My Lord's Judgment

by Taylor Law

  Michael looked guilty. “Yahweh wants to see you.” Without further conversation, they each took an elbow, pulling him away from Brandon.

  His Little Raven was standing there, looking scared and confused. His expressive face was communicating a series of “No” and “You promised you wouldn’t leave.” It broke Sam’s heart.

  There was nothing he could do; one moment he was standing in the tiny apartment staring into pain filled, chocolate brown eyes, and the next he was in Yahweh’s temple in Heaven.

  White marble columns extended three stories up to an intricately painted ceiling, adorned in rose gold. The solid silver floor was cool against his bare feet, and yellow gold acted as crown molding and baseboards to trim the room. Statues sat on pedestals near the walls, and colored glass turned the windows into artwork. Large, sparkling, diamond chandeliers hung down, creating rainbows when the light hit them. It was glorious, but Samael could not appreciate it at the moment.

  The angels released Sam and left him, closing the solid oak doors on their way out. The sound of them shutting reverberated around the temple. He did not know why he was back here, but there must be a reason.

  Sam strode forward, down the aisle in the center of the columns, toward the large, adorned throne at the back of the room. As he reached his destination, he knelt and bowed his head in respect, raising his fist up to his heart. He knew he would not see God in person. In his human form, with his powers removed, he would perish in God's presence, so he was not surprised when the Spirit entered.

  The Devine Spirit looked like a mixture of floating clouds and a mirage that one might see in a desert, completely opaque, but there nonetheless.

  The mist spoke. “Be at ease, my child.”

  Sam relaxed his stance and looked up, but remained on his knees. “You summoned me, My Lord?”

  “I did. You have done well.”

  “I apologize, forgive my impertinence, My Lord, but I do not understand.” Samael was so confused.

  The Spirit flowed over his body, offering comfort. “No apology is required. I allowed your denouncement for a purpose. You who have always been faithful and loyal to me, I would never have permitted your removal otherwise.”

  The mist moved away and back toward the throne. Sam just knelt quietly, waiting for what God had to say. “Brandon was in grave peril, not only his body but also his soul. If Gadreel had succeeded, it would have destroyed Brandon, changed him. I could not allow that. The boy required protection. Who better to see to that, but the one who has had so much grief thrust upon him from the source? Only, if I had disclosed to you that Gadreel’s offspring was in need of the help, your animosity toward him would have carried over to Brandon.”

  Sam’s back went up at the pronouncement that His Lord thought him unable to carry out his duties because of his emotions. He had never before let that hinder him.

  “Now Samael, I am fully aware of that.” Sam was chagrined, but the amusement in the sovereign Voice calmed him.

  “My sincerest apologies, My Lord.”

  “No need. Search yourself, my child. Would you have been able to put aside your differences with the father, to do right by the son? Or was it better that you grew to know Brandon with no knowledge of his birth?”

  Would things have been different had he known Bran was Gadreel’s son? Probably. He would have done his duty, but no more. He wouldn’t have given his Little Raven a chance.

  “I agree. That is why I allowed what I did. He needed you, and you, Samael, need him as well. You received your justice, which is why you were given no assistance. You deserved that privilege. Gadreel is where he belongs, and Brandon is safe. Now it is time for you to make a choice.”

  Sam looked up at the Spirit, wishing his Lord was with him in flesh so that he could see his face. “A choice, My Lord?”

  “Your assignment has been completed. You have fulfilled your duty and may be reestablished in the ranks. Of course, you shall receive all your powers and be restored to your station completely. Alternatively, if you should so choose, you may go back to earth and to Brandon. If that is your choice, I would expect you to assist him with his awakening powers. He has prophetic dreams and will be continually coming into more gifts as the years pass. You would be his advisor and teacher, and your lives shall be tied, so that the day he passes, shall be the day you return as well.” Yahweh’s voice held no inflection, as if he did not care either way. “Make your choice, Samael.”

  There was no choice to make. Sam had been alone for millennia. As Death, he had few friends - like Michael and Raphael - that understood him and stood by him. Nearly every other being had looked upon him with revulsion and fear. He found no acceptance, no inclusion, no succor; he was alone. Brandon wanted him.

  Brandon looked at him with affection and approval.

  He wanted his Little Raven.

  “That, my dear Samael, was why you needed him as much as he needed you.” He could hear the smile in God’s voice.

  “If it should please My Lord, I would choose Earth.” He was grinning.

  “Granted.” God pronounced. More softly, he added, “I approve. You more than most, deserve some happiness. Go now. I shall have Michael escort you home.”

  Home. Brandon was his home now.

  Sam bowed once more to his Lord, taping his chest with his fist before rising and starting back toward the door.

  He was almost there when Yahweh stopped him. “Samael?”

  Sam turned. “Yes, My Lord?”

  “You should have trusted my Judgment.”

  ****

  Chapter 9

  Bran stood there gaping at the place where Samael had been. He was gone. He’d just disappeared, one minute there, the next…nothing.

