Watcher Compelled: Dark Angels Paranormal Romance (Watchers of the Gray Book 6)

by JL Madore

  Copyright © 2019 by JL Madore

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  JL Madore

  www.jlmadore.com

  Cover Design: Fiona Jayde Media

  Copy Edit: Jenn Wood, All About the Edits

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  Note: The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Watcher Compelled/ JL Madore -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-989187-06-7

  Author Note:

  Welcome to book six of the Watchers of the Gray,

  Dark Angels Paranormal Series – Watcher Compelled.

  This series is written to be read in order. I follow up with each of the couples as a family saga as we move through their lives and you’ll enjoy the story more if you have context.

  If you haven’t started at the beginning, Zander is your man in book 1 – Watcher Untethered

  If you’re all set to jump into the following pages, then enjoy.

  Devour the struggles and triumphs of Zander and his warrior brothers. When you’ve finished, continue the journey with the next books:

  Watcher Untethered – Zander

  Watcher Redeemed – Kyrian

  Watcher Reborn – Danel

  Watcher Divided – Phoenix

  Watcher United – Seth

  Watcher Compelled – Bo

  Watcher Exposed – Taharqa

  CHAPTER ONE

  “My cock and I agree. We never want to have sex again.” Bo eased his ass onto one of the bar stools in the man cave of their ranch home and ignored the snickering of his brothers. Born in AD 845, it was the first time he’d ever felt his age. He squinted against the bright faces of his brothers-in-arms and fought the urge to cover the shiny surface of the bar with vomit. “Seriously, I’m swearing off the entire interaction.”

  Kyrian snorted and poured another round for himself and Zander. “That’s because you’re afraid your dick will fall off.”

  Bo glanced down and worried about the long-term effects of the weeks he’d spent attending the Dark Prince’s orgy. “It’s not natural to take such a beating. Shayton is a beast. He never tires, and he never sits out. Despite pounding back alcohol non-stop, I swear I lost thirty pounds in fluids. Fuck, near the end, I collapsed on top of a female and nearly crushed her from sheer exhaustion.”

  “In a few weeks, things will return to normal,” the Greek said, his tone more supportive. “Feeling will return to all your favorite bits, females will interest you again, and your strength will revive with a few of Austin’s home-cooked meals. Trust us; you’ll survive. Zander and I are living proof.”

  “Living proof of what?” Tanek said, ghosting through the black walnut bar to join them.

  Bo reached up and clasped his brother’s hand, his own issues suddenly seeming petty. “Welcome home, my man. When I heard you were back as part of the garrison, I couldn’t believe it. It sucks ass that you’re anchored here but better to have you with us than to not—by a long shot.”

  “Blessed Lady,” Zander said, toasting his words.

  “Blessed Lady,” the three of them echoed.

  Bo studied his former commander. Other than him fading out a bit around the edges and not having an aura, he remained the Tanek of old. After the silence got awkward, the guy broke away and reached to the back-lit glass shelves for a glass. “So, what were we talking about?”

  Kyrian topped Tanek’s glass and broke out in a smart-ass grin. “The Viking is feeling the aftereffects of Shayton’s latest social event.”

  Tanek’s chest bounced. “Ah, yes, the hangover, the wrung-out muscles, the numbness, the awkward glances. Don’t worry. It dissolves, and after a few weeks, you’ll be able to meet Brennus eye-to-eye again.”

  “Weeks?” Now it was Bo’s turn to laugh. “After what I did and saw him do, I’m thinking years—maybe decades. Damn, how many times have you three partied with the Prince of Hell over the millennia?”

  Zander sipped at the edge of his tumbler and used his glass to hide his amusement. ”Enough to know Tanek’s right. Soon enough, it’ll fade to the forgotten and things will return to normal. What happens at a drunken Purgatory orgy, stays in the vault.”

  It better.

  Bo wasn’t sure if it was the Dark Prince’s booze, the other attendees, the music, or the general atmosphere of sexual debauchery, but he surprised himself with what went on—and wasn’t sure how he felt about his part in it.

  “Now,” Zander said, finishing his drink and pushing off the bar, “I had Storme infuse a box of bath balm with healing energy for both you and the Celt. Yours is in your suite next to your bathtub. Do yourself a favor and take a long, hot soak before dinner.”

  “Bless you.” Bo eased off the stool and winced as things shifted in his jeans.

  Kyrian and Tanek burst out laughing, and he flipped them the bird. “Yeah, yeah. Yuck it up, assholes.”

  Layne, third born to the royal house of Djinn, second sister to the current Djinn Master, navigated the dark alleyways of Cabbagetown. Keeping to the shadows, she pulled her fur-trimmed hood up to keep the winter bite at bay and ensure her face remained well out of sight. Not that many gawkers ventured out on a night like tonight anyway. February in Toronto made a Darkworlder long for the stifling heat from the acid-dripping skies of Hell.

