A special thanks to my husband and four incredible kids for not giving up on me when I’ve basically been AWOL this past year.
And lastly to my Mom and Dad for instilling in me that I could do anything if I believed in myself and didn’t give up.
Laura Howard lives in New Hampshire with her husband and four children. Her obsession with books began at the age of six when she got her first library card. Nancy Drew, Sweet Valley High and other girly novels were routinely devoured in single sittings. Books took a backseat to diapers when she had her first child. It wasn’t until the release of a little novel called Twilight, eight years later, that she rediscovered her love of fiction. Soon after, her own characters began to make themselves known.
The Forgotten Ones is her first published novel
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Paradox – The Angels Are Here
By Patti Roberts
If life seems to have more questions than answers,
try to be the one who asks the questions.
Charles Schulz
For Audrey Dunn—my Mum.
Who Is Walking With The Angels—without her walking stick.
* * *
And for all those that have ever suffered the pain of a broken heart. This is for you.
Cover Design – Patti Roberts
Edited By Ella Medler
Two Worlds. One Ancient—One New.
Long ago, in an almost forgotten Realm, a race of fallen Angles called the Grigori clash with a ruling house of Angels Called the Bulguardi. Their battle changed events in the Ancient World and the New World forever. A Realm where a year can last centuries and an Ancient magical people still rule, even the immortals face danger. Rising up from their imprisonment underground on Altair, evil has returned and the Grigori are on a destructive path of revenge. When their preferred food source becomes scarce, Earth, a world teaming with humans, becomes their target.
Trapped in the middle, between the old world and the new, a little girl is cursed with horrific visions from the past she does not understand.
From an Ancient world to the new world on Earth, this is a tale of myth and legend, mayhem and magic, birth and death. A tale of families torn apart, souls searching for lost loves.
You can run, but you cannot run forever. My name is Juliette, and this is my story.
The Definition Of Paradox:
A seemingly illogical or self-contradictory statement
or suggestion, that may in fact, be very true.
Prologue
Nine hundred years ago, my world was a different place… But one thing, regardless of the passing time and unimaginable distances that separates us remains unchanged. And that is–Love.
My name is Juliette, and I would like to tell you my story, a story that stretches out over a vast passage of time.
I was created long before spoken language was used for communication. A time when magic existed and myths, legends, and the gods roamed the planets and walked freely among us. Long before the great floods consumed the Earth. Long before the Tower of Babel was built, or the stairway to the Gates of Heaven. When a passage of time on Earth was determined by observing the sun, the moon, the stars, and the rise and fall of the great oceans.
Human age was not determined by numbers, but rather by one’s wisdom and knowledge. The lines drawn in the palm of the hand prophesized the soul’s age, not the lines etched on the human face.
And when the immortal soul had come to the end of its human experience, that passage of time — age being irrelevant — was determined by a force of pure energy. Some have called this energy force—God. This is when the Angel of Death would reveal herself and save your mortal soul.
For billions of years every living thing resonated as One.
Then everything changed. Life, death, mortality, and immortality as I knew it changed. War does that. It changes everything. And by the end of the first Great War eons past, ancient texts, along with immeasurable knowledge, were destroyed, leaving the human race damaged and adrift.
But I can tell you this without any doubt, that you are not alone in this ultimate struggle for survival. I can see you still, through the eyes of another.
And this is something else you should know, with great knowledge, comes great responsibility - and death. There is always death.
But just as spring follows winter, life follows death.
In the blink of an eye, it seems little Grace’s world has fallen apart. Her father is gone and her mother isn’t coping well at all. If it weren’t for the sensitive, quiet Officer Wade and her new neighbor friend, Grace might not find her way back from the heartbreaking grief that threatens to destroy her world. But there’s more to Grace than meets the eye, more than she even knows. What ties does she have with an ancient, timeless world? What role do the angels, good and evil, play in her life?
A World where there are more questions than answers, a saga that crosses over two worlds. One Ancient—One New with a little girl trapped in the middle. A world where lost souls are being drawn precariously together over countless centuries.
When your destiny has been written in blood—and you are left with one burning question—is your Guardian Angel from Heaven or Hell?
Chapter 1—The Fall
The Imperial City of Altair—Aquila.
Year: 1080 AD
The sickly stench of death curled silently through majestic arched windows and coagulated, forming a thick grey cloud of wretchedness.
Burning torches hung randomly along high stonewalls, illuminating the deserted Royal Palace. Stray swirls of smoke danced gracefully around elaborate marble columns that lined a black aisle. At the end of the aisle was an elevated dais that had formerly held four golden thrones.
Behind the one remaining throne hung a massive shield revealing a serpent entwined on a gem-encrusted dagger. A masterpiece extolled in bronze depicting the Grigorian Coat of Arms.
The remainder of the chamber devoid now of the lavish furnishings that had once seated royalty in the Imperial City of Altair.
A lone male figure, eclipsed by the overwhelming size of the chamber, glared at the deserted throne as he paced. He waited - something he did not like to do - for the imminent arrival of the others.