  Was he coming back? Brandon remembered what Chris had said to him about the cheating. “For you?” He didn’t think so. The guy was an angel, he probably got his wings back and would look at his time with Bran as ‘some fun he’d once had with a silly human.’ Wait, did angels do that? He didn’t know.

  Bran didn’t even think he was considered human anymore. If his father was an angel, what did that make him? A half angel?

  Well, one thing at a time; he couldn’t keep standing there staring at nothing. He walked over the door, lifted it up as much as he could to level the hinges, and slowly fought it closed.

  What now?

  Bran looked around the room. Carlos was dead on his floor. He should probably call the police department, but how was he supposed to explain what happened to the cops? Umm…yeah, this guy broke into my apartment with some demons and angels, they were holding my boyfriend and me at gunpoint, and so my boyfriend killed them and then disappeared with some more angels. Right. Sure.

  Can you say loony-bin-lock-up three times fast?

  Brandon scrubbed his hands down his face. He was lost. And alone.

  Again.

  He couldn’t bear to look at Carlos’ dead body anymore. Seeing dead people on T.V. was nothing like in real life. The man’s eyes were still open and glazed, his mouth lax, and there was a gapping maw in his neck where Sam had slashed it. Blood pooled under his whole body. Bran didn’t even know people had that much blood. It was seriously gross. He knew he should probably feel bad for the guy, but he didn’t. The man deserved everything he got and more.

  He strode over to the closet to get a sheet to cover Carlos, and as he was walking, back to the living area there was a knock at his door. Bran froze.

  After the last time, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Were there demons out there? Angels? Leprechauns? The Keebler Elf?

  Ugh! He couldn’t keep from answering forever.

  Slowly he stepped around the couch, keeping his ears pealed. All his senses were heightened and his hands were trembling, white knuckled on the sheet he had grabbed.

  The knock came again followed by “Bran?”

  He knew that voice.

  Brandon ran toward it, throwing the cloth he held in his hands. He pulled and t
ugged on the stupid piece of wood in his way, until he could get to…his angel.

  Then, there he was – his beautiful, wonderful Sammy. He looked exactly as he had when Bran had last seen him. He didn’t know what it was that he’d expected, maybe wings and a glistening white robe. Sam was still barefoot and shirtless, wearing loose black shorts. It was the best sight in the world.

  “You came back!” Bran whispered, grinning.

  “Of course I did, I made a promise. Besides that, I could not leave you.”

  Brandon threw himself at Samael, nearly knocking him to the ground. Sam wrapped him up in his arms, chuckling. “I assume this means you are happy to see me?”

  “No,” he replied, still grinning. “I’m thrilled.”

  He grabbed Samael’s hand, dragging him in the apartment. “Where did you go? What happened to you? What…”

  Sam interrupted him, and pulled him into a bear hug once more. “I will explain everything, I promise. For now, I want only to hold you a moment.”

  Bran squeezed his Sammy tight, smiling so big his cheeks hurt. Then he saw Carlos out of the corner of his eye and reality hit him hard.

  “Sammy, what are we going to do? There's a dead body on my living room floor.” Brandon looked up into caring, indigo eyes.

  “We will take care of it, and anything else that comes our way. Together.” Sam smiled down at him, and everything was okay. Everything was perfect. They could deal with anything, together.

  ####

  ~fin~

  About the Author

  Taylor Law is a northern born, southern girl, with a free spirit. If it is romance, she loves it. Taylor has lived in the southern United States most of her life, along with her huge family. She started writing at a very young age; her first poem at six, her first song at seven, and stories followed directly after. She hasn’t stopped since. A romantic clear to her soul, Taylor continues to believe in the elusive ‘Happily Ever After.’ On any given day, you can usually catch her with a book in her hand, or creating something. Taylor loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her at taylorlawbooks@gmail.com. Follow her on twitter at @taylorlawbooks or become her Facebook friend at www.facebook.com/taylorlaw0

  To find out more about upcoming releases, you can visit her website at www.taylorlawbooks.com or her Facebook fan page at www.facebook.com/taylorlawbooks

  Dear reader,

  If you enjoyed My Lord's Judgment, please leave a review at the book distributor where it was purchased and share it with your friends, so that others may enjoy it also. Keep reading for an excerpt for the next Shenandoah Pack book. Thank you for all of your support!

  Hugs and spanks,

  Taylor

  Coming Soon

  The Shenandoah Pack Book Two

  George Washington National Park

  THE SOUND of flapping wings vibrated the air overhead before silence reigned. The hunter lowered the weapon and let out the breath he'd held while taking the shot. Finally, some action. Flipping the rifle over his back, he scrambled down from the god-forsaken tree stand and squirmed out of the safety harness. He’d been in the damn thing for hours and was stiff as hell.

  He really preferred guided hunts, but a few friends thought good, old-fashioned buck hunting in the Virginia woods would be something different for him and snatched him up for the weekend. All day Saturday, and all of Sunday, sitting fourteen feet up in a tree, and for what? He was stiff, his fingers and toes numb, and not one antler to show for his trouble.