  Avoiding the pool of light from the street lamps, she hugged tight to the tree-lined sidewalk and headed for the iron gates off Winchester. The spear-tipped iron railing created nothing of a deterrent for entry. Mid-step, she pulled her hands from the warmth of her pockets and faced her palms towards the ground.

  The magic that ran in her veins, in the veins of all her species, levitated her the six feet needed to gain entrance to the Toronto Necropolis. This 19th-century burial ground featured some damned impressive Gothic architecture, tombs of many prominent Torontonians, and tonight, it served as a secluded meeting place among the dead.

  She passed by the headstone of George Brown and headed over to William Lyon Mackenzie. A blistering wind buffeted her in the face, forcing her to turn her shoulder to the gale. Why hadn’t her family settled in California or Miami or somewhere like that? A huge community of Darkworlders lived in Atlanta. Why was she out freezing her nipples off?

  Before she rounded the last crumbling monolith, she raised her arm over her head and completed one full circle. “Let what is seen be unseen and what is imagined be true.”

  She chuckled as the tingle of her spell washed over her. The deception
was necessary. This way, if her description ever came up as a source of conversation, every person in the room would paint a different picture.

  Privacy preserved.

  “You’re late, Djinn,” the meathead demon standing lookout said. “He expected you at last week’s meeting.”

  She rolled her eyes. It pissed her off that despite being completely mummied in her winter coat, he thought he knew her at a glance. She could’ve been an errant teen out for a night of mischief in the cemetery that he’d let into a rebel planning session.

  It was her height—or rather, the lack of it.

  When people commented about her being short, she shot them down by saying she wasn’t finished growing. The truth of it was, at twenty-six there was no hope in the Hell Realm she’d ever gain any inches on the vertical.

  Pushing past the sentinel, she joined the others inside the mausoleum. The guts of the place wigged her out. Cold. Dark. The crypt stood a few flickering candles and a Gregorian chant away from being hardcore Creepsville.

  The hum of voices quieted as she stopped in the entrance. She paused, waiting for her eyes to adjust, and then nodded to the group.

  “Déjà, we expected you lassst week. You don’t call. You don’t write. What’sss a demon to think?”

  She cranked her gaze up two feet to meet Gideon with as much of a smile as she could fake. Speaking of creepsville, it was too close to call which was worse, his freakish writhing snake hair or the silver pitted hollows of where the guy’s glowy red eyes had rotted out of his skull.

  Yup. Despite the power of their species, Serpentines were one of the fugliest daemons of the Darkworld.

  “Well?” he said, leaning close enough that his hair floated within striking distance. “What sssay you?”

  Undeterred by the male intimidation, she stepped back and gained her personal space. “You asked me to speak to Shayton. I did. Straight to the Dark Lord of Purgatory—straight back.”

  “And yet it took you almossst three weeksss.”

  She shrugged. “Well, there’s the time-change thing, and it turned out he was hosting one of his free-love soirees. There’s no talking business with the man until his hungers are sated. And what can I say, with the Dark Prince of Hell, that took time.”

  Gideon eyed her as if her explanation intrigued him. “Tell me, Déjà, did you wait on the sidelines like a wallflower, or partake in the feasts of flesh?”

  The lascivious undercurrent vibrating in his voice squeezed the mulligatawny soup in her guts like a juice box. Fighting the surge of spew pushing at her gorge, she swallowed. “That’s none of your business. And stop imagining me with my legs open. Seriously, I’ll fuck your mind over and convince you to cut off your own cock so you can give yourself a blowjob.”

  Gideon threw his head back in a burst of laughter. The movement caused his hair to hiss and strike out, baring fangs in every direction. “As intriguing as that sounds, tell me. What did you learn?”

  Stepping around the only living Serpentine male past the age of adolescence, she nodded to the other species representatives. She recognized the Wendigo, Shax, Crossroads, and the Shedim Demons, but not the tiny blonde woman—Dimme, if she had to guess.

  “The Dark Prince hosted two Watchers as his personal guests for the event. By the time I arrived, the festivities had taken them over completely. It wasn’t difficult to pry information from them.”

  “Which two?” The buxom blonde asked, her disdain obvious.

  “The Celt and the Viking.” Whether or not that answer satisfied her, she had no idea.

  The Wendigo stepped forward, his gaunt, grotesque physique giving him the appearance of a hairy long-snouted man who’d spent too much time getting stretched on the rack. His knuckles hung to the eroded stone floor, his body elongated in gruesome proportion. “Do the Watchers know who was behind the torture in the warehouse? Have they gained any ground on giving our families justice?”

  “Of course not,” the blonde snapped. “Watchers are Lady Divinity’s pets, nothing more than lapdogs with a few Otherworld enhancements.”

  “They’re a lot more than that,” Déjà said.

  The Dimme flipped her long flaxen hair, and it swayed around her face like the mane of a lion. “And you know this after one day out of your playpen, little girl?”

  Layne chuckled. “I take it you’ve come up against them before and failed. It’s good that Gideon sent a Djinn to get the job done.”

