by J. K. Coi
Falling Hard
By J.K. Coi
After a life filled with tragedy, rocker Gabriel Gunn thinks he’s finally getting the better of his personal demons. Then he’s attacked after a concert—and rescued by a warrior goddess brandishing a sword and white wings. As hard as it is to believe in an angelic bodyguard, Gabriel must face an even more impossible truth: he carries the devil’s soul within him.
Amelia has been watching over Gabriel for years, using her angelic powers to prevent Lucifer’s return. Now she must also protect him from warring angel factions with their own agendas. Amelia would do anything to avert another angelic war, even sacrifice her own emotions to avoid temptation. Yet with Gabriel she feels things she no longer wants to deny, and pleasure she never imagined.
But the closer Gabriel and Amelia get, the stronger Lucifer becomes. Will Amelia be forced to kill the man she’s come to love to stop the war she’s always feared?
83,000 words
Dear Reader,
I feel as though it was just last week I was attending 2010 conferences and telling authors and readers who were wondering what was next for Carina Press, “we’ve only been publishing books for four months, give us time” and now, here it is, a year later. Carina Press has been bringing you quality romance, mystery, science fiction, fantasy and more for over twelve months. This just boggles my mind.
But though we’re celebrating our one-year anniversary (with champagne and chocolate, of course) we’re not slowing down. Every week brings something new for us, and we continue to look for ways to grow, expand and improve. This summer, we’ll continue to bring you new genres, new authors and new niches—and we plan to publish the unexpected for years to come.
So whether you’re reading this in the middle of a summer heat wave, looking to escape from the hot summer nights and sultry afternoons, or whether you’re reading this in the dead of winter, searching for a respite from the cold, months after I’ve written it, you can be assured that our promise to take you on new adventures, bring you great stories and discover new talent remains the same.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
For Carlo. Always.
Acknowledgements
I want to say thank you to my incomparable editor, Deb, for seeing beyond my mistakes to the story I wanted to tell, and helping me make it shine.
I also need to thank the wonderful circle of writers who are always there to critique for me, brainstorm with me, and give me support and encouragement. Christine, Paula, Kimber, Amy, Tiffany, Maggie and Elyssa, I love you all.
Finally, thank you to my family for not holding the piles of laundry and the dusty furniture against me. I promise, as soon as the next book is done…
Contents
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
About the Author
In the many thousands of years that the world has been given over to humanity, angels have watched over our violent and irrational race—but not to protect us, as the myths like to suggest. These powerful, passionless beings have been waiting. Waiting for the one true sign that their second chance to claim earth’s paradise for their own has finally arrived…
That time is now.
Chapter One
The hot, colored spotlights hanging above the stage penetrated Gabriel’s dark lenses. He blinked, seeking relief from the stinging sweat pouring down his forehead and into his eyes through the thick layer of makeup and eyeliner.
He closed his eyes. That was better. He didn’t need to see the teenage girls screaming and jumping up and down in the front row. He didn’t need to see the rhythmic undulations of a crowd that had merged into one monstrous entity, moving before him like a great urban swarm.
A year ago he would have reveled in the size and energy of the crowd and seized the worship of his fans as nothing more than his due. Now the only thing that kept him onstage was the music.
He nodded, and behind him Samuel drummed the opening beat. Remmie followed on acoustic and Jackson broke in on bass. Their timing was perfect—Gabriel couldn’t have asked for a better set, especially since this was their last performance of the tour.
Hanging back, he gave the three of them this final chance to go nuts on the instrumental. The music pounded into him hard, each rough chord pulsing behind his closed eyelids in vibrant colors that swirled together to form familiar patterns. He sometimes wondered if everyone “saw” the notes like he did, if the music lived for them the same as it lived in him. Somehow he didn’t think so.
The boys were winding down, falling back into the official choreography of the song. Grabbing the strap of his bass, Gabriel swung it off his shoulder and readied his fingers on the strings. The crowd screamed his name, urging him to join his instrument and his voice with the others, as if only he could answer the savage demands of their hungry, desperate souls.
He opened his eyes again but the music had him in its grip and now he saw nothing except for its dark, electric colors. He let his body respond to the heavy beat as he leaped into the air. Expertly, his pick plucked the hard metal of the strings, the deeply calloused fingers of his other hand sliding along on the delicate neck of the instrument.
The notes flowed through him, a part of him. Stepping in front of the mic, he paused, waiting a heartbeat before he opened his mouth and started to sing.
You think you know…You think you understand.
Who I am. What I am.
The lyrics had been written by him, just as every song had come from him, from that honest, dark place nobody ever saw except through the music.
