Run Angel Run: A Steamy Dark Fantasy Romance (The Angels of David's Town Book 1)

by Karen Van Der Poll

  “Well, you’re one up on me because I don’t recall meeting you,” Danjal quipped back.

  The Warlock shrugged and squinted at Danjal, studying his features. “You look different though. Is that the price you angels pay for coming back from the dead?”

  “Everything has its price.” Danjal shrugged. “So what brings you to the convent, Elijah. All attempts I’ve previously made to contact the leaders of your coven have been stonewalled.”

  “Yes, we have.” Elijah held up both hands. “But I come in peace.”

  Danjal stepped aside and ushered Elijah in. He hated that he was at a disadvantage to this warlock, who carried himself with a grain more confidence than was needed. He was dressed like a rock star with too much metal in his ears, the dilators alone made Danjal’s eyes water.

  Elijah chuckled. “We butted heads frequently in the six months that you were a sergeant here.”

  Danjal snorted and folded his arms. The warlock mimicked him, and they stood in silence for several seconds. Every instinct in Danjal wanted to throw the arrogant prick out.

  “But we are older and wiser these days.” He held out his hand. “And I’d like to work with you to achieve a common goal.”

  Danjal looked at Elijah’s hand, but didn’t take it.

  “I’m here carrying a white flag, Commander,” Elijah said. “We need each other if we’re to survive the evil that’s made a home for itself in our city.”

  “So, you are aware that we’re in the grip of something sinister?” Danjal shifted uncomfortably.

  “There’s a quote from Hamlet that I particularly like,” Elijah said. “‘Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.’”

  “And the reply to that I think is, ‘Heaven will direct it,’” Danjal replied and took the warlock's hand. He liked the firmness in Elijah’s grip.

  “And as you are God’s warriors, I know I’ve come to the right place.” Elijah squeezed before releasing.

  “Shall we take a seat? I was having a brandy with my brother before. Would you care for one?”

  “Thank you.” Elijah took a seat and accepted the freshly poured brandy.

  “It’s valiant of you to take on the position of commander,” he remarked, “given two of its leaders have been brutally murdered.”

  “I was called to duty.” Danjal shrugged a shoulder. “My priority is to bring order back to this city and bring the killer to justice. Isiah’s murder will not be a deterrent to my achieving the rebuilding and unification of this city.”

  “You have a difficult time ahead of you; the wolves and vampires despise each other. Good luck getting them to sit at the same table.”

  “I’m not here to make friends, they will do as I say, or they can leave the city.” Danjal sat. “You mentioned something rotten having soiled this city before?”

  The warlock took a long slow sip of his brandy and balanced the glass in one hand on his crossed knee. “There are many types of witchcraft. Some of us are more gifted than others, and those are the witches who are prone to fall into the darker arts, like Necromancy.”

  “A necromancer is a witch who communicates with the dead, or who raises their bodies to do his will,” Danjal said.

  “Yes, and one will need to obtain energy from a powerful source, to generate this magic,” Elijah replied.

  “Which is why he kills?” Danjal leaned forward with his elbows on his knees cupping his drink between both hands.

  “Exactly.” Deep lines of concern drew Elijah’s brows together as he chewed at his lip. “The more brutal it is, the greater the power that can be drawn from it. Isiah wasn’t the only murder victim you know. There have been several others. A few humans from Basildon were similarly mutilated. Some vampires have also vanished. But of course, the big tickets were Isiah and Commander Benaaron.”

  “My men have been out on these streets for over a month, and we’ve not been informed of any of this.” Danjal growled.

  “No one trusts the angels anymore. They’re not going to share this sort of thing with you. To be honest, no one communicates with anyone. It’s each man for himself, it’s been that way for years.” A wry smile spread across Elijah’s face.

  “So, members of the various communities are being killed and they’re blaming each other?” Danjal implied.

  Elijah nodded.

  “Then the anger will eventually spill over and we will have mayhem on the streets.” Danjal stood and paced the width of the room.

