by Jasmine Walt
Angel Kissed
a Paranormal Romance
Jasmine Walt
Dynamo Press
Contents
1. Brodie
2. Arabella
3. Brodie
4. Arabella
5. Arabella
6. Arabella
7. Arabella
8. Arabella
9. Arabella
10. Arabella
11. Brodie
12. Arabella
13. Arabella
14. Brodie
15. Arabella
16. Arabella
17. Arabella
18. Brodie
19. Arabella
20. Brodie
21. Arabella
22. Brodie
23. Arabella
24. Brodie
25. Arabella
26. Brodie
27. Arabella
28. Brodie
29. Arabella
About the Author
Also by Jasmine Walt
Copyright © 2017, Jasmine Walt. All rights reserved. Published by Dynamo Press
This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may be addressed via email to [email protected]
Cover illustration by Judah Dobin
Cover typography by Rebecca Frank
Edited by Mary Novak
Electronic edition, 2017. If you want to be notified when Jasmine’s next novel is released and get access to exclusive contests, giveaways, and freebies, sign up for her mailing list here. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
1
Brodie
The grass never liked me much. There were Druids who could gaze upon the rippling fields of grass and see between the individual blades everything that Gaia, Mother Earth, had laid out for them. They could focus on the quiet grandeur of the meadow, and it would speak to them as it gently swayed back and forth in the wind.
But I wasn’t that kind of Druid. The grass never spoke to me. Nothing ever did—not the soil beneath my feet, the wind in my hair, or the trees that stood like solemn sentinels at the edges of the meadow. I was Gaia’s forgotten child, the man who knew nothing of the ways of the earth goddess, and could never seem to earn her favor. She would let me draw upon her power, but she never saw fit to speak to me.
Not until last night, when I saw the woman.
Running a tired hand through my shaggy copper hair, I stared at the grass again. I still couldn’t believe it had actually happened, and when I’d least expected it. I’d been walking home, through this very meadow, when the blades had parted, giving me a glimpse of the future. I’d squinted hard, watching the grass dance in the breeze, brimming with power from Gaia herself. She had allowed me to harness that power last night, granting me the first vision of my life.
But tonight, she did not deem me worthy.
“Well, damn you too,” I muttered, scowling. I would have spit on the ground, but that would have only angered Gaia, which wouldn’t help my cause. I didn’t know why she’d chosen to bless me with a vision last night, and then take that sight away, but I knew one thing in my very bones.
If I wanted to help the woman I’d seen, I was going to have to find her myself.
I knew I shouldn’t be so cross with Gaia. The sight didn’t come to all Druids—in fact, it came to very few of us. Perhaps a handful in a generation were blessed—or cursed, depending on how one looked at it—with visions of the future handed down by the earth goddess herself. No one would ever think that I might be amongst the chosen handful. As far as the Druid community was concerned, I was nothing special. A fatherless disappointment who was generally more concerned with bedding women than with mastering the energies swirling all around us.
Not that I didn’t hold a few tricks up my sleeve. But my lack of ambition did not make me very popular in Druid circles. I never thought I would regret my preference for fun over book learning and practice. Not until last night…
“What are ye doin’, son?” Agnid, the woman who had taken me in when I was a bairn, asked from behind me. I turned to see her standing just a few feet away, her deep blue cloak ruffling in the wind to reveal the homespun dress beneath it. She was a kindly soul, with ginger hair laced with silver and a round face lined with good humor. I liked to think I’d gotten my own sense of humor from her, rather than the parents I’d never known.
“I’m contemplating this fool of a task Gaia has laid out for me,” I grumbled, and she laughed.
“Son, ye must not complain so.” Agnid lifted her hands to my face, her powder-blue eyes soft and kind as they always were. She wasn’t my mother, not by blood, and yet she’d cared for me as her own since the day my own mother had died. “I dinnae ken what task Gaia has set out for ye, but ’tis an honor to be chosen. She has faith in your abilities, as I always have.”
“Aye,” I agreed. “But perhaps too much faith if she thinks to give me such little information to work with.”
“The earth goddess works in mysterious ways.” Agnid dropped her hands from my face. “She brought ye to me, did she not? Even though not a drop of Druid blood flows in my own veins.”
I took her hand in mine. “Ye ken very well that has never mattered to me,” I said fiercely. Agnid didn’t have the sight, but she was a healer, and connected to the earth in a way most never would be. She had taken me in when no one else would because I was a bastard. My mother had died in childbirth, and my father had been banished from the Mystic Moors for a crime that, to this day, I still did not know the details of. The Druid High Priest had brought me to Agnid when I was a wee babe. She lived just beyond the Mystic Moors, close enough that I could still visit the Druids for my lessons, but far enough away that the taint of my family sins could not sicken them.
