Eons ago a group of angels fought a war, for their right to love who they pleased. They lost. They were cast out of Eden. Their children fled and many were slaughtered, but not all. some survived. Fallen Angel is not a story about that fall.
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| Cover art by Maria, and Mika Star |
Fallen Angel is published by Romance First Publishing
Description:
Isobel is a were panther. She
believes she shares her body with the soul of a big cat. She belongs to a group
who all believe themselves to be Otherkin, beings that are not entirely human.
She absolutely believes it. At least she thinks she does until she meets Arran
who turns out to be a ‘real’ vampire.
Arran mocks her, teases her and
embarrasses her in front of her friends, and yet…
When she starts having flashbacks
to another time, a time when she belonged in Arran’s arms, Isobel’s feelings
for Arran change and for brief moments she believes he feels the same, but
still he treats her coldly.
Against her better judgment, Isobel
follows Arran on a dangerous quest for a mysterious object that holds a great
truth about vampires.
When she discovers the reason Arran
has been pushing her away Isobel gives herself to him completely and they
re-forge a bond that was broken eons ago.
In a desperate race against time,
Isobel and Arran search for the mythical object in the hope it might save
Arran’s life. However, what they find at the end of their journey is something
so huge, so unbelievable powerful, it must be destroyed. But where does that
leave Arran?
As Isobel holds him and watches his
life slip away, she has an idea. But will it work?
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Excerpt
As their lips met their souls touched,
and Isobel’s mind opened. She saw the lake again only this time she wasn’t an
onlooker. She stood with her arms around Arran, trying to hide her face as
blood rained from the sky. She knew the sun was still high but it was so dark,
like night. If she looked up she would have seen the sun obscured by the bodies
fighting, their blood bathing the earth below, dripping onto her hair and back. Arran prevented
her looking up. His arms weren’t the only things wrapped around her. She
nuzzled into down as soft as a baby chick that lined the coal black wings
curving overhead and around her body.
“Save me,” she whispered and he nodded
his eyes dark, deep and endlessly sad.
“When I say – run.”
She nodded wordlessly.
“Run.”
Arran spread his wings and grabbed
her hand. She screamed in terror as blood rained down upon her. Skidding and
slipping on the gory grass they ran until they reached the wood and the trees
afforded them some protection. Now and again a scream cracked the air, followed
by a thud as another body fell to the earth, but from which side they didn’t
know and dared not stop to check. The friends and family that they left behind
tugged at their hearts, but terror was a harsh taskmaster and they could do
naught but run on, until they were too exhausted to run anymore.
Collapsing at last in the roots of a
huge old tree, Arran tucked Isobel into the hollow and made them as
comfortable as he could. Eventually he covered them with his wings for warmth
and comfort, but fear for their safety startled him at every snap of a twig or
call of a bird. Desperate, terrified, alone, in the renewed light of a sun
finally cleared to shine again, they stared into each other’s eyes and knew
their unity was all they had left.
With a gasp, Isobel pulled away from Arran and
stared at him, not pausing even to wonder if the image was true. The truth was obvious.
It was a memory and the intensity of that moment spilled into the present.
Isobel tore at the straps of her dress, desperate to be free of it and feel him
against her bare skin. Arran froze, staring as her body was
revealed, pale and perfect in the darkness. When she was naked, she
turned to him with fire in her eyes, gratified to see a matching flare in his
own.
Hungry fingers fumbled with buttons
that refused to yield. Isobel lost all patience and tore the shirt from his
body, surprised by her own strength. Arran laughed, a deep rumble
that only served to inflame her more.
“I think, perhaps, I should do the
rest. I happen to like these trousers, and I don’t really want them shredded by
a wild cat.”
Lowering themselves onto the bed, that
same, strange shift of reality showed Isobel a different Arran. He had the same
face and eyes, but he no longer lay on the plush bed, the soft velvet covers
spread out under him. Now he sprawled on the rough floor of an ancient wood,
his body cushioned on large, night black wings, the feathers glossy in the
moonlight.
Isobel reached out a tentative hand and
brushed the trembling feathers. They were sleek and oily at the wing ridges,
but deeper, closer to Arran’s body, they were soft and fluffy, like a down
quilt ready to wrap around her in eternal comfort and safety.
And then they were back again. The room
enclosed them and the sounds of faraway fighting faded. Smells faded slower and
the metallic tang of blood made her nose itch for some time.
Arran reached out, a look of
reverence and awe on his face, and touched Isobel’s hair, running the soft
silken strands through his fingers.
“You have hair the colour of old
flames, just like you did then.”
“You have hair the colour of the night,
just like you did then.” Isobel reached for his hair but went past his head to
the space behind it. “I remember your wings.”
