Fall into Darkness

by Skyler Andra

  Fall Into Darkness

  Fire and Shadows Book 2

  Skyler Andra

  Wildfire (Fire and Shadow #2) © Copyright 2019 Skyler Andra.

  Cover art by Covers By Christian.

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher/author.

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

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  About the Author

  Foreword

  Foreword: A big thank you to all my readers and publication team.

  1

  Jophiel

  I lifted my head and what felt like a woodpecker hammered inside my skull. Light filtered beneath the curtains, stabbing my eyes, and I raised a hand to shield them. Queasiness flared in my stomach, courtesy of all the alcohol sloshing inside.

  This time, I wasn’t in a motel. For the first time in over a week, I woke up in a living room that looked like it had been decorated according to personal taste, not in a commercially bland room with no appeal. From the potted plant on the windowsill to the picture against the wall and the silence all around me, it sang of a plain beauty. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to beautify it a little more.

  But Michael, my commander, had forbidden me from using my grace unless in an absolute emergency. Angelic power attracted demons, or rats, as he called them. Our powers of light aggravated their darkness, and they reacted aggressively and violently. Not to mention it also sent out a signal to Lucifer, our fallen brother, of our location.

  Thinking of demons sparked my memory, and all of yesterday’s events came flooding back. Four angels reunited after many years apart. A small victory in freeing humans from the dark clutches of Lucifer’s plague upon humanity. The wondrous side effects afterwards: parted clouds, sunlight for the first time in a long time, fresh air, and plants reviving. The celebration of our small victory in the war against Lucifer’s darkness. Drinks raised. Tributes shouted.

  But then a darker memory from the evening came to the forefront of my mind. We had also commemorated the loss of a dedicated warrior and close friend. Gabriel, Archangel of communication. Because of that, I had drowned my sadness in drinks, consuming them to excess, losing myself to the grip of the alcohol, to the darkness spreading within me.

  At first, I hadn’t understood how the other angels could do that to their bodies, dampening their senses and abilities. All the patrons in the bar had done it too. Apparently, it was a human thing. Another concept I just hadn’t understood until I experienced it myself. The liquor soothed my mind, made me forget my pain, and filled me with a sense of enjoyment and relaxation I’d not yet known during my week on Earth.

  Hurt writhed inside my grace. Gabriel and I had worked for many centuries together to inspire painters, musicians, writers, tailors, and more to create their works of art. Legacies handed down to the next generations. Inspiration for the new generations of artists. Works of beauty for enthusiasts to admire.

  My friend had made the ultimate sacrifice, pushing me out of the way to save me when Lucifer had tried to steal my grace. I could never repay her for her debt. I’d never forget her sacrifice. All I could do in her honor was swear to destroy the darkness once and for all to ensure her sacrifice meant something. That meant I could not try to drown out my pain again or hide from my torment. From now on, I must I face my pain head on. I must stay pure for my mission.

  Someone groaned beside me, interrupting my silent vow. They shifted, rolling over, and almost pushed me off the long chair we lay on. I gripped the edges to steady myself. A strong arm curled around my waist, pulling me closer. Warm lips found the back of my neck and kissed me softly.

  Michael. I’d recognize his protective and commanding style anywhere. The leader of Heaven’s army, created to protect Heaven and all of its creations, was a tactical and strategic thinker. He also had a protective and fierce heart. I admired his achievements and glory.

  “Don’t get up just yet,” he murmured in my ear.

  Tingles engulfed my body. I didn’t want to either. I wished to stay like this forever, tangled in his arms, his weight pressing against mine, his warmth chasing away my pain. I shifted to face him. Tired, crystalline blue eyes tinged with red met mine, a stark contrast to his blond hair. I ran my fingertips along the stubble sprouting on his smooth, hard chin. Seventh heaven, he was handsome! Such a tempting distraction.

  But…my sensible side kicked in. There was a war to win. We couldn’t waste anymore of our day lying around like sloths. The Most High had sent me to find the archangels and bring them together. To fight as one unit against Lucifer. Not to hide, all scattered, like cockroaches in the dark.

  A snort dragged my attention back to the room. Zak—or Zadkiel, as he was known by his angel name—had his arm thrown over his face, and he snored lightly while lying on his back on the floor. His black hair, dabbled with sweat, sat at spiky angles. He ground his teeth periodically, the subtle motion drawing my attention to his defined, angular jaw. Sometimes he could be cold, cruel and, sarcastic, like when we’d met. Other times he was sweet and caring, such as when we’d shared a detoxing bath together after being wounded and infected by Lucifer’s darkness. The contrasted with his persona in battle, where he became a battle-ready soldier, beating down anything in his path, merciless and deadly.