You can’t. You’ll never know…I pray you’ll never see.
The real me.
Gabriel felt the power and energy of the music extending outward into the audience. This was an abrasive tune with a heavy, industrial beat that made you feel certain—you either moved or you died. He didn’t have to see the crowd to know booted feet thumped madly on the concrete floor, sweaty bodies slammed forward and back, heads thrashed, and blood pumped fast and hot in thin veins already overtaxed by heroin and coke.
But it wasn’t only the beat that drilled into the core of every person in the audience. Gabriel himself drove them higher. He dictated the temper of the crowd and controlled it with his voice. His words. His will. That’s what left them frantic, roused and desperate for more—which is exactly the way he wanted to leave them tonight, when it would be more than a year before he stepped foot on a stage again.
Don’t try to find…Don’t try to see…
&
nbsp; The real me.
Suddenly Sam’s drums quit. The guitars went silent.
The crowd slowly stilled, but Gabriel sensed the bodies straining toward the stage. His spine straightened, his hand tightening on the neck of his bass as his voice rose and he held the last vocal note. And held it. A minute passed. Two. His lungs expanded and his eyes watered. He used every last molecule of air available to him until finally he brought the note back into himself. Bending his knees and bowing forward, he breathed deeply and struck the last chord off the metal strings.
The lights dropped and the stage went black as the screen rolled across, blocking them from an audience still screaming for more.
Beside him, Remmie let out a low-voiced chuckle. “Shit, Gabe. That was some fucking finish.”
Jackson said something in agreement, but Gabriel barely heard. His heartbeat drowned out everything but the last rumbling echoes of the song.
Still taking quick, deep breaths, he looked back, nodding to Sam. They’d all performed at their very best, and from the big smiles being shared between his crew, it was going to be a record night for celebrating.
“We doin’ another encore then?” Remmie asked.
The crowd was still going strong, calling for them. “Phantasm. Phantasm.”
Sam stood, shoving his sticks in his back pocket as he walked around his drums. “After that finish? No bloody way.” He came forward and grinned at Gabriel. “Nothing on this earth could top that. Not even you, not ever again.”
Gabriel was already lifting the strap of his bass over his shoulder. He dropped it gently, leaning it against his amp for the roadies to take care of.
A movement off stage left drew his attention. Gabriel caught sight of a shock of long pale hair before it disappeared. Someone had just ducked behind the heavy curtains.
Sam clapped him on the shoulder and he turned to the boys with a laugh, shoving his sweaty hair from his face before accepting a bottle of water from Remmie. “You’re right, Sammy. That was good. A damn good finish to the tour.” He took a long, hard swallow of the cool water. “Now let’s get out of here.”
Gabriel led the way offstage. As he crossed the curtain, his gaze was held by the most beautiful pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen. Part of him also noticed her silky blond hair and glistening pink lips. Thankfully, that mouth gave no indication of breaking out in crazed-fan squeals.
“Gabriel. Man, that was freaking amazing!” David came up the steps, passing the woman without a glance as he handed them all more water, a huge grin on his face. “All you guys rocked tonight. I think it was your best performance yet, and that’s saying something, considering you haven’t had a bad performance the whole tour—except for that hole-in-the-wall in Jersey that tried to pass off their high-school audio equipment as a serious sound system…”
Gabriel’s long-time friend and manager was also his biggest fan. He couldn’t have asked for a better person to be stuck in a tour bus with the past eight weeks straight. David O’Malley not only kept him company, but he kept the peace as well. After what happened last year, he’d taken on the task of making sure Gabriel got his shit back together. He’d also been the glue keeping the band going during that time of flux, and on tour he was the only reason they stayed sane enough to focus on the music instead of ripping each other’s heads off from the frustration of bland hotel food and inhumanly close quarters. While Gabriel might rule onstage, David took charge behind the scenes, keeping their unit running as smoothly as a military base camp.
“Okay, boys, let’s hurry this production along so we can all go home to our families.” David turned to Remmie with a frown. “That means you, man. I know Jenny’s waiting downstairs in your dressing room, but try not to fuck around tonight—and I mean that literally. First, you all have the backstage contest winners to meet for photo ops, and then we’re due across town at the sponsors’ after-party. At least half the damn press are already there waiting.”
That was fine and dandy, Gabriel thought with a grimace, but it meant the other half of the bloodsucking assholes would be waiting for them right outside in the hall.
As Remmie and Jackson poked David good-naturedly about being a slave driver, joking that all the other famous rock stars got to do whatever they wanted, Gabriel glanced behind him, looking for the woman with the unbelievable blue eyes. She seemed to have ducked away.