  Now he remembered why he'd stopped doing this.

  As quietly as possible, he adjusted his weapon of choice. His pride and joy was more than he needed to shoot a buck in this region but he figured that at least nothing would get away. If he hit the bugger, it would be a kill shot. Just as it should be. Nothing was as satisfying as knowing that when the trigger was pulled, the pray would be dead before they even hit the ground.

  As the hunter waded through the dew covered underbrush, the smell of dirt and plants assailed his nose. He breathed deep of the scent, the nip of the chilled air awaking his senses like nothing else could. He pulled down his night vision goggles from the top of his head and leveled them over his eyes. Night was swallowing the woods and with the new moon, it was going to be black as pitch out soon.

  He'd been about ready to call the weekend a bust when he'd heard movement about 50 yards from his station. While searching the direction with the scope, he saw something that confounded him. It looked like a dog, but much larger, almost the size of a small pony. It had to be a wolf. He'd heard of coyotes being in Virginia, but there hadn’t been reports of wolves for a hundred years or more. Didn’t matter, he wasn’t leaving here without a kill if he could help it, so he shot the beast. Now it was time to claim his prize.

  Pulling his rifle level to his shoulder, he inched toward the rustling noise he heard, the random branch smacking his limbs as he walked. As he stepped through the brush and into a clearing, he saw the animal lying on its side, wiggling as it tried to stand. He’d hit it alright, in the shoulder mere millimeters from the clean, kill-shot it should have been. Disappointment enveloped him. He was better than that. The animal, still breathing, chest rising and falling quickly, forced out short, shallow bursts of air. Removing the night vision goggles, the hunter took aim and moved closer until he was looking down the sights at the head, directing his next shot for the skull. Only, before he could pull the trigger, the wolf started to change.

  Right before his eyes, the muzzle shrank, and fur started to rescind along the body- getting shorter and thinner until it was completely gone. The hair rose on the back of his neck as snapping and popping sounds emanated from the creature. The limbs elongated, getting thicker, the shoulders wider.

  The hunter's heart gave a kick and started up a rhythm resembling machine gunfire. The weapon became heavy in his hands, so he lowered it while gawking at the thing in front of him. “The. Fuck?”

  Within a few moments, there was a naked man lying at his feet and the wolf had vanished.

  He swiftly raised his rifle again, taking aim. He didn’t know what the hell was happening, but he damn sure wasn’t going to let that….whatever it was, attack him. It didn’t look as if it was going anywhere, but he was taking no chances. The gunshot wound was seeping blood, but was much smaller than it should be.

  “Please…” Amber eyes looked up at him, begging for mercy. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

  “What the hell are you?” The hunter whispered. There was no way that the thing in front of him was human.

  “I’m a man,” it groaned back.

  Right.

  “No way. Tell me what you are!” He prepared to fire. Was this an alien invasion? Or was it just that all of the tales about werewolves were true? And if they were real, what other creatures could be out there right now? Without his consent, the hunter's eyes quickly scanned the woods before darting back to the sight before him.

  “Please..."

  “Are you a werewolf?” He lifted his booted foot and roughly shoved the underbelly of the creature, turning it over onto its back. Damn, it really did look human. He would have never known there was anything different about this fellow, had he not watched the change himself.

  “Are. You. A werewolf?” He spat out.

  “No.” The creature gasped. “Shifter. I…mmm…shifter.”

  Holy crap! He’d heard of that before. Basically, the same thing as a werewolf; at least in his mind. The thing wasn’t human, after all. In fact, it would be a service to humanity if he got rid of it. His heart kicked again, but this time from excitement. A flush of warmth suffused his body, chasing away the cold.

  Out of all the animals he'd killed all over the world, he'd never shot himself a shifter. Shit, he never even knew such a thing really existed until now.

  And just in time.

  Life was stagnant, boring. The satisfaction from the hunt and a clean kill didn't carry the power it once did. There was nothing new out there for him. Nothing
except this.

  Hunting was in his blood. He worked, and hunted... and that was it. Everything besides making a living came second. He was lucky enough to work for himself, so he was able to travel the globe, searching for his next big kill. Alaska, Africa, India, South America, all over the U.S. You name it, he’d been there. First, deer hunting, but that got tired quickly. He moved up to moose… and on and on. He’d just come back from his fifth African safari with a nice set of elephant tusks; paid a pretty penny for that shindig too.

  What was a little pay-off money when it came to excitement?

  When his friends talked him into this weekend, he was not really into it. Then those same friends left earlier today, leaving him alone. They were a bunch of weakling pretenders, who couldn't stand the cold, and couldn't stay still for ten minutes without playing with their cell phones. It was disgusting really.

  That was all good now, though. He was the one getting the special kill because of it.

  This made is year. Heck, this was the happiest moment that he could remember. No one he knew had bagged a shifter before. He was the first - the greatest big game hunter in the world.

  “Please…” The creature begged again, pulling him out of his reverie.

  “Don’t worry," the hunter replied with a smirk. "I’ll make this quick.”