  “I see I don’t need to pull out my crystal ball,” Elijah added.

  “Fuck!” Danjal returned to his seat and slapped his palm down on the arm of his chair. “I should have known this shit!”

  “There are changes in the atmosphere around town, Danjal. Small nuances, things that I and other senior members of my coven are feeling too. This witch is powerful and incredibly dark. You know yourself that killing an angel warrior would be no easy feat.”

  Danjal nodded. His kind was at the top of the food chain, but something out there could kill them and steal their souls. His thoughts turned to Blue, whose body presently rested in the holy soil, regenerating.

  “Have you visited the site where Isiah was found, lately?” Elijah broke into his thoughts.

  Danjal grimaced, shaking his head. He’d barely coped the first time. Going back hadn’t occurred to him. “Why?”

  “The dead grass makes a perfect circle around where the cross stood. Anything that walks over the area dies. There are carcasses of rats and frogs; I even found a dead bird. If you go there at dawn, the surrounding grass is wet with dew, but that within the circle is dry and appears to be steaming hot. There is also always a faint scent of wood smoke like there’d been a fire recently lit.”

  “And all this adds up to witchcraft?” Danjal asked.

  “The entire thing stinks of an evil that frightens even me,” Elijah admitted.

  “I think I need to see this for myself.” His stomach lurched at his words. Danjal pushed down his fear and gulped the brandy. Sometimes facing one’s pain was the best way to heal from it, or so he’d heard.

  “Do not venture there alone,” Elijah cautioned him. “I’d be happy to accompany you,” he offered. “Sometimes you need magic to fight magic.”

  Danjal nodded. “If a sorcerer has moved into the city, where would he set up shop?”

  Elijah rubbed a hand over his face. “I was out on the streets all of today. We searched the obvious place but came up empty-handed. Whoever he or she is, they’re a big-league player with a shitload of magic at their disposal. He could be living right under our noses. But with the power he has, his wards would be impenetrable thereby making him impossible to detect.”

  “How long do you think he’s been here?”

  Elijah shrugged. “I can’t tell. I’ve only been back for about six months myself. Basildon has had some unsolved murders like the ones plaguing David’s Town; the cops are scratching their heads.”

  “I’m not on speaking terms with the Mayor of Basildon, so he would never share such information with me.” Danjal sighed.

  “There is a sweet detective that I pay regular nightly visits to.” Elijah grinned slyly. “She is a wealth of information.”

  “I want to see the killing field for myself. I’ll be in touch to schedule a time. I’m pleased you came to me with this information Elijah. If we can unite the city, we may be able to stop this murderer,” Danjal said.

  “I agree.” Elijah raised his glass. “Let’s drink to that.” He tipped the contents into his mouth. “That’s a good vintage.” The warlock smacked his lips together and held his empty glass out for another. “The Elah vineyards produce the most sensational wines and brandies.”

  Danjal refilled their glasses and they sat in silence enjoying the prospect of their newfound alliance.

  “Does the name Rebecca Hunter ring any bells?” Danjal broke the companionable silence. From the research he’d done on the old reports, he already knew they’d been close at one time.
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  “Now there is a name I’ve not heard in years.” Elijah’s brows creased, and he scratched the back of his neck.

  “We met recently.” Danjal studied Elijah’s sculptured features. “There is just something about her…” He let his sentence hang between them.

  “Ahh yes.” Elijah nodded. “Do you recall the night you brought her to Moon People?”

  “No, the gunshot took care of all those memories.” Danjal rubbed the knot of scar tissue behind his ear. “A large portion of that year is lost.”

  “That must be frustrating,” Elijah said.

  “Only because I have to rely on others to fill in the blank spaces.” Danjal looked away. It was becoming tiresome searching for memories which no longer resided in his mind.

  “That night, I sensed there was something different about Reba.” Elijah dipped his chin and Danjal noticed a shadow cross his face as he placed his glass on the table.

  “Tell me.” Danjal shifted in his seat. “Because I too, feel unsettled in her presence.”

