Stricken (The War Scrolls Book 1)

by A. K. Morgen

  Is this how it feels to be bonded, then?

  Only a handful of Fallen had mated in the last two hundred years, but it had been enough to leave an impression. He’d seen the pain in their eyes when their mates were unhappy. Seen the way they gravitated toward each other whether they wished to or not. Aubrey might not belong to him like that, but he belonged to her now, and what she needed came first.

  Funny how an entire life could change so quickly, so completely, but his had. From the moment he’d lifted Aubrey into his arms that first night, his life had begun to reorder itself. He doubted she even knew he’d held her small body on his lap during the drive or that he’d been the one who had tucked her into his bed afterward.

  She’d felt good in his arms. Warm and soft, and somehow a perfect fit.

  The center of his world had started shifting then. In increments at first, subtle changes he could follow like a line drawn on paper. Admiration of her spirit. Appreciation for her beauty and strength. A desire to protect her. And then more rapidly. The entire ground had shifted beneath his feet from one moment to the next, and he couldn’t even say for sure when it had happened. In her apartment, when she’d acted to save his life? Later, when she’d curled into his side and cried on his shoulder? When he’d watched her talking with his blade-brothers, or sleeping in his bed? The first time he’d almost kissed her, in the living room with Abriel and Dom mere feet away?

  He didn’t suppose pinpointing the exact moment mattered much.

  He’d given an oath to his people, to give up all claims to humanity and live as Fallen, rubbing elbows with his mother’s people but never touching them, never getting close to them. He didn’t know why God had chosen to bond him to a human, but he could no more break his oath to the Fallen than he could promise Aubrey facing her past wouldn’t hurt.

  “Your father worked on the third floor?” he asked.

  Her drawing didn’t give them much to go on. A basic layout of the building, and two question marks. One beside what she thought might be her father’s former office, and another beside the records room.

  “I can’t remember exactly where. I only remember pushing the button for the third floor.”

  Once more, Killian wished he could make this easier for her, but he knew from experience it didn’t work that way. Thomas Wolfe had been correct when he’d said that one couldn’t go home again. There was no reclaiming the halcyon days of youth and innocence. When those were gone, they were gone forever. But the good parts of her past didn’t have to remain buried beneath broken dreams and the stench of char.

  If she’d let him, he could show her that.

  “Have you thought about visiting your old home while we’re here?” he asked, setting her drawing aside.

  She faced away from him, her hair tumbling down her back in soft waves and her shoulders hunched as she chewed mechanically. “There’s nothing left,” she said. “The fire destroyed everything.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  They sat in silence for a long moment before Killian felt compelled to speak again. “The good memories might still be there.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Going back to see would be worth the risk, wouldn’t it?”

  “What if it isn’t?” she asked, turning slowly in her chair to face him. Her eyes were wide and filled with worry. Her voice shook.

  “Then at least you know.” He touched her cheek, cupping her face in his hand for a moment. Feeling her soft skin on his was like a balm to his soul. He could easily become addicted to the warmth and comfort touching her afforded him. “Isn’t that better than always wondering?”

  “I don’t know.” She frowned, her expression troubled, hesitant, but thoughtful.

  He let his hand fall from her face then grabbed her drawing and his veggie burger. “I’ll take this to Dom and Abriel. If you need anything, call for me.”

  Aubrey nodded, her brow furrowed.

  Killian couldn’t help but smile as he slipped from the room. The fact she even considered his suggestion pleased him. He’d expected a resolute no, but the beautiful little Elioud quickly stealing his heart had a way of surprising him.

  ***

  By the time Killian returned, Aubrey had fallen asleep, her dark hair spread across the pillow. He watched the gentle cadence of her breath and the flutter of her lashes against her cheeks for long moments before the desire to touch her overwhelmed him. He took two steps in her direction and then stopped.

  He slipped out of the room as silently as he had gone in, leaving her to sleep in peace. He prowled around outside, watching for any sign of danger. He didn’t know if the scent his blade-brothers had found belonged to her friends or not, but he’d seen too much in the last months to become complacent now. If there were Elioud shifters here, they would not get near Aubrey until he decided differently.

  And if her friends were infected?

  He and Aubrey hadn’t broached the realities of that subject yet. He could only pray her friends were okay. Her heart would shatter if they were not. If he had to kill them, she would never forget that. And quite possibly never forgive him.

  By midnight, Dahmiel and Abriel were itching to head to the lab. What little Aubrey remembered simply hadn’t been enough to go on, but Killian was certain that if anyone could find something of use in the records, it would be Abriel.

  And Dom could get them in and out of the building with ease. He had an eye for detail that had saved Killian’s life more than once. His blade-brother was a brilliant tactician and could assess any situation in the blink of an eye. Dom knew when to take a gamble and when to let a situation ride, and his intuition rarely led him astray. Killian had been a fool to think he could hide his growing infatuation with Aubrey from his blade-brother. He missed nothing. Ever.

  “Be careful,” he said, clasping Dom’s arm as they prepared to head out.

  “Always am.” Dom’s blue eyes gleamed with excitement.

