by Jeff Altabef
www.EvolvedPub.com
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DEVIL’S DEN
A Nephilim Thriller – Book 1
Copyright © 2018 Jeff Altabef
Cover Art Copyright © 2018 D. Robert Pease
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ISBN (EPUB Version): 162253137X
ISBN-13 (EPUB Version): 978-1-62253-137-0
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Editor: Kimberly Goebel
Senior Editor: Robb Grindstaff
Interior Designer: Lane Diamond
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eBook License Notes:
You may not use, reproduce or transmit in any manner, any part of this book without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews, or in accordance with federal Fair Use laws. All rights are reserved.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.
A NEPHILIM THRILLER
Book 1: Devil’s Den
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A POINT THRILLER
Book 1: Fracture Point
Book 2: Shatter Point
Enemies of the State - A Steven Cabbott Short Story
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CHOSEN
Book 1: Wind Catcher
Book 2: Brink of Dawn
Book 3: Scorched Souls
Second Chances - A "Chosen" Short Story 2.5
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RED DEATH
Book 1: Red Death
Book 2: The Ghost King
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www.JeffAltabef.com
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Praise is already rolling in for DEVIL’S DEN:
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“Readers who enjoy an injection of the supernatural rather than a story based entirely on otherworldly forces will appreciate just the right blend of paranormal tension and intrigue that bring this thriller to life.... [A] vivid, winning tale of a former couple's confrontation with themselves, each other, and a wider-ranging threat that grabs the reader from the beginning and proves nearly impossible to put down. Thriller audiences will find Devil's Den more than a notch above others in the genre.” ~ D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review
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“Altabef’s engaging tale is both wild and wholly believable. His carefully developed plot is high with tension and intrigue. ... Overall, it’s an entertaining yarn for lovers of detective mysteries crossed with supernatural suspense.” ~ Dylan Ward, US Review of Books
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“Non-stop action and chills abound in the astounding speculative novel... This book has a thrilling plot, complete with formidable characters, magnificently blended with heart-pounding scenes filled with blood and guts. It starts with a bang and continues to build to an explosive finish.” ~ Susan Sewell, Readers’ Favorite Book Reviews (5 Stars)
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“...intensely gripping narrative with vivid descriptions, striking characters, and a plot that sinks its claws in so deep you may end up scarred for life. It is impossible to put down; you just have to know what is happening, you need to see the bigger picture, and when you do see it ... you may wish you’d had the foresight to avert your gaze.” ~ K.J. Simmill, Readers’ Favorite Book Reviews (5 STARS)
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“Exciting action makes this thriller move quickly and the added spice of supernatural elements increases the appeal. ... A smooth read with plenty of action and solid characters. Intense with a love story thrown in, Devil’s Den is a great book and the perfect beginning to what should be a wonderful series.” ~ Melinda Hills, Readers’ Favorite Book Reviews (5 STARS)
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“I love deep, dark, twisted stories, and Jeff Altabef has delivered. I was riveted, engrossed in the story, and, when I reached the end, I felt a bit let down... because I WANT MORE!” ~ fundinmental (as eye see it)
We’re pleased to offer you not one, but two Special Sneak Previews at the end of this book.
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In the first preview, you’ll enjoy the first two chapters of the multiple award-winning dystopian fantasy, RED DEATH. This is the first book in Jeff Altabef’s “Red Death” series.
OR GRAB THE FULL KINDLE EBOOKS TODAY!
RED DEATH Series at Amazon
In the second preview, you’ll enjoy the first three chapters of Jeff Altabef’s FRACTURE POINT, the first book in the award-winning “A Point Thriller” series.
OR GRAB THE FULL KINDLE EBOOKS TODAY!
A POINT THRILLER Series at Amazon
For all the angels who walk among us.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Books by Jeff Altabef
BONUS CONTENT
Dedication
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
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Special Sneak Preview: RED DEATH
Acknowledgements
About the Author
More from Evolved Publishing
Special Sneak Preview: FRACTURE POINT
December 5th, 2041, 3:23 PM
The clouds break, transforming a dreary, drab day into a bright, brilliant one. The warm sun caresses Megan’s face, and she smiles. She’d love to spend the rest of the day outside and enjoy the unexpected summer weather, but she’s way too busy.
When she crosses a street, a glimmer shines in the distance, and she pauses, a queasy feeling twisting her stomach. The burst of sunlight sparkles off a new, white van parked along the curb in front of Peterson’s small grocery store.
