Stricken (The War Scrolls Book 1)

by A. K. Morgen

  She closed the closet door and started across the room.

  The last door swung open before she made it halfway.

  One of her rescuers stepped into the room.

  She halted in her tracks.

  Piercing blue eyes homed in on her, startling her. She’d never seen such a beautiful color before. Sky blue close to the pupil and gradually darkening to a stormy blue around the edge of the iris. His face was all chiseled planes and beautiful, severe angles beneath a riot of unruly blond hair. He stood a good foot taller than her five foot three. He was also a lot younger than she had expected, probably not much older than she was. His face was unlined, youthful. His skin seemed to glow a soft gold.

  And his arms. Good grief! She’d seen tree trunks smaller than his arms.

  He was too big, too perfect, to be human.

  “Hello,” he murmured.

  Aubrey stared at him, her heart beating fast.

  “Did you sleep well?” He made no move to come any closer, choosing instead to cross his arms over his chest and lean back against the wall. Muscles bulged beneath his shirt. He left the door standing open, maybe trying to put her at ease.

  It didn’t work.

  “I…” The words stuck in her throat. She coughed and then nodded instead of trying to force out a response.

  “Do you remember anything?”

  She hesitated a moment and then nodded again, slower this time. Whichever of the three he was, gentleness didn’t seem natural for him. Even talking softly and leaning against the wall, he was more commanding than any other guy she knew. An aura of danger rolled from him, not threatening perhaps, but there just the same.

  He was the predator. Never the prey.

  Killian.

  His name floated up from the murky depths of her mind. Oh yes, she remembered him. Bossy and commanding, and—

  “You’re Fallen.” The words slipped out as soon as realization dawned. She took an involuntary step backward. She didn’t know much about the fallen angels who lived on earth, but she knew enough to be afraid. The Fallen were like shadows, walking among humans but leaving no trace. They were guardians, Warriors of Light protecting her kind from the polluted races the Fallen had supposedly birthed with demons long ago, but only a fool thought they were the cherubic helpers popularized in paintings.

  The Fallen were fierce, loyal, and even more deadly than any of the demon races out there. They were God’s warriors, His army, and they were damned. Cast from Heaven by God the same way He’d cast Lucifer into Hell.

  The angel shook his head in denial. “You’re mistaken.”

  “I’m not.” Aubrey lifted her head, narrowing her gaze. “You and the others are Fallen. That’s how you knew where the—” She couldn’t bring herself to verbalize the rest of that sentence. Not with Aaron’s memory so close.

  “You’re mistaken,” Killian repeated.

  “Then what are you?”

  He pushed away from the wall and walked toward her, his arms still crossed loosely over his chest. The muscles in his chest bulged beneath his dark tee. The fabric stretched tight over his abdomen, seeming almost sculpted to the rock-solid flesh beneath.

  “You’re not human.” She walked backward, refusing to let him get too close. To keep her hands from shaking, she curled them into fists at her sides.

  “I am,” Killian said, “more or less.”

  “Let’s talk about the ‘less’ part, then,” she snapped. A part of her brain warned her that she was being foolish goading him like that, but she couldn’t stop herself, either. She remembered how he’d snarled and sniped at her, threatening her without actually threatening her. She didn’t like him.

  He stared at her for a long moment before shrugging a shoulder. “I’m Nephilim, half-human, half-angel. Does that help?”

  “You’re Nephilim?” Aubrey’s heart sped up. “You’re—they’re—” She swallowed hard, remembering another Nephilim boy with cold, blue eyes and deadly intent. She pushed that memory away, fighting for calm. “The things chasing me—?”

  “Were shapeshifters before they became infected.”

  “Infected?” The question was a pitiful squeak. Aubrey didn’t care.

  The wolves really were shifters. Oh Lord, what had happened to them?

  “This is going to take a while,” Killian said with a sigh. “I’m going to walk toward you. No,” he said when she starting backing away from him. “Don’t do that. I’m not going to hurt you.” He pointed behind her. “I’m going to go sit in that chair, okay?”

