Possessed by the Fallen

by Sharon Ashwood

  Kenyon crossed his ankles and cracked a beer. “Seriously, dude. We need you.”

  Jack smiled, but there was a cold feeling in his chest. He felt the bonds of love and friendship among the Horsemen and their mates. They had accepted him back, even knowing what he was. He wanted to reach for that warmth with both hands, but something held him back. I’m a demon. They deserve better.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said lightly. “First, we’ve got a bridal apocalypse to get through.”

  * * *

  It was Valentine’s Day. Jack sat in the cathedral, every nerve on high alert, because today was the royal wedding. Two kingdoms would be united, a war ended, a new era begun. After so much bloodshed and drama, even Jack was a little amazed that it was finally going to happen.

  But it was happening because, bloody and battered, the La Compagnie des Morts and its allies had risen to the occasion. So had the prince and princess and the humans who loved them, the fey and their magic and even one very small dragon who was now everyone’s favorite pet. The power of love worked in mysterious ways.

  The Horsemen were scattered through the pews. Kenyon was on the other side of the aisle, looking as keyed up as Jack felt. Winspear and Ralston were keeping an eye on the royal couple. Company security had arrived from around the globe and, along with the Light Fey, had the route between the palace and the marriage altar locked down tight.

  The crowds were even thicker than anyone had anticipated. After the battle at the gate, the proverbial cat was out of the bag about the supernatural. Amelie was the ideal fairy princess bride, complete with her own prince and a wicked queen to boot. The press was experiencing a paparazzigasm and a handful of old-school Vidonese were sure it was the end of days.

  Lark slid into the seat beside Jack. She was wearing one of her own designs, a discreetly sparkly gown in flesh tones that made Jack’s mouth water. Like all the women in the cathedral, she wore a hat, though hers was elegantly simple compared to most.

  “How’s it going?” Jack asked.

  Lark gave a smirk. “Your niece has everything well in hand. I think Chloe is about to become the most famous wedding planner in history. Sam Ralston is marrying a woman who would make a competent general in a pinch.”

  Jack couldn’t stifle a grin. His reunion with Chloe had been one of the highlights since his return. “I knew I raised her right.”

  “You did,” Lark replied. “And she’s got Bree and Lexie to help. We don’t need to worry about the wedding itself. It’s going to be exquisite. Of course Kyle had to find a new ring after you tossed the first one into the gaping maw of a collapsing dimension.”

  “I’m sure he found something in the treasury.”

  “He went to a proper jeweler. You can’t blame him for wanting something without magical baggage.”

  “Kids these days,” Jack muttered. “No stomach for a little curse here and there.”

  They stopped talking as Crown Prince Kyle and his groomsmen approached the altar. Kyle was wearing the uniform of Vidon, gold and silver glittering against the dark green of his coat. He looked a trifle pale, as if the enormity of the day was hitting home.

  And then there was a commotion and every head turned. Princess Amelie was there on King Renault’s arm, wearing the magnificent diamond-spangled dress that had nearly cost both Lark and Jack their lives. For an instant, Jack remembered Lark taking the gown from her armoire in New York and making him promise to get it safely out of her studio. This moment made everything worth the trouble.

  Jack was no dressmaker, but he understood female beauty. The gown fit tight to Amelie’s knees and then flared out in a froth of lace, as if the princess were actually Venus rising from the ocean on a cushion of sea foam. But the princess herself, with her violet eyes and long, loose dark hair, was what everyone saw. A hushed murmur ran through the crowd.

  Jack glanced at Kyle. He looked poleaxed, as if he was indeed about to wed a goddess. Perhaps he was. After all, every woman had a spark of the divine, didn’t she?

  The choir in the galleries rose with a rustle of robes, and suddenly there was music.

  * * *

  “There is magic in a wedding, especially a royal one. Every fey in the room felt it, both Light and Dark,” said Lark, long after the last guest had gone home. “It was everything we’d hoped for.”

  “I’m glad,” said Jack, deciding she looked spectacular with the sunrise behind her. Larks were morning birds after all.

  They were on one of the upper balconies of the palace, enjoying a breath of salt air off the Mediterranean. The reception room behind them was deserted, most of the dishes and leftover food cleared away. It had been a long day and a longer ceremony, and nobody had relaxed until the future king and queen had been safely packed off to their undisclosed honeymoon location, which Jack knew was a ski holiday in the Colorado Rockies.

  And while all that was wonderful, Jack was much more fascinated by the woman before him. The dress was clinging in all the right places, and he was thinking a successful mission deserved a reward—preferably one they could share. He eased closer, dispensing with some of the unnecessary space between them.

  “Are you listening, Jack?”

  “Sure.” He mentally groped for something to add. “Even the humans made a fuss about it being Valentine’s Day.”

  “And they’re not wrong. All those hearts and doves are symbolic. If everyone thinks they’re a good omen, they are.”