  “Well, you, Blue, and a few others brought Betty and Reba to the club. But as soon as she passed through the door, my wards went off, alerting me that someone had entered under a guise. She may as well have been wearing neon orange,” he explained.

  “The magic she carried hugged her like armor. I attempted to read her, to get into her head, and it damn near electrocuted me. Her nose began bleeding right after and I realized I was harming her, so I backed off.”

  “Did you know about the vampire that bit her and killed Betty?” Danjal asked.

  “Yes.” Elijah shook his head. “Nasty business that.”

  “Do you think Reba killed it?” Danjal asked.

  “I think self-preservation kicked in and Reba forced a crack in the hex to save herself. I truly believe she didn’t realize she could do such a thing.” Elijah said.

  Danjal peered into the golden liquid at the bottom of his glass, inhaled deeply and then met Elijah’s kohl-ringed eyes. “Were you in love with her?”

  Flames leaped to life behind the warlock’s irises. He didn’t answer straight away, just held Danjal’s candid gaze, while his thumb stroked his bottom lip.

  “Were you?” he countered.

  Reba

  Roharn led Reba along a passage where the walls were hung with paintings of fierce battles fought by angels. They bore down on demons that fled upon the ground below. There were landscape paintings too, images of what David’s Town must have looked like centuries ago.

  “Such beautiful artwork.” She trailed her fingers along the wall/ “It looks old.”

  “It is,” Roharn agreed. “They were blessed by the Angel David, so they will never perish or fade.” He stopped at two arched doors, pushing them open he stood aside and said, “This is the library.”

  Reba stepped across the threshold and inhaled the sharp lemon polish and old leather that lingered in the air. “It’s glorious,” she sighed, admiring the high vaulted ceilings and shelves overflowing with books.

  “This room contains our history, and that of the city,” Roharn explained. “Everything you’d like to know about us is documented here, in the paintings and within the pages of these books.”

  “David's Town truly is a magnificent place; there was a time when I was happy here.” Reba allowed the nostalgia of a time long since passed to fill her heart.

  “Well, I hope you will find happiness again.” Roharn’s words sounded sincere, but his gaze was unreadable.

  “I had no intention of returning.” She stroked a finger down the spine of an old leatherbound book.

  “Why?” Roharn leaned with a shoulder against the mantle at the end of one of the many shelves.

  Reba swallowed and looked down as she twisted her fingers together. She needed to be careful who she confided in. She’d no idea who’d paid her dead boyfriend to bring her back to David's Town.

  Roharn placed a hand briefly on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “You’re safe here.”

  She met his gaze. “Am I? Nothing feels safe. I feel eyes following me everywhere, judging me, accusing me.”

  She wandered towards a large set of French doors. It was dark out, but for a sliver of the waning moon. Its weak light, gloomy in the blackened sky, only amplified the fear she tried to hide. “Perhaps it’s just my imagination, but all these portraits, their eyes seem to look right into my soul.”

  “Our ancestors were certainly not pious. You will receive no judgment from them.” Roharn looked at the large portraits. “These guys were supposed to protect the city and the humans who lived in it, instead they partied with them.”

  “Such roguishly handsome warriors.” She grinned. “Like foxes in a henhouse.”

  Roharn wriggled his brows suggestively, and Reba laughed. He was so different to his brother. His personality was like that of a sunny day, whereas Danjal was a stormy night. She was fast becoming comfortable with Roharn’s easy going nature and ready smile.

  “Well, may I present the seven rogues to you.” He bowed at the waist and with a flourished twirl of his hand said, “Aaron, Dagan, Shax, Gadriel, Dante, Daniel and Vassago,”

  “And the ladies over there?” Reba turned to the portraits on the opposite wall.

  “They are known as the sisters of Eve and were created as mates for the repentant seven. God wanted a race of purebred warriors to protect his holy cities. Warriors are never to mate with humans. The resulting offspring are known as Nephilim, a demonic race that passes itself off as human.”