  Aubrey looked between him and the chair. For him to get to it, he needed to walk right by her, within grabbing distance. She crossed to the bed, a good six feet from the chair in the corner. She knew it wouldn’t be far enough if he meant her harm, but it was the best she could do at the moment. She nodded to him as she pressed herself into the wall beside the bed, letting him know he could move.

  Killian frowned at her but didn’t say anything as he strode across the room then lowered himself into the chair.

  Aubrey stared at him for long moments, trying to decide if he was going to hurt her.

  “Are you always so jumpy?” he asked.

  “Not until recently.” She rubbed her hands along her arms for warmth. Her body felt frozen solid, the kind of chill that came from inside and worked its way out. “What do you mean by infected?”

  “Recently as in the last couple of days?” he asked instead of answering.

  “More or less. How are they infected?”

  “You’re stubborn.” Amusement flickered in his blue eyes.

  “And you’re avoiding the question,” she said, glaring at him. “How?”

  Killian sighed again. “They were infected with La Morte Nera.” He offered a sardonic smile. “Those things—” he stressed the word, distaste twisting his lips “—were Elioud, the human ancestors of angels. Now, they’re nothing. Shells.”

  “La Morte Nera?” Aubrey’s eyebrows climbed at the familiar name. “The virus? That’s a myth.” Even she heard the disbelief in her tone.

  “Considering that my blade-brothers and I just killed four Elioud infected with the virus, I’m pretty sure it’s more fact than fairy tale.” His dry smile slipped, probably in response to the horrified expression she felt spreading across her face. “La Morte Nera is real,” he said.

  Aubrey blinked, trying to process. La Morte Nera was nothing more than a myth. A made-up virus the Fallen used to scare their children into behaving. Except…

  Killian’s expression twisted into something hard and bitter.

  Oh God.

  “It’s real.” A barrage of familiar faces ran through her mind, friends she’d left behind years ago. Jason and Mark. Simon. Little Tyrell and Anthony.

  “What are you?” Killian demanded.

  “Human,” she answered and then bit her lip. A long time ago, one of her ancestors had mated with an angel. She didn’t tell Killian that, though.

  “You’re just a kid,” he said, more to himself than her.

  “I’m nineteen,” she snapped, bristling. She hadn’t been just a kid in a long time.

  Killian eyed her for a long moment, his lips pursued. “And no one’s looking for you?” He arched a brow. “Interesting.”

  “I take care of myself.”

  “Oh?”

  She said nothing. He didn’t need to know about Aunt Mel. Besides, Mel wouldn’t be looking for her yet. She was on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic. She wouldn’t be home for another week.

  “You know about the Fallen.”

  That wasn’t a question, but Aubrey nodded anyway.

  “My brother was—” Aaron’s charred arm flashed through her mind. “He was a shifter,” she whispered, her gaze on the floor.

  “Was?”

  Aubrey lifted her head to find Killian staring at her, his expression neutral. “He died in a fire.”

  Oh, Aaron. God, how she missed him.

  “Ah,” Killian murmured, and then,
“I’m sorry.” He sounded as though he genuinely meant it.

  Aubrey cleared her throat, forcing tears back. “So the shifters were infected?” she asked.

  “They were.” Killian tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Your brother was a shifter, but you’re not?”

  “No.” Unlike Aaron, she’d inherited no Talent from their mother. Whatever angel blood still flowed in her veins was weak, almost nonexistent.

  “He knew of the Fallen?”

  Aubrey nodded.

  “And he told you about them.”

  She didn’t like the way he said that as if Aaron had violated some law. He hadn’t, and he wouldn’t have had to anyway. The Fallen thought they operated beneath the radar, but virtually everyone with angel blood knew about the warrior angels who governed them from the shadows, supposedly as penance for mating with demons eons ago.