  He made an agreeable noise as he slid his arms around her, careful of her bandaged arm. He could tell that after a long day, it was bothering her. “Are you going to get Winspear to check that tomorrow?”

  “Yes. He said it will leave a scar.”

  “And?”

  “I’m going to let it.” She gave an elegant shrug of one shoulder. “Speaking of symbolism, I want a memento of that particular trial by fire. I’d like to think of it as a rite of passage.”

  “It was a triumph.”

  “And also a perfect reminder about secrets and their consequences.” She smoothed his lapels. “And speaking of responsibilities—”

  “I thought we were speaking of symbolism.”

  She turned her large, dark eyes up at his. “You really need to take that job as commander of the Company. You know you can do an amazing job. Headquarters has been through a lot, and the men need a hero right now.”

  Her expression was perfectly serious. Jack felt a surge of confidence. I’m a demon, and maybe they do deserve better, but you make me think I can do this anyway. “Maybe. On one condition.”

  She waited, her hands still resting on his chest. She looked delicate, but he didn’t let that fool him. She was strong in all the ways that mattered. “Which is?”

  “I want you with me.”

  Her eyebrow crooked. “This is your condition?”

  “It’s a request. Consider it a plea.”

  “Are you thinking side-by-side offices or...?” She trailed off, a teasing note slipping into her voice.

  He pulled her close enough he heard the whisper of her dress against his suit. “Side by side sounds as if there’s a wall in between. No walls. Never again.”

  Her arms draped around his neck, the gesture casual but with a hint of implicit seduction. “I hope I at least get a desk, or I’ll have to sit in your lap. And that could interfere with paperwork.”

  Paperwork. Ugh. “Say yes.”

  “To being your personal assistant?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re an agent.”

  “Then, what am I agreeing to?”

  He didn’t answer, but she seemed to understand because her arms slipped around his waist, returning the embrace. Jack buried his face in her hair, smelling the sweet, wild perfume that was Lark’s own scent. He kissed her temple, and then took her mouth when sh
e tilted her face up to his. Something shifted in his heart, and a honeyed warmth sprang up, as if something precious had come to life at the seat of his soul.

  “I love you,” he said.

  They were the most important words he had said in nearly a thousand years, and it was the first time he had said them with his whole being. He felt the shift again, a pain so sharp, so exquisite, that it wasn’t true pain at all, but ecstasy. And he knew he would do anything at all for this brilliant, beautiful creature.

  And with that emotion, he knew everything had changed forever.

  Demons didn’t love, but he did. All of him. He wasn’t a human, or a Fallen, or an angel anymore, but a whole being made up of dark and light—fallible, vulnerable and blessed with his share of happiness. Humility and sacrifice had played a large part in his redemption, but so had learning simple human affection.

  “I love you,” he said again, putting all his soul into his words.

  It wouldn’t be the last time he said it, not to this woman. Everything of worth in all the universes began with love. Perhaps a bit of paradise had been returned to him.

  Lark began to weep, but her eyes were bright with joy. “I love you, Jack.”

  They kissed again—what else could they do?—and he felt it down to his toes. He worked his lips along her jawline, seeking out the soft spot just under her ear. She was fey and powerful, but oh-so-fragile at the same time. He wanted to wrap her inside his jacket and keep her next to his heart for safekeeping.

  “Be my wife.” He grinned, but his stomach tightened with trepidation. “My everything.”

  “Jack!” Her eyes had gone wide with surprise.

  Please say yes!

  She considered him for a long moment. Jack started to sweat. Even after nine centuries, he didn’t know vampires could do that. “But you never forgave me,” she said, suddenly solemn.

  Jack closed his eyes, as close to trembling as a being like him could get. “First, I had to forgive myself for being what I am. On some level I believed I deserved to be betrayed.”

  “Oh, Jack.”

  “You hurt me, and sometimes I was less than kind to you,” he said. “But what changed everything was that you never stopped caring for me. Eventually, I learned to forgive myself because you always forgave me first. In return, I could step back and understand the terrible position you were in. That left the door open for change. As long as we still cared, we could make things better.”

  He opened his eyes, holding her rich, brown gaze as he went on. “Of course I forgive you. And I thank you for teaching me what it means to love.”

  Tears clung to her dark lashes. “Then, yes, I would be pleased to marry you.”

  A breathless pause followed while Jack absorbed her words. Married. After so long, I’m going to have someone to call my own.

  Then Lark winked, her fey sense of mischief chasing solemnity away. “After all, War, Plague and Famine all found true love. I can’t leave Death loitering about in want of a wife. The only thing is, I’d kind of like a flashy code name, too. It doesn’t seem fair not to get one.”

  With a burst of joy, he reached down, sweeping her up in his arms. She squeaked in surprise, and he laughed. He couldn’t help it. He was ridiculously, enormously happy. He jumped up on the stone railing of the balcony, balancing with her in his arms.

  “What are you doing?” she protested.