  The woman crossed her arms and cast a look so hateful Layne might have shrunken away if she weren’t accustomed to such a reaction. “Tell us, mind-fucker, what did you learn that you think is so beneficial.”

  A great deal, though she wasn’t entirely sure how much of it she wanted to share. She took the floor and started by confirming what was long believed.

  “Each of the nine Toronto Nephilim, and those in others garrisons around the world, possess a gift bestowed upon them by the Choir. When Stryker first started this rebellion and killed the commander, Tanek, Lady Divinity offered them the chance to up that ability a hundred-fold.”

  “And how do they do that?” Gideon asked.

  “When they release their darkest tendencies and transition into Dark Angels, they are truly whole and wholly powerful.”

  “The winged ones,” the Rugaru said.

  Layne nodded. “They unleash their most violent selves and come out the other side of the transition virtually unstoppable.”

  “How many have transitioned thusss far?”

  “Five of the nine here in Toronto. The Sumerian, the Greek, the Persian, and the Egyptian twins.”

  Gideon swallowed, pacing the outside perimeter of the room, his snakes casting long and slithering shadows. “Then our firssst order should be to ensssure that no more transition. What triggers the change?”

  “When they find their mate, it unleashes the beast within them. The unifying of the warrior and the violence triggers the change.”

  “Then we stop any others from finding mates and kill the matesss they do have.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be as easy as that,” she said.

  “Ssso cynical,” Gideon said. “Do you doubt me?”

  She shrugged. “I would never underestimate them and neither should you. Only six weeks ago, they annihilated every grown male of your species.”

  The newly risen Serpentine King scowled. “I don’t need a righteous hissstory lesson. I am more aware than you of what happened to my brother and his men. Yet, while my people regroup and strengthen the Hell Realm’s revolt, what are the Djinn doing?”

  The truth slapped her face—building a fucking council with the enemy. “My king does not act with the support of all Djinn. Many of us are as appalled as the rest of the Darkworld to be included in any Nephilim agenda. It’s sickening.”

  “Yessss, it issss.” Gideon waved a hand and gestured for them to move further into the bowels of the crypt. “Sssso then, little one, tell ussss what our Dark Masssster ssssaid.”

  Bo soaked in the magically-infused waters until his skin pruned and he’d reheated the depths three times. He owed Storme a huge thanks. Gods, his thunder junk felt a hundred times better. Now, if he could only get rid of the hangover buzzing inside his skull and replenish his strength.

  Usually, great sex made him feel invincible. Too much of a good thing. At least, he thought so. A lot of the past weeks drifted in and out of a deep haze, but what he could remember had him pretty sure he’d been dragged through a jagged knot hole naked.

  The spicy scent of a Tex-Mex feast sizzling downstairs tugged at him long enough that eventually, he gave up his personal penis paradise.

  Bonus. He still had plenty of balm for future indulgence.

  Choosing a pair of cotton jogging pants and a fleece hoody Ronnie got him that read “Bound for Valhalla,” he headed barefoot down the stairs to join the family.

  He smiled at that reality.

  Family had never been a word in Nephilim vocabulary. In all the centuries an
d millennia, they’d fought and suffered and served, they’d been a team, brothers-in-arms, fellow outcasts, but they’d been isolated and lived separate lives too.

  Two years ago, when Lady Divinity unlocked their mating and procreation options, they discovered a new world.

  Austin, Cassi, Ronnie, Storme, and Thea.

  Five amazing females for his brothers. Five beloved sisters to the rest of them. And then there were the children.

  Niobi was a perfect mixture of her parents. She had Austin’s tanned complexion and dark chestnut hair, and the serious scowl and magical energy of Zander.

  He hadn’t met Zane yet but looked forward to it more than he thought possible. His baby nephew. His little niece. They were uncles and the love that bound each of them was stronger than all their magical gifts and grace combined.

  “There you are,” Austin said, as he entered the open-concept country kitchen. “Welcome home, Bo. Zander said you were rung out from your mission to Hell. You feeling any better after a bit of rest?”

  “Much. Thank you, cowgirl.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “Put me to work. How can I help with dinner?”

  Austin smiled up at him. The Otherworld vision she’d acquired after Zander brought her back from death allowed her to see him despite her blindness in the Human Realm. “We’re all set, sugar. Grab yourself a beer and take a seat.”

  Like a good soldier, he did as commanded and opened the massive Sub-Zero.

  “Make that four,” Zander said, coming in with the Egyptian twins. “Good timing, eh?”

  Bo doled out the refreshments as Thea and Storme walked in with Zane and Nio. “Finally. I’m so looking forward to meeting my nephew.”

  “Right,” Seth said, pulling the longneck from his mouth. “You missed the arrival of the little dude.” Setting his bottle on the island, he jogged over to his bride and scooped the bundled blue blankie from her.

  Thea, a Power in the Angels Choir, was stunning by genetics, but he thought she looked especially radiant with the addition of motherhood and marriage locked down.