That’s weird. When was the last time a new car parked in this neighborhood?
Perhaps Mr. Peterson is getting a delivery, but where’s the logo or some other identifying marks? And usually delivery vans are old and beaten up.
> A small chill knifes through her back, and her heart hammers. The van creates an alley of sorts with the glass wall of the small grocery on one side and the vehicle on the other, and the blackened windows prevents her from seeing inside.
I’m being silly. It’s just a van. Standing on the street watching it is stupid. She has schoolwork to finish and offices to clean. There’s no time to be childish. A new van can’t hurt her, and her apartment building is only a half-block away, so she shifts her backpack on her shoulders and marches forward.
Once she reaches the front of the van, a man stalks out from behind the vehicle directly in her path.
December 6th, 2041, 5:17 AM
I take in the city, all of it—the smell, the taste, the fear—and instantly regret it. Twenty years ago, I last called this city home and returning dredges up toxic memories I’ve tried to bury. Back then I joined the Army to escape this place, but I should have known better. It’s a part of me like an arm or a leg. As hard as I try, I can’t just cut it off and drop it into the sewer.
The ghetto streets haven’t changed much. They’re empty and exhausted. The air smells foul, a toxic stew of anger and desperation held together by the will to survive at the expense of anyone and anything. If I breathe deeply and concentrate, I can still catch the faintest trace of hope. When that dies off, the country will go completely to hell. As far as I can tell, it’s a race to see who gets there first—it or me. I’m betting on me.
An almost-full moon takes the sting from the darkness. The moon reminds me of an old story a fellow soldier once told me. The story isn’t particularly remarkable, but it’s stuck to me.
Charlie was soldiering for a stretch, maybe three years, two and a half more than me. He believed in a future. He believed good things waited for him when he finished his tour. He even believed one day he’d get out of the Army. Basically, he was an idiot who had no more sense than a pile of rocks.
He liked to tell stories. Most of them utterly nonsensical, but one night, under the silvery light of a moon like this one, he told me a tale about three witches who control everyone’s future. These witches weave strings that determine our destiny on a vast loom. Pull on one string and romance blooms; tug on another and illness strikes; cut the heartstring, and death takes you.
He told me these witches’ names, but my memory isn’t as good as it used to be and that’s not important. He called them “the Fates.” He said prayers to them every night, begging them to be good to him, to pull on the right strings. The next day a sniper blew a hole in his head. Parts of his skull and brain splattered on my uniform. I still remember the sound the high-caliber bullet made as it ripped through his helmet and into his skull. A sickening thud—the sound of death.
Maybe the Fates let him live just long enough to tell me their story. This way I’ll know they’re responsible for my predicament. It seems like something they’d do, like a poke in the eye.
I think Charlie was right about the Fates, but he was wrong about one thing. Sucking up doesn’t do much good with them. They’ll weave the tapestries any which way they damn well please. Still, in an odd way, the story offers me hope, a touch of solace. If these witches exist, they can change my fate, alter my path, add a new string to my tapestry. That would be good, because there’s nothing but choppy water around me. It might be flimsy—this idea that the Fates can save me—but a drowning man will grab onto anything if he thinks it might keep him afloat, and I feel the water lapping against my face.
Witches or not, I’ve returned to the city of my birth. North Philly looks only slightly different from the last time I was here. Most of the stores look the same: small bodegas, a few bars, liquor stores, massage parlors, and check-cashing places. One apartment building is newish, while the others look in worse shape. All the stores are locked up with heavy metal gates except for a few of the seediest bars and the random massage parlor with a red neon “Open” sign still lit in a window.
Down an alley, the moonlight reveals glimpses of the path before me: a rat scurries out of my way, a dumpster overflows to my right, a half-dozen empty bottles stacked against a wall on my left. Deep shadows like wells live in the nooks and doorways here.
I’m no more than three blocks from my destination, the apartment building where I spent what passed as a childhood.
A shoe scrapes against the pavement behind me. Someone is sneaking up on me—a man, thin, cautious. He walks quietly, which is not easy to do in an alley.
I turn a few inches so the duffel over my shoulder blocks the stalker’s view as I slip my hand into the pocket of my old army jacket and remove a four-inch blade.
A step moves him closer and then one more. He’s within arm’s length now. If he wanted to kill me, he should have done it already.
I spin and press the tip of the knife against the stranger’s throat.
