by C. G. Blaine
Jovana, my editor, my word-slaying queen. You never fail to catch the details and make the story shine. And Christina, I swear I haven’t sold my soul to anyone. What happened before my birth, though, I can’t be sure. All the hearts.
Murphy Rae, as always, you created magic. You’re the best. Thank you.
Christine from Wildfire, for keeping me on track and being a sounding board when needed.
Joey, you guitar-playing, math-writing, Always Sunny-watching nerd. I hope you know how grateful I am for you every damn day. I appreciate you. I love you. To the rest of the fam, you’re pretty cool, too.
All the Cool Kids, ARC readers, bloggers, and bookstagrammers—you’re the real MVPs. The tireless support you show authors and the indie community is incredible. I appreciate you and everything you do to share what you love. You’re all such beautiful people.
xx
CG
Books
Standalones
Elusion
This
Never Again—A Second Chance Novella
When Watchers Fall Series
Fallen Rebel
Darkened Soul
C.G. Blaine writes Contemporary Romance and New Adult novels. At one time, she was cool. Now she lives in the middle of nowhere with her husband and plays pillow to a forever-hangry, blind cat. She’s terrible at texting back, and if she’s overly nice to you, chances are she’s not a fan.
Never miss a thing!
Join my reader group: CG’s Cool Kids
Instagram: @cgblaine
Facebook Author Page: @cgblaineauthor
Website: cgblaine.com
Want to know how Hannah forever altered Cass’s existence? Check out the story of the original broody guardian angel and his final charge in Fallen Rebel. Read the first chapter right here.
In the beginning, there was only darkness. Then there was bullshit.
And just so we’re clear, “darkness” was never really darkness. Most of the Bible and other religious texts are metaphors and symbolism or misinterpreted completely. The apple Eve eats? A metaphor for the burden of knowledge. Jonah being swallowed by a big-ass fish? A tale of second chances. Watcher Angels teaching humans about art and technology before God wanted them to know and being punished for it? Now we’re getting to some facts. Although the story falls apart on the Nephilim topic.
Another one humans got right, to a degree, is the crystal ball. Those things are real. They only show you the present, need to be connected to a particular soul, and are inconvenient as fuck to use in public.
I lean against my motorcycle, parked against the curb, and light a cigarette. Hannah Kelley has another twenty minutes left in whatever bullshit class she takes on Thursdays at two-fifteen. As I gaze into the clear orb at her, she twirls a strand of auburn hair around her finger, diligently taking notes on the lecture. Back when she was a sophomore in high school, she’d pass notes back and forth, giggling with her friends. Teachers caught her more than once and sent her to detention. She’d sneak out early and smoke behind the school or end up in a senior guy’s car, fogging up the windows.
But that’s not her anymore. Now she hangs on every damn word the sixty-year-old professor says. She’ll wander to the front after class, making sure she wrote something down correctly. His eyes will drop to her chest, the smile and nod he delivers not at all in response to her question. She’ll accept it as one, though, and scurry away.
A gorgeous five-foot-nothing blonde struts by my bike for the third time in the last half hour. I tuck the crystal ball in my jacket and follow her down the sidewalk toward the building Hannah’s walking out of. The blonde’s flattered I’m paying attention, but it’s short-lived.
It always starts in my chest. A warmth that almost makes me feel whole again. I look at my hand, palm up, fingers stretched out. The heat shoots down my arm, and the tips of my fingers emit a white glow. Divine light. I only enjoy the sensation for a second before I scan around. A city bus is closing its doors at a stop a block away. Given Hannah’s trajectory, she’ll walk right in front of it when she crosses the street because she’s watching her fucking shoes instead of where she’s going.
The blonde tries to say something as I jog past, but I wave her off. Women tend to take a backseat when your eternity is on the line. My jog turns into a fast stride by the time Hannah reaches the corner, and we collide. Our impact knocks her back from the curb, and the bus passes. The power fades from my body within seconds of her being safe, the loss as painful as ever.
I glance at her over my shoulder, her surprised eyes meeting my glare. “Watch where you’re going.”
“Sorry,” she says.
She should be fucking sorry. After thousands of years, she’s the last thing standing between me and home, and she almost ruined it by stepping in front of a bus.
And this is why I hate Hannah Kelley. My forever is tethered to her life.
Read Fallen Rebel here!