His impatience was evident in every knotted muscle on his chiseled face. Raised black veins pulsated on his muscular throat; hands formed clenched fists by his sides. His eyes were yellowy, like the color of cat’s eyes, with a minuscule black speck for a pupil. They transcended pure evil.
The long dark cape that he wore swept the floor behind him as he glided, ghostlike, across the marble surface. He walked over to a tall arched window and stopped, folding his arms across his broad chest.
His white open-necked shirt displayed a segment of a black inked serpent. It quivered across his chest, as though it were alive. The remainder of the serpent, hidden by clothing, encircled his torso before continuing its rippling passage down his arm. The fanged head revealed itself from beneath the ruffled shirt cuff on his left wrist. Crimson blood dripped off one of the razor-sharp fangs. Human blood.
He looked out into the dark night and watched as the city below continued to burn out of control. High on The Mountain of Seven the illuminated dome, the centerpiece of the Pinnacle Sanctuary, was slowly starting to fade. Only flames from the fire cast light on the towering stone enclosure that safeguarded the crystal-domed structure.
Soon, the dome would be in complete darkness, he thought confidently, smiling to himself. He stood rigid and conceited in his indulgent arrogance. His body, the immortal body of a perfect twenty-eight year-old man, flexed with desire.
He felt indestructible and drunk on his own self-image.
The Imperial City, all but
deserted after another day of fighting, lay broken, burnt and twisted below. The city that he looked down on had once been lined with the most exquisite architecture in the Aquila Constellation.
Now, it stood darkened and scarred by the fires that continued to burn into the night. Ornate fountains and statues in the Gardens of Tranquility were now piles of rubble on the scorched ground.
Nothing had been spared, only rubble and ashy remains lay littered and smoldering across the ground. Embers floated in the smoky air, carried by random gusts of wind. Beauty no longer represented in the burnt remains of the Imperial City.
A small hooded figure darted vigilantly over the rubble, searching for signs of life among the torn and bloodied bodies. Her sorrowful pursuit was swiftly becoming a fruitless one.
Soaring flames roared into the night sky, lighting her way, as they licked, teased and devoured the remainder of the Imperial City, the home of the Seven Pinnacles. The Keepers of Mortal Souls.
Thousands of souls had already perished during the past ninety-nine days of war. Thousands more would perish during this battle fought between good and evil. The war would rage on between the two most powerful houses of the Imperial City until only one remained: The House of the Bulguardians; the Royal Guard of The Imperial City, or the rebellious House of Fallen Angels - the Grigorians.
The Grigorians, following the expulsion of their elders from the City by the Royal Imperial Guardians, were forced to flee Empyrean. Now, after centuries spent underground, the Grigorian were bloodthirsty for revenge—at any cost.
During the March equinox, under the dark cover of night, the Grigorians rose silently from the depths of their underworld lair, attacking the Royal Palace as it slept.
About time, Abaddon thought angrily, as he turned swiftly toward the towering arched entrance.
Seconds later a female stood regally in the stone entry. “Abaddon?” the exquisite woman queried as she entered the great chamber, hands clasped at her waist.
His expression was unsettling as she advanced toward him cautiously, her tight deep purple gown almost hid the long black cape that trailed behind. Her fair hair, adorned beautifully with gemstones, was entwined in a continuous braid crowning her head. Her eyes, a mirror image of his, catlike, were traits of the Grigorian bloodline.
His arms remained folded across his inflated chest. “Cousin, where are the others, your sister, your brother?” he demanded.
“They are…they have other things on their mind, they will be ready when the time comes, I can assure you,” she replied, pausing at a safe distance from him. She knew he could read her mind, all of their minds, if he chose to, with direct eye contact. Without direct eye contact however, he could only sense one’s presence, but not their thoughts. His violent temper was also no secret. She had been a victim of it herself on many occasions.
“Oh, I am sure I can imagine what they have on their minds,” he said, circling her.
“Your attendance here, however, is a testament to your commitment to the cause, Siena.” A sly smile crossed his lips. He liked knowing that she feared him. He reveled in being feared. It made him feel more powerful, superior.
His slit eyes flashed to the entrance, as he sensed another’s imminent arrival. He turned in greeting as a girl, his younger sibling, no more than thirteen, entered the smoky room and ran toward him.
“Ah, little sister, how divine you look, my child.” He swung her up into his arms as a groom would a new bride, and kissed her hard on the mouth. She did not resist, he knew she welcomed it.
“Abaddon,” she chirped through smiling, rose colored lips, running her fingers through his dark shoulder length hair. “Always an absolute pleasure of course. Now, please put me down…and…I am not a child!”
He laughed and released her to the marbled floor, running his hand down her flowing red hair. “You will always be a beautiful, voracious child to me, Theria.”
She slapped his hand away, obviously infuriated by his comment. A snarling hiss broke free of her lips. “Don’t mock me, Abaddon. If I recall correctly it wasn’t that long ago that—” Her words were abruptly interrupted. She snapped her head around; something, someone else, had distracted her.