  “Oh my God, that’s what Danjal thinks I am!” Reba gasped. “That’s why he’s been acting like a dick.”

  Roharn shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps?” Reba repeated suspiciously. “What do you mean?” What did he know that he wasn’t saying?

  “The Nephilim are an evil species, Reba.” Roharn lowered his voice, his tone serious. “They are the serial killers, the pedophiles and the despots. They are here to create pain and wreak havoc among God’s children. They are part angel, part human and therefore gifted with intelligence and physical prowess. They often possess supernatural abilities too.”

  “I am no demon!” Reba bunched her fists so tight her knuckles ached.

  “Then cooperate with us, help us understand what you are,” Roharn pleaded.

  “Show me proof that I am Benshax’s daughter.” Reba folded her arms across her chest, “I don’t like being accused of something I’m clearly not.”

  “It’s all here.” Roharn moved towards a fancy desktop computer and comfortable looking chair in a corner. “You might be surprised how involved he was in your life, even though you never met him.”

  Reba watched as he typed in a password and searched for the relevant documents.

  “There are hundreds of photos from your childhood until around a month ago.”

  Intrigued, Reba sat. “Is there anything about my mother in there?”

  Roharn shook his head. “Here, why don’t you can scroll through them and I’ll light the fire.”

  At the mantle place, he kneeled as he packed the logs, then spoke over his shoulder.

  “There is a bit of information for you to get through, so I will leave you to it. Danjal will come and find you after his meeting.”

  “Where are you going?” Reba peered over the desktop.

  “I have a patient to check in on at the barracks,” he replied. “I’ll ask Kathleen to check in on you in about an hour and I’ll send Raguel in. He is just outside.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks,” she said and turned back to the computer. As big as Raguel was, he was unobtrusive.

  Reba yawned as she stretched her aching shoulders; her eyes burned from staring at the computer screen. There was just too much to absorb, she needed time to think, to make sense of all of this.

  All these years she’d harbored a grudge against Commander Benshax. She hated him for pulling his warriors from the streets and allowing the demons to crawl from the sewers and the dimensional cracks in the
city. They murdered the rioting humans and feasted on their flesh. She shivered and pushed away from the desk. She didn’t want to remember those vampires and what they’d done to Betty and her either.

  Leaving the chair, she headed for the warmth of the fire Roharn had lit. There was a comfortable looking couch with an ivory throw that looked incredibly inviting. Sleep came quickly, faster than she anticipated.

  As she lay bathed in the warm glow of the flames, her dreams took her to a field of sunflowers. Their heads turned to follow the journey of the sun across the sky. She was no stranger to this dreamscape; she’d been here many times before. She stood as one of them; her head tilted up, her eyes closed, her arms raised at her sides, palms open, she absorbed the power of the morning stars rays.

  A presence invaded her sleeping peace, disturbing the silence as it trudged through the field, snapping stems underfoot.

  “It’s time to come home, Reba.”

  “Home?” she frowned, annoyed at the disturbance of her solitude.

  “Come with me and I will show you,” the male voice replied, silky and seductive.

  “Who are you?” She peered over her shoulder, then craned her neck to try and see past the blossoming heads and frowned. There was no one there.

  “I am called Inyoka.”

  “The Snake?” Reba gasped.

  “Come with me,” Inyoka urged her.

  “Why?” Reba stepped away from the disembodied voice. “Why should I trust you?” She peered curiously down the path of broken sunflowers. Still no sign of a person.

  “Because all the answers to your questions, Reba, are just beyond the gate.”

  “Did you bring me to David's Town?”

  “All the answers you seek,” an edge of impatience rode the voice, “are beyond that gate!”

  Reba swallowed hard taking one slow step forward at a time. Her bare feet cushioned by the broken plants; she followed the winding trail. Overhead the sun remained still, yet the flowers turned their faces as she passed by. The path appeared never-ending and when she thought she’d lost her way, she came face to face with a large wooden gate.