An old man freezes and lifts his hands in the air in surrender. Deep canyons carve into the stranger’s ashen face. Stringy, gray hair hangs to his shoulders, his cheeks gaunt, as if his skin has been stretched tight against his skull. He wears a black trench coat, black pants, and black shoes. His thin body hunches forward, bent on stooped shoulders. He looks sickly and smells awful, a combination of body odor, booze, and something even worse I try to block out. Still, light shines in his almond-colored eyes. He wants to live, which is something. Maybe everything.
“Who sent you, old man?”
“No one’s sent me anywhere. I live on these streets.”
I press the blade against his flesh. “Human or demon? Don’t lie to me.”
“Human...I guess. I’ve been called many things before, but never a demon.”
Paranoid? More than a tad, but that’s better than a demon ripping out my heart and dragging me to hell, so I check him for signs of being a fiend. No hellfire burns in his eyes, and I don’t see any other obvious signs. In my experience, though, demons are tricky. I’ve never met one with wings, horns, or a tail. I killed one in an alley in New York City a while back that shifted its form. Hands turned to claws and teeth transformed into fangs. He almost killed me, that one did. He tried to rip out my heart with his bare hands. I have the scars to prove it. At least that’s how I remember it. It was dark, and after I stabbed him in the eye, he returned to his normal form.
I nick the old-timer just to be certain in the uncertain light. A crimson trickle rolls down his neck.
“Hey, that hurts.” He rubs the blood from his neck. “Why’d you go and do a thing like that?”
“Just to be sure. Demon blood oozes like black sludge, and it stinks like sulfur.” His blood smells oddly sweet.
I slip the knife back into my pocket. “It’s not safe to sneak up on people, old-timer.”
The man lowers his arms. “Who, me? I wasn’t sneaking up on anyone. I walk quietly, that’s all. It’s good to blend into the shadows here. It keeps me alive, lets me know things.”
“Right.”
The old-timer is my welcome home committee, and he’s more than I deserve. I continue my trek down the alley, and he keeps pace besides me.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he says.
“I didn’t realize I needed to check in with you. Is there a booth somewhere?”
“I’ve lived here a long time, that’s all. Not much goes on that I don’t know. I know just about everyone.”
I pause for a second. Maybe the old-timer can help me. I remove my phone from my pocket and retrieve a picture a street artist created on a tablet for me. He was no Rembrandt, but he did a decent enough job creating a face I remembered from a lifetime ago. Aging software added the years on, so it should look like her now.
I show him the artist’s rendering. “Do you know this person? Ever see her around?”
He shrugs. “She looks sickly. I can’t say I’ve seen her.”
“She used to sell drugs for the Monarch gang twenty years ago. She lived in a building around here with her son. Look again.”
He shakes his head.
“So many people come and go. Besides, the Monarchs vanished some time ago. Maybe five years? My sense of time isn’t what it used to be, so I can’t say for certain. She has a wicked look to her though. Downright nasty.”
“You can’t even imagine. She’s stolen more from me then I can tell you.”
“Are you sure you want to find her? Some people are better left buried in the past.”
“She’s probably dead anyway, but she’s the only person who might have answers for me.”
“Who is she?”
“My mother.”
My mother saw demons, and she worried they’d drag her to hell. When I was thirteen, she killed my father in a fit of rage, stabbing him to death with a pair of scissors, claiming he was a demon. When she started in on me, I fled and joined the Army. I was fifteen. I thought she was crazy, but that was before I started seeing demons myself. Now I don’t know. I try to remember what my father’s blood looked like and can’t. Although, I recall the smell and that turns my stomach and worries me. If my mother was right about my father being a demon, what does that make me? Am I fated to the same destiny?
I hear my old training instructor’s voice in my head. “Look alive, Cupcake. You’ve got company.”
“I know. I’m not a trainee anymore, Caesar,” I say.
“Are you talking to me?” asks the old-timer, understandably confused.
“Just a ghost from my past who won’t keep his big mouth shut and leave me alone.” I hand the old-timer a twenty-dollar bill. “You’d best scram. Some hostiles are approaching.”
The old-timer takes the bill and looks down the alley, squinting. The group passes under a light from an apartment building window. “Those are Red Dragons. They’re a mean bunch. You’d best run for it.”
“I haven’t brought my running shoes.”
“There are four of them and they’re nasty.”
“Doesn’t seem fair, does it? They’ll need another four to have a chance.”
The old-timer fades into the shadows where it would take a spotlight to find him.
I glance at the time on my phone. It’s been two weeks, six days, and seven hours since I last killed someone.