It had been hard, living with a foot in both worlds. As I had Druid blood in my veins, they were compelled to teach me their ways, if only so that I wouldn’t accidentally harm others. My easygoing nature had won me friends in my youth, and softened up the teachers toward me some. But the prejudiced looks that followed me every time I set foot in the Mystic Moors, the hidden refuge tucked away in the Highlands beyond human reach, was precisely the reason I’d never been ambitious as a Druid. It was clear that I would never fit in. I was different, and whether that was because of my father, or something else entirely, I did not know.
But Agnid had never treated me as though I was different. She treated me as though I belonged, and I would always be grateful to her for that.
“Yer such a good lad,” she said, tears in her eyes now. “Always with that hellion smile on yer face, no matter what life throws at ye. That must be why Gaia chose ye for whatever mission she has decided to send ye on. She sees yer strength of character. She kens that ye will not be swayed, regardless of the forces bent against ye.”
I pressed my forehead against hers. “I wish I had yer confidence,” I murmured. “But I don’t. If Gaia wants me to save some girl, why won’t she just tell me where she is?” I kept my voice even, but I was vibrating with frustration inside. It was my motto in life not to get too attached to things, to approach issues with a carefree nonchalance. But when that vision had hit me, when I’d watched that woman fall into the lake of fire, something had changed inside me. Indescribable pain and horror had filled me as I watched her scream and writhe, watched the skin and flesh sizzle away as her bones burned i
nto nothingness.
She’d been beautiful and fierce, dressed in leather, a bow of glowing blue energy in her hand that had not saved her from the fall. And though I’d never seen her in my life, a connection had sprung up between us in that moment, strong as the thread that bound my life to this world. Just the sight of watching such a bonny lass, so full of life and fire, fall to her death had made my soul cry out in agony. I could no more leave her to that fate than I could choke off my own windpipe.
Agnid only smiled. “Journeys start where they start, Brodie.” She clapped a hand on my shoulder before turning to stare out at the meadow. “The butterfly doesna ask why it must begin as a caterpillar on a tree. It just must, and so must ye.”
“Yer sayin’ I’m a bug now?” A smile crept across my face despite myself.
“Aye, but a bonny one.” She reached up and pinched my cheek. “One I’d say is destined fer more than he’s willing to credit. Ye dinna think ye were going to stay in the Moors forever, did ye, lad? A man must make his way in the world. That’s what makes him a man, and I ken in my very bones that by Gaia’s good grace, yer going to be the kind of man who makes an old woman proud.”
A reluctant grin passed over my face. “I dinnae see an old woman,” I teased, kissing her cheek. “Just a bonny lass who sees too much good in me.”
“Well, someone has to.” Chuckling, she turned away. “Go on now, then, and when ye finally become a butterfly, you come back to yer mother.”
After that parting remark, she headed back to our humble house on the hill, leaving me alone with the grass.
2
Arabella
I didn’t remember the car accident. Nor did I remember the haze that descended upon me as I navigated rush-hour traffic on the I-5. I never remembered the moments when I was pulled from reality. When I blinked and somehow lost seconds, sometimes even minutes. Anything at all could happen when I slipped away. I could be mid-conversation. Halfway through cooking eggs on the stove. Or, in this case, changing lanes on the highway.
But when I came back to myself, lying on my side with the gearshift poking uncomfortably into my rib cage, I knew what must have happened.
I’d had another absence seizure.
“Damn it,” I groaned, struggling to orient myself. The car was on its side, and I was still strapped into the driver’s seat. The roof and doors had buckled, the metal squeezing in on all sides to create a claustrophobic cage. The windshield had cracked so badly that I could barely see anything through my already-blurry vision.
I blinked hard, several times, trying to clear my eyes as static blared from the brand-new radio I’d just installed. My eyes stung. When I swiped at them, my fingers came away stained red. Shit. Panic gripped me, and I patted my face and head, trying to discern where the blood was coming from. Pain bit into me as I touched my hairline, and I drew my hand away with a hiss. I twisted around in my seat toward the door. As I did, more pain burst from my rib cage, a sharp, agonizing stab that made my throat tighten with fear. Oh, God. Had I broken something?
Suck it up, Arabella. You’ve got to get out of here, I thought.
I wasn’t sure how. The door was smashed in—impossible to get open even if I had my strength. Tears rolled down my cheeks as reality settled in—my car was totaled. The little Corolla that I could never bring myself to trade in, because it was the last thing my father had given me before he’d died, was gone.
What would your father think if he could see you now?
I squeezed my eyes shut against the shame that flared deep in my chest. The car was the least of my worries. I could have killed someone—several someones. More tears slid out from beneath my eyelids—and not just for whatever pain or injury I might have caused. No, the tears were also for myself, born of grief, self-pity, and frustration.
I’d thought these episodes were finally behind me. I hadn’t had one in at least a year and a half, not since the doctor had given me that miraculous prescription. It was a long shot, he’d said, but I’d latched onto it without a second thought. And I became so overjoyed at the results that I foolishly started thinking I could enjoy a normal life.