  Day by day this darkened world changed and shaped us as our divinity fell away. We grew more selfish, indulging in vices while our apathy for the humans, for our mission, for our creator slowly died.

  Zak, for example, wanted to forget his pain by indulging in women, oversleeping, and swearing to excess. I thought he’d taken advantage of me, too, when I’d first landed. He’d claimed my innocence and purity in the bathtub. Afterwards, he’d pushed me away, avoided me, fought what I knew he felt inside: an irresistible tug to me. He’d blamed it on Michael’s warning to stay away, but that wasn’t entirely the reason.

  From my deductions, he kept everyone at a distance, not wanting anyone to get close in case he felt something again. Years earlier he had lost his love, Ariel, and now he feared losing someone else he loved. I wasn’t sure what he felt for me because he kept himself very guarded, but I knew there was a spark there. One I’d have to
encourage if I wanted any sort of romantic or physical relationship with him. But I always had in the back of my mind the worry of being hurt, and I remained vigilant and wary.

  Perhaps that was what had sent me into Michael’s arms last night: the promise of steadiness and reliability. Zak was wild and unpredictable, like an animal, and I needed strength and support to see my mission through.

  My eyes drifted from Zak to Uri above him on the couch. Uri—also known as Uriel—crammed as much of his long and leaner frame onto the furniture, his face turned into the pillows, his legs and backside hanging off the end. Somehow his clothes had ended on the floor and he lay in his underwear. I recalled him challenging me to a game of strip poker, but I had declined. That might explain why he had lost most of his clothes, Michael his jacket and socks, and Zak his shirt. Not that I was complaining about the nice view surrounding me. Especially on Uriel. I knew the other men and their bodies intimately. But Uriel, well… I could now see he was toned and muscular despite his height. Wonderful to look at. Sculpted by God himself. Regardless of his sheer size and how uncomfortable he looked, he seemed snug.

  Upon our first meeting, I’d noted his handsome features. Chocolate eyes, deep and intense, but with a joy that made me giddy. Sandy hair in desperate need of a cut or grooming, but somehow, the shaggy appearance with his upright posture worked. Although Uriel wasn’t as solidly built as Zak—he was thinner and taller even than Mike—it would be foolish to underestimate his strength. My initial impression was that he seemed to be a ray of light, which was just what this dark world required.

  I got the sense that Uriel adopted the vice of drinking every night to forget and have a good time. From what little I knew of his earthly self, he seemed to enjoy the company of the humans and socializing. They’d all known him by name, cheered him on, threw their arms around him, and sang songs fueled by love, heartbreak and good times at the bar last night.

  Stretching, I inhaled deeply and the odors of smoke, beer, and stale air filled my nostrils. The room we all slept in smelled of it, like the place had not had fresh airflow in a while. Maybe I should open a window. I could do with some fresh air. Even if it smelt like dust, grime, and all the filth of the city.

  I groaned, torn about leaving Mike’s arms, his warmth, his safety. In all honesty, I had grown accustomed to spending time with both him and Zak. Our nomadic lifestyle had felt odd and wearisome at first. Now, eating from diners and leaving tips, riding a motorcycle for long stretches across the decaying and rotting landscape, and sleeping in a different motel every night on our cross-country journey to find the rest of the angels were all par for the course.

  When I’d first arrived on Earth, everything was all very unsettling. The dense and darker energies of the earth were a stark contrast to the light and loving flow of the heavenly realm. The barren landscape, devoid of any plant life, held only decrepit buildings and roads. The dank interiors of the motels Mike, Zak, and I frequented were a test of self-control as I held back my grace and my desire to beautify our accommodations.

  After a big night of drinks, my stomach rumbled, demanding sustenance. If anything, it needed something to soak up the excess alcohol from my system. Something greasy and unhealthy might be on the menu. That tip I had acquired from Zak after a night of drinking beers.

  Seventh Heaven, I had better get off this chair. No use wasting the day. Mike’s breaths had turned deep and heavy in my ear, his body limp, suggesting he’d fallen asleep again. Perhaps I could surprise the angels with a home cooked meal for once. I didn’t know how to cook, but I’d had time to study the chefs on cooking shows while we stayed in motels, and I think I had a reasonable idea of what to do.

  But first I needed to freshen up. Slowly, I extricated myself from Mike’s arms, and he groaned, saying, “Don’t go,” but I bent down, kissed his nose, and soothed a hand along his jaw until he settled. Leaving him, I tiptoed to the bathroom.

  Ten minutes later, I emerged, my body and hair washed and wearing a new sundress that Michael had bought me. It fit my body perfectly and showed a little cleavage. My head still ached and I felt queasy, but I tried to ignore it as I moved to the kitchen.

