Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
EPILOGUE
ALL MY EXES DIE FROM HEXES
BOOK FOUR
KILLIAN MCRAE
Table of Contents
Title Page
When Spell Freezes Over (All My Exes Die From Hexes, #4)
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
EPILOGUE
About the Author
OTHER TITLES
Author’s note: This book was previously released as The Devil You Know, part of The Pure Souls Series. Other than minor editorial updates, it is largely the same book. The author wishes to make sure that they who purchased or read the previous iteration of this book are aware, and decide whether or not to proceed with that understanding.
Prologue
New York City – Thirty Years Ago
Michael would at least grant that this murderer had the tenacity to commit his crime using his own hand, and didn’t make it impersonal, employing a firearm.
He hated these infrequent outings to the mortal realm. It was bad enough he had to port down occasionally to check in on the futile Pure Souls. The whole concept of a trio of magical mortals to fight evil seemed a good idea thousands of years ago when Ramiel and Gabriel had argued for it. The world had been different then, so much more intimate, so much more transparent. So lacking in shades of gray. There had been fewer humans in those times. The five Big Apple boroughs about him contained almost as many people as a whole of Europe and Asia at the time the last accords were drawn. Three people against the small percentage of Hell-driven beasts and mortal misdeeds seemed a more rational number at the time. Now, it felt as effective as throwing pebbles in the ocean and trying to cause a tidal wave.
The victim gurgled, and even from this distance Michael could smell his defecation as the mortal coil unwound. His last breath floated on the breeze as the perpetrator rummaged through his victim’s pockets, looking for the spoils of crime. Finding what he was after, the man, now a murderer as well as a thief, quickly slipped a leather wallet into the recesses of his own jacket and fled.
Michael approached the body, numb to its suffering. The soul of this poor man would take its next journey soon enough, and as best as he could see, toward the heavenly realm. Still, he did not see the harm in attempting intervention at that conjuncture. His chin buried into his chest as the prince of the heavenly realm bowed his head in prayer.
A moment later, however, the hairs on the back of his own neck lifted. Only the presence of another of his kind would cause such a physical reaction.
“Was this something born of your influence?”
“If you mean by Hell’s,” Azazel’s voice remained neutral, “as best I know, no. Evil is alive and well, brother. Lucifer may have cultivated it in earlier times, but it’s matured and grown into adulthood. It is robust.” He paused, then added, “You know where this is going, don’t you?”
He wetted his palate, curious how flesh drew responses of his physical body that Heaven did not permit. “I don’t want to think about that, Azazel.”
“Think of it or no, we are, nonetheless, on that path again. The signs of humanity’s collapse are everywhere. In the Middle East, men kill men over the slightest variations of their definition of God, arguing for the right to claim land which in any other time and place would be worthless. Across Asia, good people wanting no more than the right to earn a living and support their children are butchered and maimed. And just today, I learned there’s another spin off of that Happy Days show. Clearly, we are heading towards another apocalypse. Big Boss will demand another rapture. He will smite humanity, just as he smote the nephilim, and the lesser angels before that.”
Michael’s shoulders dropped. “Would that we could stop it.”
“Can we not?”
“Doubtful, unless you’re able to convince our brother Lucifer to cull his demon hordes, or at the very least, employ them for more fruitful efforts.”
Azazel’s shoulders dropped. “You know he will not. We all sate the spark of life within us the way we can. For him, it is in the birthing of demons.”
The prince arched an eyebrow. “And you? How do you sate the spark?”
“If you ask do I dally with humans, I cannot deny that it is an activity in which I partake with a good amount of relish.”
Michael tried to remain impassive. “And have you begotten an offspring again?”
The Fallen shrugged. “There are means in this age to prevent the act from such consequences.”
The tension he had labored to suppress left him, flowing down to his feet and seeping into the ground. The relief died the next moment when Azazel added, “Though there is one at present, a child whose mother caught my eye and with whom I lay in the guise of her beloved.”
The old truths never failed: a sinner begets sin. “Is this something I will need to address to the Council?”
“Would not their attention be better turned to discussing ways in which things such as this—” Azazel chopped the air, indicating the corpse beside them, “may be remedied. I would think the offspring of a Fallen would trouble them little, given how much death and destruction the mortals undertake.”
“A son of yours may grow to be a mighty wiccan.” Michael tried to keep the focus on that which he now suspected Azazel had come specifically to address. “If you wish me to keep him from the Council, I must have your vow that you leave him to his own devices, let him make his own destiny. If he comes by magic in his days, let it be drawn from heavenlight.”
“I vow I will leave my son to his own devices, and he may choose his own path. But, Michael, I do not know that I hope much for him. This mortal realm, this humanity—it will crumble unless we do something.”
