escape.
I tried once; I have the scars to prove it. The whip flayed the skin from my back, and only Grace helped me. She is the only one here I don’t understand. Why did she come with them? Why did she leave Heaven? She isn’t like the other angels.
* * *
That’s right. Angels. These aren’t the angels of legends; these are killers, as deadly as they are beautiful. Ageless.
Make no mistake, they hate us. Why, I don’t know, but animosity rolls off them like a storm.
1
Lillian
Did they kill God?
I stand beneath the old Oak, my fingers brushing over the Spanish moss that hangs to the ground. It forms a curtain between me and Avalon, the house that looms across the yard. I ignore the house and those that are in it. They must have killed him. If he was alive, surely he wouldn’t let things continue. Wouldn’t he stop them? I hope so. Grace told me of him, and he sounds like he wouldn’t let his creations go around killing people.
“Lillian!” My name makes me flinch. My body reacts before the last syllable dies in the air, turning and racing toward the back door. As I cross the threshold, she is waiting in the shadows.
“What were you doing out there?” Lina practically screams, her voice shrill.
“I just wanted some fresh air before I started on the kitchen.”
It’s at least partially true. I do need to start cleaning the kitchen, and they will expect food soon. I don’t think they actually need food. More than likely they just like forcing me to make it and then telling me how awful it is.
“Stop slacking, human.” She sneers the word human, and like always, it brings with it a sense of shame and self-hatred. Lina watches me closely for any reaction she could deem worthy of punishment. Years of practice allow me to hold my body still, muscles loose, and offer her nothing. Her eyes narrow for a moment before she spins on her sky high heels and slinks away. Just as she starts to turn down another hall, her obnoxious voice rings out, “Don’t forget to clean the floor.” I grit my teeth. I remember Grace telling me about Cinderella when I was little and I wonder where my fairy-godmother is. Maybe they killed her, too.
Starting into the kitchen, I stop and turn back out into the hall, deciding to check on Grace before I get lunch started. I worry about her; every time she goes out now, she comes back hurt. No one says anything, but something has changed. I find her sleeping, the wounds still seeping, which means she was cut with a weapon from Heaven. I leave her to rest for now and return to the kitchen. The others wander in and out of the room, getting their food and tracking dirt all over the floor I’m still on my knees scrubbing. I ignore the snickers and ‘missed a spot’ comments.
It’s hours later, and I’m still cleaning the floor, since they have coordinated their trips in and out of the room.
The staccato of her steps alerts me to her impending arrival. I recognize the distinctive rhythm. I keep my head down as Seraphina strides in. I grimace as her boots covered with dry blood make brick red imprints on the wet floor.
“Shouldn’t you be done?” Her voice is like a lash.
“I just wanted to go over the floor one more time. I’m sure I missed some places.” Her eyes narrow at my words. Over the years, I’ve perfected the self-deprecating tone I use with her.
“Really? We are leaving soon. There are many sinners out in the city because of the celebration.” Her eyes are glowing at the thought of the punishments she will administer tonight. I nod but say nothing. My body tenses as she remains frozen, staring down at my back. The scars under my shirt burn as I remember the day she gave them to me. Finally, she saunters out slowly.
A few hours later and I’m centimeters from the barrier of magic that surrounds the grounds. As close as I can be without setting off the alarm. I can just see the parade moving slowly by. Beads and cups fly through air that is full of music and laughter. I’m so caught up in that music and the bright colors of the floats that I don’t realize she’s behind me. By the time the metal claws she wears on her hand dig into my flesh, it’s too late.
2
Torryn
Hell really is an eternity of paperwork.
My lips curve at my idiotic thought before my gaze lands on the mountain of forms on my desk. The Demon Bayou Rum company is a cover for us but it still takes a lot of work to run. We’ve been running it since 1805, when Evander came to New Orleans. At least now the paperwork is mostly computerized; I still remember the quill and parchment days.
Looking at the sheet on top, I pull up the customer’s file and double check the numbers before signing off on the order.
My desk phone rings, and as I bring the handset to my ear, I hear the frantic voice of our warehouse manager. It takes him no time to relay the angry message from another client. After reassuring him, I hang up before immediately lifting the receiver again and dialing said client to smooth things over. I’m hanging up when Evander curses at his desk on the other side of the office.
His phone handset crashes down, and I’m surprised it didn’t shatter from the force. I don’t bother looking up from my computer screen. His chair scrapes over the wood floor, making me grimace, picturing more deep grooves in the dark walnut planks. Note to self: get a rug for under his desk. I wait for him to calm. Continuing to sign and update client accounts, I stop every few minutes to scan through headlines as a program I created searches the entire web for specific combination of words.
Evander’s heavy footsteps beat like a drum as he paces. The temperature in the room skyrockets. Sliding my phone closer and tapping the app for the air conditioners, I adjust the temperature to thirty-two degrees. The blowers kick on, and I watch the digital thermometer slowly begin to lower from one hundred and fifty. The footsteps stop as his shadow falls over me.
I raise my head, one eyebrow raised. “Fuck, sorry.” He breathes slow and deep, trying to calm his anger. I shrug. It happens; this fucking job, or assignment, whatever you want to call it, is enough to make a saint lose their temper. We aren’t saints. Watching him, I see flames flicker in his steely gray eyes. Shit, this must be really bad. “Check the email.” His voice is flat as he locks down his emotions. I hesitate. I really don’t want to see. He walks around the desk, stopping behind me. “Torryn, not looking won’t change it one goddamn bit.” His tone is understanding of my reluctance though.
I know that, I really do, but six hundred years of seeing them, of not being able to stop those bitches, is starting to get to me. My fingers fly over the keyboard, accessing the Demon Bayou Rum website then moving into the hidden portion. Typing the password to open the encrypted email, my finger hovering over enter, I glance up at him. “Just tired of being one step behind.”
“I know.” He does too. Evander was the first sent here. He was there when the scribe recorded the revelation. He doesn’t speak of it, but I’ve hear
d whispers. It is said that he was once among the middle triad of angels. He cut his own wings, choosing to fall after this whole shit show began. I’ve seen him without a shirt. The scars and ruins of his wings remain, so I know at least some portion of the rumors are true. I hit the key.
Images fill the screen, and I close my eyes for a moment. Not that it helps. Six hundred years’ worth are burnt into my lids. Fuck. Shake it off; there’s worked to do. On the left hand side of the screen, I watch as avatars of the others join as each office logs in. Clicking the first photo, I enlarge it and study it, jaw clenched.
She had been tortured, mutilated, and her death took a long time. Ignoring the blood, I look at her face. She had been beautiful. What a fucking waste. All because of jealousy. Evander’s finger taps the screen, pulling up another picture as he leans closer, eyebrows drawn down. “Enlarge it, please.” Doing what he says, I look closer at the picture. His finger touches the screen again, shifting the picture to the side. I lean forward, really looking at it, ignoring the girl and studying the ground around her. That’s when I see it. No fucking way.
“Yes,” he answers. “We finally know where they are. Let’s hope they don’t leave.”
“You knew they would hunt here someday, didn’t you? That’s why you chose to set up here, why you established the rum company as a cover.” I shake my head. He has been here since the time of Jean Lafitte, who brought rum to Evander from the Caribbean.
Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 72