Abaddon and Siena followed Theria’s line of vision toward the massive stone archway as another prepared to enter the torch lit chamber. The dainty red head darted forward in a blur to prevent the imminent intrusion. Her black cloak sliced through the rancid air, parting the obnoxious smoke with the sheer ferocity of her swift movement. Rage was evident in her penetrating, catlike eyes. Eyes that had the ability to paralyze her victims instantly if she desired, rendering them useless. She glared directly into the crystal blue eyes of the unwelcome impostor.
The newcomer was stunning. Her unflinching blue eyes held those of the child’s. “Well, well, what do we have here, a family meeting? How sweet.” She walked around the child, and turned her back on the others as she walked graciously along the black marble floor toward the single golden throne.
Their piercing gazes watched as they followed her, stalking her. They all knew Pandora could feel their stabbing eyes on the back of her neck as she walked up the seven steps leading to the Royal throne. She rested gently against the velvet armrest, implying possession.
“Why wasn’t I invited to this family meeting? I am heartbroken, how will I ever recover from the pain of rejection?” She chuckled, glancing now toward Abaddon who had paused at the bottom of the steps, obviously pleased that he was unable to read her thoughts. None of their powers had any effect on her—except Theria’s.
“Why, Pandora,” Theria hissed through clenched teeth, “I’m sure you will recuperate in bed by wrapping your thighs around Cerberus’s neck. You may have a ring on your finger and whore your body to my brother at every opportunity you get, but don’t you ever dare to have the audacity to think for one second that you are family, that you belong. You are nothing! You were dragged off the streets because of Cerberus’s moment of weakness for your beauty, and your obvious willingness to please him. He is infatuated by your kind, nothing more!” The child’s hatred was evident on her pristine face. If Theria could not have the love and devotion from her elder brother, Lord Cerberus, then no one would.
Pandora’s crystal laughter bounced off the cold stone walls that surrounded them. She stood, raised her hands, palms up, and slowly turned, displaying herself. Her golden ringlets fell effortlessly to her slender waist; her exquisite beauty was undeniable to all who saw her. She was clothed in a blood-red floor length gown. The low cut strapless bodice, that displayed her perfect breasts, was embedded with countless diamonds, pearls and rubies. A diamond-encrusted necklace resembling a spider’s web sat effortlessly around her throat and cascaded down her slender shoulders.
She was perfection, the quintessence of beauty. Cerberus did indeed have a reason to worship her. Many envied him his position as Lord of the House; his title enabled him the freedom to bring a foreigner into the Grigorian clan. No one would dare question his decisions.
Theria had objected angrily to her brother…once. However, she had quickly realized that Cerberus only found humor in her objections. He had tossed back his head in laughter, humiliating her, calling her childish. She had sulked from the room, angry; he had never denied her anything before. Theria had left Cerberus sitting on his newly acquired throne, one of his leather-clad legs thrown up over the velvety armrest, his laughter ringing in her ears. He had never put a human’s needs before hers. She would devise of a plan to dispose of the human Pandora. She was not welcome in Theria’s world.
“Jealous little one,” Pandora whispered now in condescending tones, taunting her. “It is no secret that you would like Cerberus all for yourself. The fact that he is your brother means nothing to you, does it? poor delusional Theria. You will only ever be a child in his eyes, never a real woman—” Pandora froze mid-sentence, unable to move or breathe. Her eye’s opened wide with absolute terror as Theria appeared by her side. Pandora remained fr
ozen as the child hovered around her. Theria laughed and glanced at Abaddon still standing at the bottom of the stairs, as if seeking his permission.
Abaddon, abruptly aware of his little sister’s intentions, leapt forward in one bound and grabbed her tiny wrist that was concealed beneath her cloak. A small silver dagger with an emerald and diamond encrusted handle slipped from Theria’s grasp. The sound of the blade echoed around the room as it clattered to the cold marble floor by her feet.
“Release her,” he hissed at the girl.
Theria’s piercing eyes reluctantly released Pandora. She dropped to her knees and painfully sucked in a heaving breath, filling her burning lungs. Pandora slowly rose to her feet, took a step back, and wrapped herself securely in her arms.
Abaddon watched from the doorway. She knew the girl had enormous powers, that she could paralyze her victims on a single whim. She had been foolish to taunt the girl. She knew Theria had despised her the moment they had met. Theria was jealous of her, but would she actually kill her? He wondered if she would try to make sure that that would never happen.
Pandora regained her composure. “Don’t you ever do that again you vile little bitch or I swear that Cerberus will…”
“Get out of here Pandora,” Abaddon roared. “Leave us. And please,” he implored, “do not bother my brother Cerberus with this tiff. He already has much to concern himself with in this war.”
Pandora glared at him and shrugged. “For you, Abaddon, you have my word. This will be our secret. But I warn you both,” she began, her eyes turning from Abaddon to Siena. “Keep that incestuous little beast away from me, otherwise she will have Cerberus to contend with, and not in the manner her loins long for.”
When Darkness Falls - Six Paranormal Novels in One Boxed Set Page 99