Michael straightened. “I am not Big Boss, Az. I may be the mightiest of the angels, but I cannot simply say, let it be, and expect it to be so.”
“I know a solution, but you will not care to hear it.”
The audacity of assuming his own nature made Michael turn. He fixed the hellbeast in his gaze, narrowing his eyes, pinching down his rueful pride. “Make it known to me, and to my own mind let me be.”
“Revolution, brother.” Azazel hissed the word like a slur. “The Heaven-Hell Accords set the field
of play upon which so many fall in to darkness now. Let a revolution be had, and we shall amend the rules. You do not have the power to command the consequence, but you can cause the consequence to command the power.”
“I don’t understand. What do you—”
Azazel cut off his brother. “A prophet, Michael. They have the power to negotiate binding agreements with Big Boss’s authority invested in their faith.”
“Impossible. A prophet could only be born if an angel in good standing were to mate with a human with their permission and knowledge of the child’s destined power. How could I find such a human in these times, who would willingly carry a child of such reverence and power?”
“From the wiccans, of course. A witch would know well the powers of an angel born.”
Though temptation grew at the prospect, Michael still saw the hole in Azazel’s suggestion. “You want me to raise a revolutionary. I would need to have such a child born in a culture where he would be conditioned to always fight against the established authority.”
“That is simple enough,” Azazel argued. “Let the prophet be female.”
“A female prophet?” He couldn’t help the corners of his mouth flickering. “Do you have any concept of what the dangers of a female half-angel would be? There is a good reason we’ve not begotten such a being before.”
“We need to start a revolution that will be powerful enough to force the Heavens to open and kneel. We need someone bold, someone indomitable.”
“Interesting word choice.”
Azazel’s head hatched to the side. “Indomitable?”
“No, we.” Michael crossed his arms. “I would be behooved if I did not remind you that Big Boss has placed a moratorium on creating prophets. I may beget a child, and as an upstanding member of the heavenly realm, my child will not suffer any hindrance due to my act. But I will. I will be purposefully going against the command of Big Boss. I will fall, forever barred from Heaven. What hope have you then? You, who’ve yearned to return since the day you were evicted all those eons ago.”
“Thus why you must sire the child. Your progeny will be endowed with your particular gifts. And as a woman, her will may be turned like a screw of her heart.”
“Her heart, you say?” The corner of Michael’s mouth quirked. “Screws move in two directions, Az. Too loose, and she slips through our grasps. Too tight, and she will seize under the pressure. How do you intend to assure that she is screwed in precisely the right way?”
The Fallen sneered in turn. “Trust that to my own progeny.”
Chapter 1
Riona pressed her head back into the mattress. Even though her eyes were closed, fireworks exploded on the inside of her eyelids. Her soul became a physical entity entwined with her limbs, her core, and her whole being, coating her in warmth and security. Her body felt like a playground, and a boisterous levity overcame her, as if she could float away. If not for Jerry’s body pinning her down, she very likely would have. With one more downward drill, he too came apart, calling out her name. Spent, Riona tried to catch her breath. Slowly, her eyes opened. She looked up at her husband with the grin only a satisfied woman can wear.
Then reality—that fair-weather, fickle tart—bailed and slipped out the door.
In a moment, she scooted out from under her spouse and pressed her back to the headboard. “Jerry?”
“Yes, dear?”
Her hand tentatively rose as one shaking finger dared to point. “What are those?”
His lazy gaze followed her accusing jab. Jerry sat back on his heels as he observed with passing concern, what managed to pique his wife’s curiosity.
“That’s weird, they never came out unsolicited when I was alive before.”
“Jerry?”
“Yes?” He returned his gaze to her.
“You have wings, Jerry.”
He laughed, reaching up behind her. Her body shivered when she felt a weight on her back that shouldn’t have been there. Unless she’d gone Quasimodo without realizing it. Jerry’s hand jerked, forcing her to yelp. When he pulled the hand out from behind her, her eyes beheld a perfect, soft, fuzzy white feather pinched between his two, highly talented fingers.
“So do you.” Jerry drew the object to his mouth and kissed it.
Her hands reached back behind her head, where they met with a fistful of fluff. “How?”
Her husband didn’t reply. Instead, Jerry arched his back, letting his wingspan test its limits, before pulling his wife up to straddle his lap. He patted her chin with the tip of his finger while his eyes surveyed her lips.
“Sooo... We have some things to discuss, but can’t it wait? I’ve never had sex while be-winged before. I bet it helps with the upward thrusts.”