  Aubrey didn’t know if that story was true or not, but if the Fallen had mated with humans to create Nephilim like Killian and Elioud like her and Aaron, maybe those whispered tales about demon alliances were also true.

  Killian drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, his face a study in impatience.

  “No, he didn’t,” she said, pulling her mind away from stories of the Fallen and back to the subject at hand. “He didn’t tell me anything about the Fallen.”

  “And yet you know enough about them to recognize one on sight. How?”

  “Do you want the long or the short version?” She perched on the edge of the bed, confident Killian wasn’t an immediate danger to her. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she had the energy to care if he was. She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach and was still winded.

  La Morte Nera was real. Her dad would have—

  “The short will do for now, I suppose.”

  “I was attacked one day. One of the exiled Fallen warriors helped Aaron save me.”

  “Attacked?”

  Aubrey swallowed. “A Nephilim boy.”

  He’d toyed with her for three days, punishing her for her humanity, blaming her for his messed-up life. He’d hated who he was. Not angel like the Fallen and not human like her but something else, caught between two worlds without being accepted into either. “Weak and pathetic,” he’d screamed at her.

  Aubrey shuddered as she always did when remembering how close to death she’d come. The attack had been senseless. Even now, she didn’t understand why the boy had picked her. Out of the hundreds of people out there with blood like hers, why had he chosen her? Hurt her? She wasn’t sure there was an answer. If there was, it had died with the Nephilim boy, killed by her brother and the fallen angel he’d enlisted to help him save her life.

  Killian leaned back in the chair and frowned. “Yet you’re not running from me.”

  Aubrey laughed at his assessment of the situation. “Maybe I’m tired of running,” she lied. Or maybe she’d realized she couldn’t run far or fast enough. Besides, where did he expect her to go if she tried? “And you’d have killed me already if you wanted me dead. I think.”

  He didn’t attempt to reassure her that he wouldn’t kill her later. Instead, he said, “Why are the Elioud after you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, that’s bound to complicate things.”

  “You think?” Aubrey rolled her eyes. “And here I thought we were done stating the obvious.”

  Killian watched her, his expression indecipherable.

  Ah, crap. She drew a deep breath and squeezed her eyes closed. If she kept it up, he really would kill her. She cracked her eyes open and looked at him. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

  “You’ve had a rough night, and my feelings aren’t that easily hurt,” he said. He stared at her for a moment, his gaze less severe, almost sympathetic. “We’ll figure out what’s going on.”

  “We’ll figure it out?” Aubrey asked, shocked. “Why would you help me?”

  “Why not?” He pinned her with his serious gaze, and then that cold mask dropped into place, obscuring any emotion. “You weren’t doing so well on your own.”

  The last thing she wanted was to tie herself to this Nephilim warrior for any length of time, but he was right. She hadn’t been doing so well on her own. The things chasing her were nothing like Aaron. They weren’t protective big brothers who adored their little sisters or rowdy teenaged boys who flirted shamelessly with their friend’s baby sister. They were not human or animal but something else. Something more frightening than even her Nephilim tormentor had been.

  If there were more of them out there, she didn’t stand a chance on her own. And there was no one else to help her. No one at all. So she didn’t really have another choice, did she?

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You don’t,” Killian answered. “But like you said, you’d already be dead if I wanted you that way.”

  “And if that changes?” she asked, wary.

  “You’ll be the first to know.” He stared at her, looking exactly like the avenging angel she’d thought him. “But you’re a whole lot more valuable to me alive than dead, sweetheart.”

  She doubted that. He didn’t even know her.

  He must have read the skepticism in her gaze. “I don’t know anything about you, but I do know about the virus. It’s killing us faster than we believed possible. Finding infected Elioud is expected. What we don’t expect is to find four of them fighting like hell to get to a teenaged girl instead of turning on us.” He arched a brow. “I’d really like to know how those four managed it. And since you seem to be what they were after, you’re more valuable to me alive than you are dead. I need answers, and it looks like you’re it.”