“My wings burned off a long time ago.”
“The only wings I ever had were in my
heart whenever I looked into your eyes. They still work as well as they ever
did.”
“Hell Isobel, do you know what this
means?”
“I guess it means you don’t really need
to find that room anymore.”
“No. But I do need to find what
it protects.”
“Yes, my love, you do.”
“Do you remember, Isobel?” Arran whispered.
“Do you remember everything?”
“Yes, I remember everything. I remember
the white city on the cliff, the City of Angels, they called it in the
village. I remember the men, the beautiful men with wings who were so cold and
distant. And I remember… those who weren’t.”
“I can hardly believe it.”
“Me either.”
“My… our fathers were angels, weren’t
they? Real angels.”
“Yes,” Isobel whispered, stroking his
chest. “And our mothers were human. That’s why they killed them; why they
hunted us. Were we the only survivors?”
Arran shook his head. “I don’t
know. I can’t remember. There have been times, I think – in other lives; times
when I’ve met someone or heard or seen something that’s not fit into any life I
remember… remembered then. Maybe they were people we knew then. I don’t think
true angels live and die as we do, so perhaps there were others like us, who
escaped the war, too.” He laughed. “Escaped the war,” he repeated, dazed. “The
war in heaven.”
“But it wasn’t in heaven. It wasn’t
about God or the Devil or…”
“No, it was about…”
“Us.”
“Not just about us, Isobel. The Council
decreed that humans and malakim shouldn’t mix but it wasn’t just about that. It
was the Source.”
“Yes,” she said, stunned. “The Source.”
“It was really about power wasn’t it?”
“Yes. The Council had it and they
didn’t want to share it. If only… It seems incredible now, looking back… all
the way back. They held it in their hand: the Source of all life. The actual
Source of all life. They had the power to create… anything. They could
transcend humanity, create a new race of transcendental beings and instead…”
“No, they couldn’t Isobel. They were
right about that. They couldn’t ascend humanity.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t you see? If they used the Source
to change one race into an entirely different one, even if it was more
enlightened, a ‘better’ one, they’d have been putting themselves in the place
of God. It’s not for anyone, not even the Sanhedrin Malakim to do that, to take
that kind of drastic action.”
“You sound as if you’re siding with
them.”
“Siding with them?” He frowned at her,
then smiled. “We’ve had this argument before. I’ll tell you now what I told you
then, and take it further. The Council was right in preventing the Source being
from used to ascend humanity. They were right that humanity needed to undergo
its own evolution. But they were wrong, so totally wrong in what they did about
it. Making decrees about who someone can or cannot love is impossible. Breaking
apart lovers and destroying families for the sake of a decree is evil.
“What our parents did was wrong. Not
their love, that should never have been punished. But taking things into their
own hands and making the choice to ascend humans without permission from the
Council, yes, that was wrong. The task of protecting the Source fell to the
Council, and that wasn’t easy. The Source was the single most powerful
substance in the universe, responsible for the very creation of the universe.
No one knew exactly what it was capable of or that it would be as much bad as
it was good.
“Don’t you see… the Council succeeded
for millennia in preventing the Source from being used for selfish ends, and
then Semjaza took it into his head to transcend Ishtahar and the whole world
went crazy.”
“It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t start
the war.”
“He did start the war, Isobel. I’m not
saying he was entirely wrong, but his action in ascending Ishtahar did start
the war. He violated the most sacred law by taking a human into the sanctuary,
by having her enter the Source, and by allowing her to transcend.”
“He loved her.”
“I know. And I know what it’s like to
love like that.” He looked up into Isobel’s eyes, brushing her hair off her
face and tucking it behind her ear. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t have done it
myself, but you have to be realistic and you have to be honest. He did start
the war.”
“Okay, okay, he started the war. But
the Council should never have done what they did. Maybe Semjaza did break the
law, maybe he violated the sanctuary or whatever… but he didn’t deserve what
they did, none of them did, none of us did.”
“No, whole scale slaughter of entire
families is never acceptable for any reason. That’s when the real power trip
began and that’s when the whole thing went to hell. Do you… do you think that
after… after the war… Do you think they were sorry? Do you think that when
everything calmed down, the Council regretted what they did and…?”
“No, Arran, I don’t and they
didn’t. Look at what’s happened since. They’ve hunted us through history. So
many things make sense now. We’ve never stopped running. They’ve hunted us and
they’re hunting us still.”
****
The war approaches, closer every day.
No one knows what’s behind the gates,
but they weaken every moon cycle, every nightfall, every hour.
Be ready when they open.
Remember, awaken, wait for the call… and
follow Arran and Isobel.
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| By Maria |
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