“Hey, David,” he interrupted. “Who was the girl waiting behind the curtain just a minute ago? Where did she disappear to?”
David turned around. “What girl? You know I don’t let any of the fans near the stage during the show.”
“Blond. Blue eyes.”
He shook his head. “No way. I didn’t give permission for anyone to come through, and I haven’t seen any girls—” he turned back to Remmie with a frown of impatience, “—besides Jenny, that is. Remmie my man, you gotta put a leash on that chick. Security caught her trying to come backstage to watch the show.”
“So? What the hell is wrong with that?”
“Dude, she wasn’t wearing a shirt.”
Remmie defended his kinky new girlfriend. Sam and Jackson both laughed and teased their bandmate, but Gabriel had stopped listening. Suddenly he was exhausted. It had been a long tour, and the adrenaline that had gotten him through this final gig was wearing off quickly now that it was over. A few years ago, it wouldn’t have fazed him, but now he needed time to rebuild his walls before he would be able to face his fans and the damned press.
“David, if you find the blonde, bring her in to me.” He took another swig of water and started for the stairs.
“Why?” David called after him.
Gabriel wasn’t sure.
“Who is she?”
“Don’t know.” He shrugged. “But I want to find out.”
Two hours later the club was empty but for the late-night cleanup staff and their lazy manager, who’d fallen asleep in a chair behind the stage. Gabriel shook hands and signed a few autographs before following David to the rear entrance of the building. Remmie, Jackson and Sam had gone on ahead to the after-party in an attempt to keep the press from protesting too loudly that Phantasm’s frontman seemed to have purposely hung back out of the spotlight—again.
“So what’s going on with you tonight? I thought you said you were ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Come on, you know what I mean. Ready to start doing this again—facing the press, making appearances, being involved in all the public stuff.”
Gabriel lifted a brow and returned David’s penetrating look with what he hoped was a bored one of his own. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. It isn’t like you to spend hours looking for some phantom groupie. If you wanted a girl, there were a hundred babes begging me to let them in to see you—and at least half of them were legal, if not completely sober.”
“You know that’s not what I want.” Mindless, faceless fucking hadn’t been part of Gabriel’s agenda for the past year. Neither had the drugs and booze. Not since Leanne’s death. “This was different. And she wasn’t a teenager. I saw her hanging around behind the stage just after the show and I think she was watching me.”
“Hell, Gabe. Everyone’s watching you all the damn time. You know that.” David paused. “You and I also know this wasn’t really about the girl—not this girl, in any case.”
Actually, for the first time in a long while his feelings hadn’t been complicated by grief, guilt, shame, anger—or some combination of them all. It really had just been about a mysterious pretty girl.
Gabriel didn’t know how to explain it, but the moment he’d locked eyes with the blonde backstage, however briefly, a current had gone through him. It was the same kind of surge he felt when he sang—an almost electrical flash of heat and awareness, a heady thrum of energy and power.
“Yeah, whatever. It doesn’t matter now.” He didn’t want to talk about this with David, didn’t want his friend to think he was slipp
ing back into the depressive guilt that had plagued him since Leanne’s overdose. “Let’s just get the rest of this night over with.”
“Happy to.” David smiled. “My friend, as much as I dig you, I’m looking forward to seeing the end of your ugly mug for a while and going home to Lila.”
David’s wife hadn’t come on tour since their son Tony was born, and neither David nor Gabriel blamed her for staying home in Chicago, near her family. A rock band’s tour bus was no place to raise a young child—especially last year, when the band had been riding with an entourage that had always been loaded or high.
Gabriel chuckled. “I don’t think that’s going to work out quite the way you planned it, David. Especially since your lovely wife insisted I come home with you for a visit.”
David stopped at the back door, his fingers curling around the long metal bar that acted as a handle, forcing Gabriel to stop as well or run his friend down to get outside. “She what? No, you wouldn’t. You’ve got to give me at least a week alone with her first. I need time to make her remember why she continues to lust after the boring ol’ manager, and not music’s most soulful bad boy.”
Gabriel snorted. “And why should I continue to suffer with salty takeout, overpriced television porn, and the torture of my own company, when I could be enjoying the soft, sweet charms of the most amazing cook this side of the Atlantic?”
“You’re killing me, you know that?” Sighing, David pushed open the door. A bare fluorescent bulb glowed from above the exit, bathing a small circle in front of it in thin light. A blast of cool, pungent air coming up from the San Francisco Bay met them as they stepped out into the darkened alley behind the club. “Why don’t you go fu—”