“Ma’am?” a male voice shouted. My ringing ears dimly picked up the sound of the car door rattling as someone tried to pry it open. Hope leapt in my chest. “Shit, it’s stuck,” he muttered.
“Are you sure that’s how it works?” a second voice asked from somewhere behind the first.
“The door? I think so,” he replied, which struck me as odd. It wasn’t like I had a fancy, complicated car. The doors were pretty straightforward, if smashed to pieces. Then he called loudly again, “Ma’am? Can you hear me? What’s your name, ma’am?”
I wanted to say ‘Arabella! My name is Arabella Palladino, and this shouldn’t have happened!’. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I groaned in answer. I attempted to sit up, but the sharp, stabbing pain in my ribs stopped me cold.
Definitely broken, I thought. With the police academy test coming up in six months, how the hell would I—
You won’t be taking the test, a voice in my head reminded me sharply. After this episode, I doubt you’ll be doing anything for a very long time.
A lump swelled in my throat at that. As the man outside pried open the door, my pain-riddled mind drifted back to home, to the archery and gun range in my backyard, to the attic filled with heavy bags, weights, and weapons. All so I could train, since no tactical school or martial arts academy would accept me. When I was a teen, I used to go to the gun range, and my parents had enrolled me at a dojo. But once the epilepsy had set in, no one would let me set foot through their doors.
Too much of a liability, they’d said. They couldn’t take the risk that I’d get injured because I blacked out and nobody realized until it was too late.
The news had devastated me, but I hadn’t let it keep me down for long. Over, under, around, or through—there was always a way to get what you wanted. My father had drilled that into my head since I was a little girl, and I’d clung to it during the dark times, used it to lift myself up. Doctors and specialists had warned me I’d never join the military, or play any of the sports I used to excel at, and that getting into law enforcement would be a challenge. But I ignored them and kept pushing myself while I searched for a cure. I wanted to stay sharp, to be ready for the day that my seizures finally went away, so I could embrace my calling. And besides, I’d read that practicing martial arts could actually help control seizures, so I wasn’t going to give up just because a dojo didn’t want me.
Sometimes I thought I was insane. After all, this wasn’t the only path available to me. I had a good head on my shoulders, and if I put my mind to it, I was sure I could find something else to do. I had a natural bent for baking—I could go to culinary school and become a pastry chef. I was decent with numbers—I could take some classes and become a bookkeeper. Why fight so hard for a career in law enforcement when it had rejected me for so long?
And yet, I couldn’t let it go. Despite all the reasons to turn around and walk away, there was a deep-seated need inside me to protect and defend. To fight against corruption and shield the innocent. I tried to give an outlet to those needs by volunteering, but it wasn’t enough. Something in me wanted to be on the front lines. To fight.
The door gave a loud, screeching groan, before it finally popped off. Cool air rushed into the car, and I let out a sigh of relief at the sight of red lights flashing in the background. An ambulance must have arrived while I was lost in my thoughts.
“Ma’am, are you all right?” a man asked as he leaned in, filling my vision. I blinked the blood and sweat out of my eyes so I could get a good look at my savior. He was dark haired and average looking, dressed in a standard EMT uniform. His face was drawn tight in concern. But something lurked in his grey eyes that made my gut twist, and a strange, dark feeling brushed up against me, almost as if it were the devil touching my soul.
“Y-yeah,” I croaked, pushing the feeling aw
ay. I was disoriented, that was all, and more than a little ashamed I’d ended up in this situation. But as the man reached for my seatbelt, a chill ran down my spine, and I instinctively reached for my concealed carry purse. Something about this guy was giving me the absolute creeps, and I had to swallow against the sudden rush of bile up my throat.
“Now, now,” the man said, pressing his forearm into my injured side as he undid the seatbelt. I let out a strangled cry as my body stiffened with agony. “Don’t move around too much. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
I opened my mouth to retort that he was the one hurting me, but I couldn’t breathe through the pain. “Get the stretcher,” he called over his shoulder as I struggled for air. “We need to get her to the hospital, ASAP.”
“I’m not going anywh—” I started to say, but the man grabbed me roughly by the legs and tugged. I cried out as the motion jarred my aching ribs again. Desperate now, I reached behind me, flailing around for my purse, but it must have fallen to the floor. Dammit! I couldn’t leave my gun behind!
“Young man,” someone chided, an elderly woman by the sound of her voice. “You ought to be more careful. You’re hurting that nice young lady.”
“Nice young lady?” another woman shrieked, and I lifted my head to see a brunette dressed in black leather and heels glaring at me, a bruise mottling the side of her pale cheek. I figured she probably owned the Camaro behind her, its rear-end smashed in. “She fucking hit my car! Dumb bitch was probably high or drunk, drifting out of the lane like that!” The brunette shook a bony fist at me. “You bet your ass my lawyers will be in touch!”
Yep. Definitely the Camaro. Shit. I’d be pissed too. God, I hoped my insurance would cover that, and that she wasn’t hurt in any way. This could have been so much worse…