  “We will,” Abriel said, more subdued than their irrepressible brother. He clasped Killian’s shoulder for a moment and met his gaze. “Be careful with her.”

  Killian nodded before ducking from their hotel room, his blade-brothers following behind him. Dom and Abriel disappeared down the stairs, and he let himself into Aubrey’s room. His gaze went to the bed, automatically seeking out his little Elioud as he had every other time he’d checked in on her. This time, though, she wasn’t curled up beneath the sheets, sleeping. Even without the bond, he could hear her moving around behind the bathroom door.

  “Aubrey?” he called, closing the front door behind him.

  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Killian paced around the small room as he waited. He felt caged, as if staying behind had forced him into iron bars. Was that what impending death felt like? A weight upon one’s chest? An unseen enemy one couldn’t fight?

  He’d devoted his life to the Fallen, and when he died, he would leave this life with little more than a quickly fading ripple. If the Fallen survived, they would not remember him fondly. Perhaps would not think of him at all. But he wanted his life to mean something to someone. He wanted it to mean something to Aubrey.

  When he was gone, he wanted her to think of him and smile.

  Water ran in the bathroom for a moment before shutting off.

  Killian stopped pacing and turned to face the door.

  Aubrey stepped out slowly, her hair a tangle around her face. The shadows beneath her eyes were fainter, but her expression was tense and drawn. Something weighed heavily on her mind, dimming her aura.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

  She scrutinized him for a moment, her hand still on the doorknob.

  “Do you really think going to see the house will help?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Aubrey bit her lip and nodded before lifting her eyes to his. “Can we go tomorrow?”

  “We can,” he said.

  Her shoulders drooped, a sigh whisp
ering from her lips. “Thank you.”

  Killian stared at her, proud of her unwavering courage. “You’re welcome,” he murmured.

  She stood there for a moment and then shook her head. “Have Abriel and Dom left yet?”

  “Yes. A few minutes ago.”

  “Oh.” Aubrey fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, twisting the bottom around one finger and then unwinding it. She took a deep breath and lifted her gaze to him. “I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice strained, fragile. “I’m so scared, Killian.”

  Her bottom lip trembled.

  Killian strode toward her, unable to stop himself from reaching out to her when she so clearly needed him. She looked at him for a second, her expression torn, and then stepped into the circle of his arms. He closed them around her, pulling her into his chest.

  Her body trembled against his.

  “Shh,” he crooned. “It’s okay.”

  “What if…what if—?” She buried her face in his chest, unable to finish the question.

  But he didn’t need the bond or mindreading Talent to know where her thoughts were. Fear hung like a shroud around her. “Whatever they find, we’ll deal with it,” he whispered, breathing her in. She smelled so good. Felt so perfect in his arms. How could that be wrong? Holding her felt right, natural. As if he’d only been waiting to live until she came into his life.

  “But what if—?”

  He tilted her face up to his.

  “We’ll deal with it, no matter what.” He didn’t care if her father had created the virus, studied the virus, or had known nothing about the virus. Whatever his blade-brothers found, whatever they found, Aubrey would not suffer for it.

  She examined his face for a long moment and then exhaled deeply and laid her head against his chest. “Okay,” she said, giving in to him.

  Killian closed his eyes, reveling in the peace that came with having her in his arms. Soon enough, she would find herself again, but for this moment, at least, he could hold her close as he wanted.

  ***

  Aubrey fell back to sleep in his arms, her hands tucked beneath her face, and her soft curves pressed into his side. She slept deeply as he held her. The way her lips moved in her sleep, as if she whispered her dreams to him, captivated Killian. She never said a word, of course, but he felt connected to her in a way he couldn’t explain.

  No Fallen had ever mated with a human, not even one of the Elioud. Even those who had chosen exile for a human had not been bonded. To consider such a thing as possible defied God on a level most Fallen dared not contemplate. They’d been cast from Heaven for taking humans to bed. Why would God allow one of his damned warriors to bond with the race they were ever meant to protect? It was unthinkable.

  But Killian’s bond with Aubrey didn’t feel like an affront to God. It felt right to him, as if she had been designed by God Himself just for Killian. As if—despite how his mere existence shamed the Fallen—God had seen something in him worthy of such an amazing gift. Aubrey had been created to complete him.

  He would cherish that extraordinary fact until he drew his last breath.

  Near three a.m., his phone vibrated in his back pocket. His blade-brothers were back.

  He brushed Aubrey’s hair away from her face, allowing his fingertips to trail along the soft plane of her cheek. He didn’t want to move, but he had no choice.

  He sighed and shifted away from her, easing her body down to the bed. She mumbled in her sleep and then curled into a ball. She made herself so small when she slept, as if she could physically hide from the things haunting her nights. The sight pierced his heart.

  “I’ll be back soon, little warrior,” he whispered to her, climbing to his feet.

  Zee mewled from beneath the blankets as Killian pulled them over Aubrey. The kitten poked his head out, yawned, and then looked at Killian with narrowed, sleepy eyes, seeming to ask where he was going so late.

  “Guard her,” he told the kitten, scratching the little hellcat between the ears.

  Zee mewled again before burrowing into the blankets.