  Well, that was honest enough, wasn’t it?

  He would protect her if she needed protecting and help her where she needed helping. It would be, she was suddenly certain, his personal goal in life. And if he ever decided she was a threat to him or the answers he sought, he’d kill her where she stood.

  Aubrey shivered and made her decision. “Fine.”

  She felt as though she might have made a deal with the devil himself.

  They’re going to need you. You’re the only—

  The only what?

  She didn’t know. And she didn’t know if this is what her father meant about her being needed, either, but she couldn’t turn her back this time. Not when people like Aaron and his friends were dying.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “No need.” Killian hauled himself to his feet. “I meant what I said.”

  Aubrey shivered, no less leery of him than she’d been when he’d walked into the room. She wasn’t nearly that stupid.

  “Is anyone going to come looking for you?” he asked.

  Aubrey hesitated for a long moment, caught between the truth and a lie, and then she sighed. “I live with my aunt, but she won’t come looking for a few days.” The confession sounded sad and pathetic even to her.

  “Where are your parents?”

  “Dead.”

  “The fire?”

  “My father, yes. But my mother died in a wreck when I was a baby. I never knew her.”

  If Killian heard the loneliness in her voice, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he pointed toward the bathroom. “The shower’s in there,” he said.

  He was gone before Aubrey could thank him.

  Chapter Three

  Killian closed the bedroom door behind him, leaving Aubrey to bathe in private.

  “How did it go?”

  He glanced over to find Abriel crouched against the wall, twirling a dagger aimlessly between his fingers. Aside from the weapon, his blade-brother looked more like a bored college student in his polo and jeans than a four-hundred-year-old warrior who’d hunted down and killed hundreds over the centuries.

  “About as well as expected.” Killian hesitated, his hand still on the doorknob. “Is she going to run?”

  Abriel sheathed the dagger in his boot and shook his head. “Nah. Her thoughts are
surprisingly calm.” He arched a brow at Killian. “No luck reading her?”

  “No.” Killian rubbed his forehead, frustrated. Once upon a time, he’d thought he’d come to terms with his weak mindreading Talent where the Elioud were concerned, but apparently not. He was dying to know what the girl was hiding from him. Whatever secrets she kept, they haunted her. He saw that much clearly.

  “She’s Elioud,” Abriel said, “but her blood is weak, almost completely human.”

  Killian nodded. He’d guessed as much even before Aubrey confirmed his suspicions. Her aura was bright like an angel’s, but not even the acrid stench of the infected wolves or the grime and dirt covering her was powerful enough to mask the scent of her humanity or hide her beauty.

  Her hair hung in tangles down her back, as dark as his was light. It set off her porcelain skin and bottomless green eyes in a way that made him uncomfortable. And the soft curves hidden beneath her dirty clothing made his entire body ache.

  “Caitria doesn’t know her family line?” he asked his blade-brother, jerking his mind away from the lovely girl.

  “Nope.” Abriel bounded to his feet then headed toward the living room, wisely not commenting on the direction of Killian’s thoughts. “She’s not happy about it, either.”

  “It’s not her fault.” Killian eased himself down onto the sofa. No one but Caitria herself expected her to know every Elioud line still capable of producing those with Talents. Their world was in chaos, and the Fallen were dying as fast as the children they’d birthed long ago were. If Aubrey’s story was true and one of the exiled Fallen had helped rescue her, that angel might well be dead now.

  “Her brother died in a fire?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wonder how.”

  Killian shrugged. Aubrey hadn’t exactly given him her entire life’s story, and he couldn’t say he blamed her for that. How could he when one of his kind had tried to kill her? That bothered him more than the little human girl’s distrust of him.

  Halfling children like him were hidden away, no more accepted by the Fallen than bastard sons and daughters were accepted by their noble-born human fathers two centuries ago. The Fallen had frowned upon humans for turning their children away, but they’d been no better. For centuries, they’d used the humans they were meant to protect and then cast their offspring aside.