  A coffee percolator sat empty on the counter, inviting me to use it. I’d seen them in the diners and watched the waitresses add the beans into the filter bag, the water seeping through, brewing a dark brown mixture. First thing, I started a brew of coffee for the angels. Mike and Zak seemed to love it every morning with their breakfast. I didn’t know how many beans to add to the chamber, so I shrugged and added the whole bag. Extra strong. They’d need it to wake them up.

  Next, I moved onto the food. While I removed the eggs and bacon from the cold machine against the wall, I wished I had some company, a conversation or a laugh, some guidance on what to do. Guess I’d have to wait until the smell of sizzling bacon roused them from their slumped positions.

  In the meantime, I called upon my memory of the cooking shows, where they heated the meat in a black pan over a flame, and it turned pink to white or brown. Determined to do the same, I hunted through Uri’s cupboards for a cooking vessel and found a heavy pan in the third drawer. I put it on the stove then stared at the strange markings next to the knobs, wondering what they meant. On the TV, they twisted one of the knobs to produce a clicking sound, while using a long flame device to light the stove. I scanned the tiny kitchen, finding one hanging from a nail on the wall. I grabbed it, clicked the button, and a flame sprang out of it. It took a few tries, but eventually I lit the stove. Quietly, I clapped my hands, proud of my effort.

  I heated up oil in the pan, adding the eggs and bacon when it hissed, waiting for them to turn pink or brown like the food on the shows. While they sizzled in the pan, the clear part of the eggs turning white and the bacon darkening into a sharper pink with brown at the edges, I glanced out the apartment window.

  Sterling City. Somehow, I had hoped it would be warmer, more welcoming, especially if an angel as bright, fun, and full of life as Uri dwelled here. I hadn’t expected the dreary, gray, and dull landscape we encountered. But maybe I should have anticipated it would be like this. We were in a war where Lucifer sucked the beauty out of everything, after all.

  Below on the footpaths, people hurried to their destinations, and when they passed someone, they barely acknowledged each other. Many of them were busy with their cell phones, talking, tapping, or scrolling on the screens. Mike and Zak both had phones that occupied them from time to time, but I didn’t see what was so entertaining about the tiny devices. They seemed to distract people from the world around us. It was a strange habit I did not understand. Back at home, we interacted with each other, singing, rejoicing, and collaborating. It hurt my heart to experience such depths of isolation and loneliness.

  Cars honked and tires screeched. People rolled down their windows to yell at each other, a cyclist, or a woman walking her dog. All of this because of Lucifer and what he was doing to bleed life from the world and fuel his power. The darkness in my grace swirled and stung.

  I pressed a hand to my chest, reminding myself that beauty existed in disarray, too. The noise was a soundtrack to the city, the people determined to get somewhere a reminder of humanity’s persistence, the dreary landscape a haunting monochrome painting. It was different than I was used to back home, but not necessarily bad. The humans hid their suffering to get on with day to day life despite the obstacles. I had to admire their resilience, one of their key strengths the Most High spoke fondly of. When I’d first arrived, I had thought I would see nothing more than destruction and disaster. Part of me was relieved that it was not as bad as I’d imagined.

  My movement around the kitchen heightened the banging in my temples. The scent of the cooking bacon tormented me, teasing my hungry stomach, yet also making it churn. I collected water from the tap in a glass I found by the sink and drank it all. I felt it pulse inside of me, renew me, rehydrate those dried cells, and ease the swirling in my gut.

  The meat hissed and
spat fat out of the pan, some striking my hand. Pain flashed for a few seconds, and I rubbed the scalded flesh. Quickly the food had stuck to the surface, the bacon nearly black, the eggs a scrambled mess. I ignored my hand to shuffle in cupboards and draws for tools to move them around. I found a flat rectangular item with slats in it. I’d seen the cooks use these to flip food in the pan. I mimicked their actions, but most of the egg stuck to the pan, and I ripped the bacon in half.

  “Bother,” I whispered, removing the pan from the heat and switching off the stove. It had looked so much easier on the television, the chefs cooking the meals with ease. Maybe I’d missed something.

  The smell of coffee wafted from the percolator. It smelled bitter, delicious, and ready. Caffeine, the perfect jolt to a tired body. At least one thing seemed to be going right.

  I found some plates, scooping the food onto four of them. Armed with two, I carried them to the small dining table to the side of the kitchen. Not even the smell of the food roused the angels. I brought the last two plates and the coffee. To finish off the table, I added coffee mugs and some sugar.

  Standing next to the table, I put my hands on my hips, feeling like it was missing something. The Nephilim, the two half-angels who had housed me after my fall, had a vase with flowers at their dining table. Uri’s table needed something similar to liven it up. But I hadn’t seen a single flower on our entry to Sterling City. I doubted they even grew here. After Mike’s warning, I couldn’t use my grace to make one grow. I guess we’d do without the little addition of beauty to our table.