  Dom and Abriel waited for him outside, both lounging against the railing surrounding the second floor of the hotel.

  A young couple climbed the stairs on the far side of the parking lot, a tiny babe asleep in her father’s arms. Neither noticed Killian and his blade-brothers as they trudged upstairs. Humans were so oblivious. They minded their business, rarely noticing the things happening around them. When they did notice, they pretended otherwise. Killian had never understood that human failing. They missed so much and did so purposefully. Did obliviousness make them feel more secure?

  The Fallen could have put a stop to the ridiculousness had they tried, but they didn’t. That fact saddened Killian. They were supposed to be humanity’s guardians, but the Fallen did a half-assed job of it. They protected the humans from demons, true enough, but they did nothing to protect the irrepressible human race from themselves. The Fallen were afraid to get too close to the most fragile beings God had created, perhaps because the Fallen were drawn to that innocence and zest for life like bees to honey. They cowered away instead and expected Heaven to welcome them back when all was said and done as if they’d accomplished some great feat of bravery by avoiding humanity and human problems as often as possible. The fools.

  Heaven would never fling open its gates to those God had cast out. And soon enough, La Morte Nera would eliminate them altogether. They would die in silence, not even a whisper of their deaths passing human lips. How long until the human race followed on their heels, destroyed by the fear and cowardice the Fallen continued to display? After millennia of their God-given punishment, the Fallen had learned nothing. And once again, humanity would suffer for their failures.

  There was nothing honorable in that. Nothing.

  “Your thoughts are dark, brother,” Abriel murmured.

  “Non semper erit aestas.” Killian shrugged his brother off with the old Fallen proverb about life not always being as light as summer, unable to answer his unspoken question. He didn’t even know where to begin speaking of the things weighing on his mind, and sharing them would not lift the weight from his shoulders any more than it would ease Abriel or Dom’s mind to speak of the thoughts and fears they grappled with.

  “True enough.” Abriel sighed. He looked as tired as Killian felt.

  “Did you find anything?” Killian asked.

  Dom shook his head, his expression grim. “Their security is tight.”

  “You weren’t able to get in?” That surprised Killian. The Fallen had centuries of practice slipping past human defenses. There were few places Dom and Abriel could not enter, either by stealth or with their combined Talents.

  “We got in, but they keep everything in an encrypted system,” Dom said.

  “Shit.” Killian raked a hand through his hair, frustrated. They needed records, results. Anything would do at this point. “Can you break the encryption?” he asked Abriel.

  Abriel pursed his lips and then nodded. “It’ll take time. Days. Weeks, maybe.”

  They didn’t have weeks.

  Hell, they probably didn’t even have days, but what other choice did they have?

  “Do it,” Killian said. “Steal the whole computer system if you have to, but we need those files.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The last three years had not been kind to what remained of Aubrey’s childhood home.

  Little more than an outer wall still stood. The rest was charred rubble, left lying where it had fallen. Weeds and vines had overtaken the lot. They crept in among the broken beams like a thousand grasping fingers clinging to one another. Little scraps of yellow police tape, shredded and bleached by time, rippled in the late afternoon wind like streamers tossed carelessly to the ground.

  Once upon a time, the house had been home.

  It wasn’t anymore.

  It now stood as a testament to what had been, and what would never be again. Somewhere within that blackened rubble, her f
ather and brother had died for reasons Aubrey was only beginning to understand. There was no peace there for her, but there were no tears, either.

  Those were long gone, washed away by three years of grit and grime, of gang brutality and childhood cancer. The naïve teenage girl she’d been when she’d run had smoldered and burned away as surely as the house had.

  Killian had been correct—only the lions remained now.

  Time and distance had taken the rest, and maybe that was for the best. Idyllic moments were not for her. They belonged to those who could shelter them from the wear and tear of time. Aubrey wasn’t that girl. She wasn’t innocent anymore, with big dreams and high hopes. She was just Aubrey, the young woman who’d seen too much, done too much, and lost too much to be able to recapture that softer part of who she had been then.

  And maybe that was for the best.

  “What are you thinking about?” Killian asked as she circled around the collapsed ruin, her gaze on the ground. He’d spoken little since they’d left the hotel room, but Aubrey didn’t mind that much. His silence had given her time to think.

  “About perspective,” she answered, nudging a rotted roof beam with the toe of her shoe. It crumbled beneath her gentle prodding, little bits of wood breaking into dust-sized pieces. “When I left here, I thought I was leaving behind the harshness of life, that if I ran far enough, I could shut it out and pretend like it didn’t exist.” She shook her head a little. “All I did was trade one hard reality for another.”

  “Memphis is a rough city,” Killian said.

  “It is,” she agreed, stepping away from the rubble to sit on the ground. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she rested her chin on her knees. “But I think I made my life even harder than it had to be.”

  “How so?” Killian leaned on the old oak tree that had once stood outside her bedroom window. It was still charred in places, but green leaves grew in a lush canopy directly overhead.

  “I shut everyone out,” she said, lifting her head to look at him. “I thought that would make the loss easier, but it didn’t. I ended up having to face it alone, and that was so much harder.” She frowned. “I guess hindsight is twenty-twenty, though, right?”