  “I have a very nice castle in the district of Derrondine,” he said. “I think it’s time to pay it a visit. Then maybe that B and B with the rose garden in Connecticut. It’s time we went back.”

  Lark glanced down, her face going a little green. “Tell me you’re not going to fly all the way to the mountains.”

  “I have a vintage Alfa Romeo,” Jack said drily. “This is the shortcut to the parking lot.”

  Lark’s smile was relieved. “Then, take me home,” she said in a voice just short of a purr.

  But Jack paused on the rail a moment longer, his blue eyes for once as soft as April skies. “You want a name. There’s one from the myth of Pandora that would suit you. After all the evils had been let loose, there was a spirit who remained to keep beauty in the beleaguered world.”

  She frowned. “Who was that?”

  “Hope,” he said, without any hesitation. “You are Hope.”

  And with that, he leaped into the dawn.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from GODDESS OF FATE by Alexandra Sokoloff.

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  Goddess of Fate

  by Alexandra Sokoloff

  Prologue

  They stood around Luke Mars’s bed, looking down on him. Three women: one blond as the sun, one with hair blazing golden red as fire, and the last, whose hair and eyes were as dark as night. Luke was half-asleep and very confused. Three women in his bedroom was not unheard of, but not what he’d call an everyday occurrence, either. And it was strange—he couldn’t remember how they’d gotten there or why they were standing when he seemed to be...asleep, almost, and unable to move. They were speaking in low murmurs.

  “Mine,” the dark one was saying. “I claim him for Odin.”

  Odin? Now why is that familiar?

  “No,” the redhead whispered. “Oh, no.”

  “Too late,” the dark one said as she preened. “He’s mine.”

  The blonde seemed sad, or maybe she was resigned. “A warrior, then. It is done.”

  The voluptuous dark one began to chant in a sexy but also somehow eerie voice. “I’ll come for you by midnight steed, my weapon poised to do the deed...”

  Luke wasn’t fully conscious, but stunning as the dark one might be, that didn’t sound all that good to him.

  Who are these people? What the hell is going on?

  And then the middle one, the redhead, bent down to him. He felt the brush of her hair on his cheek, breathed the incredible sweetness of her scent, the warmth of her breath. He felt a surge of pure desire in response to her touch, and through the sudden rush of blood in his head and other parts of his anatomy, he heard her murmur, “I’ll take care of you...”

  Chapter 1

  A harsh sound vibrated through Luke’s consciousness. It shook him out of whatever spell he was under. Suddenly he could feel the soft pillows and covers of his own bed. He opened his eyes and looked around. Pitch-black—it was the dead of night.

  The three women were gone, though he could still feel his own arousal.

  That honey smell...heavenly...

  Beside him on the night table, his phone was buzzing and vibrating like an angry bee.

  He grabbed for it. “Mars,” he growled into it.

  “It’s going down,” he heard a familiar voice whisper on the other end. “They’re unloading a shipment. Pier 94, right now.”

  “Wait...” Luke started, but the caller had hung up. His confidential informant, a longshoreman at the port. Luke felt adrenaline spike through his body, a thrill of excitement and anticipation. As a detective with the San Francisco Police Department, he was assigned to the special task force on piracy. He’d been working this case for six months and it was the first real brea
k in the case; they’d been waiting for an actual shipment to arrive.

  Luke threw back the bedclothes and stood, then grabbed the phone again and speed-dialed his partner while he scrounged for the clothes he’d discarded last night. Dark ones—they had to be dark.

  The phone clicked over to a voice-mail message, and he waited impatiently for it to end so he could speak. “Pepper, it’s Mars. Meet me on Cesar Chavez, above Pier 94. Just got tipped off that there’s a shipment coming in.”

  He made the same call to his lieutenant and again got voice mail, so he left the same message.

  He pulled black jeans and a T-shirt on over his intricate tattoos: the stylized sun on his biceps, the coiled dragons on his back. Viking symbols, which he supposed would have made his grandmother happy if she’d known about them. She loved to see him embracing anything Old World—anything that referenced his Scandinavian blood.

  As he dressed he could almost smell the honey-sweetness of the middle, red-haired woman again, and the dream flickered back into his consciousness.

  He remembered it now: three women standing around his bed: blond, dark, and red.

  He could feel a tingling that was more than just the lingering eroticism of the dream women, a tingling that always signaled a significant moment.

  It was a dream, that’s all.

  The trouble was, he’d been having it since he was a child. And he didn’t like the feeling in his gut.

  Was it a good omen? Or a warning?

  The dream of the three women had sometimes meant powerful good luck: like the day he learned he’d won a football scholarship to Stanford and the day he’d gotten his detective’s shield. But at other times the dream had meant the most powerful bad luck, like when he’d been sidelined junior year by a knee injury and had basically lost out on a pro career. Not to mention he’d had the dream the night before he’d lost his parents in a car accident when he was seven...

  After a minute he stepped over to his closet and looked in at the bulletproof vest that hung on a hook just inside.