In two seconds flat, he collapsed into the mattress as she ported herself across the room. Jerry blinked away his confusion, his body tensing then releasing just as suddenly when he rolled over and saw she was still there. Riona tried not to notice how his firm muscles moved beneath the taut olive skin, or the way his body appealed to her eyes. It was hard, and that fact, too, threatened to distract her.
The moment he sat up and his wings bunched up behind him, his eyes went wide. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. You just thought it and pfft! You’re on the other side of the room like Jeannie. Neat.”
She held a hand out before her, as if to warn him to keep his distance. “I’m going to ask this one time, and please, give me an honest answer. Are we related?”
The apples of his cheeks blushed. “What, you think we’re some sort of sister-wife or cousin-husband?” His expression turned sour. “Are you going to leave me over this, Riona? I mean, love is love, right?”
“Jerry!”
“Okay, okay. Geesh. You know I’m only joking. No, babe, we’re not related. We got different dads. And moms, I’m willing to bet, as mine died two thousand years ago and yours was merely born then.”
That eased her a bit. She stood erect, letting her hand fall slightly. She asked the question she was far too afraid she already knew the answer to. “You’re the antichrist, aren’t you? Oh, God, I knew you had to be too good to be true. You’re Lucifer’s son.”
“Me, the offspring of that degenerative prick? Um, no, and ew. But you’re looking in the right direction. My dad is one of the Fallen. It’s also the reason my awesome angel upgrades are barely above economy class, while you seem to have gotten the executive platinum first class package.” He admired her with the type of awe usually reserved for rainbows and David Blaine specials. “I can’t believe you can port like that, on demand, using just your mind and no spells. You weren’t kidding when you said you went back to Boston, were you? Here I was thinking you found some sort of spell book in Hades’s library or something.”
She searched her memory for the list of the Grigori she’d once had memorized. Outside of Lucifer, there were four, sometimes referred to as the four horsemen. Three of them, Samuel, Armaros, and Kochab, didn’t take much interest in humanity outside of generalized rabble rousing and the occasional Hedge Fund Management service, but the fourth had a burning hard-on for causing mischievousness and mayhem wherever he moseyed.
“Azazel is your father.” The truth in those words was suddenly so self-evident she didn’t bother to ask Jerry for confirmation. “That’s why you put yourself between me and him when he attacked at that rodeo thing back in Boston. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Yeah, well, what can I say? Your dad doesn’t have the market cornered for the Father Hall of Shame. The only emotion mine has ever had for me is disappointment when I didn’t live up to his expectations.”
“Expectations? What expectations did a fallen angel have for you?”
Jerry ran a hand down his face, slicking off the sheen of sweat that lingered from their little poke about. “Really? After we’ve just reunited, you want to start the download of the shit that was my creation and life before you? Riona, please, no. Not when you’re standing in front of me, naked, and I’
ve only been inside you once in a year. You can’t expect me to spell out the details of a two-thousand-year old conspiracy when taking you hard and heavy against the ceiling is now an apparent option.”
Riona flushed, though if from fear or arousal, she wasn’t quite sure. Against the ceiling? Even with all the explorations she and Jerry had undertaken in their previous goes, that one had remained outside the realm of possibility. Against her better judgment, her eyes tracked up to the mural painted above. Bare-breasted nymphs danced around a waterfall while a man who looked suspiciously like Zeus concealed himself behind a shrub and observed. It gave a whole new meaning to the term “bushwhacked.”
Jerry didn’t lose a moment of advantage. He slid off the bed, his wings creating a corona of white fluff behind him, and stalked her direction. “Tempting you, aren’t I?”
“I have a basic grasp of physics, Jerry. As pretty as these things are,” she quivered and her wings flexed, “I know that aerodynamically they just won’t do.”
“Seriously? After the things you’ve seen, this is where you think human reality is going to step in? Wings are just a physical manifestation of our angelic nature. And this—”
He reached her position and took her right hand out of the air, guiding it down to where he was hard and ready for her.
“—is where the manifestation of our human natures connect. I’m pretty sure if we decided we could float up in to that picture, it would happen. We’re semi-heavenly beings, you and I. We are the word made deed.”
She closed her eyes as his lips found hers. It wasn’t until she opened them again a moment later that she realized they were already floating high above the ground.
He smirked. “Told you.”
She shifted herself, finding new bearings in a reality lacking the constraints of physics. Somehow, without the ability to push and pull, she had managed to wrap her legs around him, replacing her clutching hand with an alternative clutching part of her anatomy.
“Know-it-all gnosis demon.”
“Overachieving keystone witch.”
MUCH LATER, AS THE rosy red fingers of dawn stretched across the sky and illuminated their chamber with its soft glow, her husband’s voice—sounding as though it were several yards away—bridged her into consciousness.
When Spell Freezes Over (All My Exes Die From Hexes Book 4) Page 1
