Ardeur

by Gavan, Danielle

  Ardeur

  Abbey of Angels: Book One

  Danielle Gavan

  Red Hot Publishing

  P.O. BOX 651193, STERLING VA, 20165-1193

  Second eBook Edition August 2011

  Copyright 2011 by Danielle Gavan

  ISBN 978-1-927116-06-7

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

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

  This book is dedicated to my mom.

  Without you introducing me to books at a young age, and watching you devour them every night, I would never have found my true passion. I write because of you. For that, you get the biggest thank you of all.

  Acknowledgments

  A huge thank you to my family. Thank you for putting up with me sitting at the computer countless hours a day.

  My hubby, for taking care of the house and the kids and for putting up with the crabby days when I was exhausted from pulling near all-nighters.

  My boys, Mommy loves you. You are, and forever will be, my greatest accomplishments.

  This book was edited by the wonderful and amazing Shontrell Wade. Thank you for helping me make Ardeur shine to the best of her ability.

  Thank you to Kendra Egert for the amazing cover. You rock!

  Ardeur

  “Ardeur is a dark into light journey that will keep you guessing from one page to another.”

  Joyfully Reviewed

  “The author takes a very lovable “Angel of Death” and turns him into the villain very convincingly with deceit and more than a touch of madness. Ardeur was a roller-coaster of emotion. Up and down it went, through so much emotional pain that the beauty she finds in the end is just so much more triumphant.”

  JBP Reviews, Four Stars

  “This story pulls at your feelings from the get go. I found myself running through every emotion.”

  WereVamps Romance, Five Stars

  Cursed

  “I loved Danielle Gavan’s writing style. The plot and story line flowed well, and the originality was great.”

  WereVamps Romance, Five Stars

  Tarnished Tiaras

  “The author paints a uniquely naughty ending (new beginnings? ;-) ) for the sweeter than sweet princesses and it was exhilarating to see the stories unfold.”

  Luvs2Read, Five Stars

  “Full of titillating words and imagery, these sensuous and erotic tales provide behind-the-scenes footage of the stories we grew up reading.”

  Shontrell Wade, Four Stars

  “Danielle’s awesome writing style can be expected and the pace is fast. This read will definitely fog up any reading glasses you may have on.”

  WereVamps Romance, Five Stars

  Glossary of Characters and Terms:

  Alby Tennyson: Human, Brody’s best friend

  Ambriel: Angel of Protection

  Ardeur Lisle: Nephilim, Angel of Anger and Wrath. She can control the dead, shred souls, and channel spirits.

  Azrael: Angel of Death; responsible for collecting souls, escorting them to Heaven or Hades, and causing death.

  Boyd: Human; One of Ardeur’s captors.

  Brandon: Half Angel/Werewolf

  Brody Callaghan: Werewolf; Super human strength, smell, sight, and speed.

  Cadhla: Half Angel/Werewolf

  Calvin Hobson: Werewolf; Super human strength, smell, sight, and speed. Brody’s brother in law.

  Cassiela: Angel of Solitude.

  Celine Martals: Human; Psychic. Ardeur’s physician

  Christian: Fae, Prince. Son of Oberon.

  Dhampyre: half-vampire, half-human hybrid

  Eleuaphon: Angel; deceased brother of Azrael, Metatron and Remiele

  Ezekial: Angel, The Gardener. Caretaker of the Children’s Garden.

  Gethiel: Angel (of Hidden Things); Able to hide things in plain sight

  Halon: Angel, son of Raphael

  Heather: Angel; Rae's gift to Cassiela

  Isobeal: Werewolf; Super human strength, smell, sight, and speed. Brody’s younger sister.

  Julie: Human, Dr. Martals’ nurse.

  Kasdaya: Angel

  Kezef: Angel of Wrath; Ardeur’s mentor

  Linea: Angel; Cassie's gift to Rae

  Maeve Callaghan: Werewolf; Super human strength, smell, sight, and speed. Brody’s sister.

  Marthe: Ghost; deceased

  Metatron: Angel of Creation. He creates living things; imbues angels with new powers

  Michael: Archangel; aka The Protector

  Miss Paul: Human, Ardeur’s teacher

  Moira Callaghan: Werewolf; Super human strength, smell, sight, and speed. Brody’s sister. Married to Calvin Hobson.

  Mr. Chen: Human

  Necromancer: A person who, through the use of rituals and spells can communicate with the dead, channel spirits.

  Nephilim: The offspring of humans and angels. In this series, Ardeur becomes Nephilim when Azrael shares a piece of his soul with her.

  Nevan: Succubus; feeds off sexual tension, touch. Metatron’s ex-lover.

  Peter Lisle: Human; Ardeur’s father.

  Raphael: Archangel

  Remiele: Angel of Healing; Healing, soothing emotions

  Sandrine Lisle: Human; Ardeur’s mother.

  Shadekar: Chaos Demon; Possess’ Ardeur

  Shatiel: Angel, Tyndle’s twin

  Siobhan Callaghan: Werewolf; Super human strength, smell, sight, and speed. Brody’s sister.

  Succubus: A demoness known for draining the souls of men by having sex with them. Thought to be fallen angels looking for revenge.

  The Shepherd: God

  Tyndle: Angel of Silence. Cassiela’s best friend.

  Valencia: Dhampyre

  Varyn Flaherty: Elf

  Verchiel: Angel of Power

  Wesley: Human; One of Ardeur’s captors.

  Xaphan: Angel of Invention. Cassiela’s ex-mate.

  Zacharael: Angel of Power

  Zadkiel: Archangel

  One

  August, 1996

  The chill from the cement floor seeped through the thin mildew-scented pallet of my bed into my skin and bones. I cowered, curled in the fetal position in a corner of the small, fetid space. Eyes shut tight against the ghostly occupants of the warehouse, I refused to acknowledge them again or the taunts they threw at me.

  Who names a child such a ridiculous thing? One malevolent voice snickered. Not a child though, are you?

  Necromancer. Nephilim... Nephilim... She smells like an Angel. The words reverberated around me and I curled my knees tighter to my chest. I had no idea what they meant, but they frightened me all the same.

  Ardeur Blaise? Another angry voice snorted. As if. They should have named you Frosty or Chilly. Look at you, shivering on the floor all blue-lipped and shit.

  Ignore us if you want. We won't go away until you give us what we want. Yet another voice from the hordes hidden in the darkness. We could tell you what's waiting for you out there. Pray you starve to death before you find out. Or don't – the fiend will probably kill you like it did us anyway. Wonder what happens to a dead Nephilim?

  The dank cell of my new home was devoid of windows. No portals to let in the sunlight for me to count the days. No blanket to ward the chill from my t
iny body or food to ease the cramping in my stomach. The sobbing and tears eventually gave way to wracking shivers and, finally, the oblivion of unconsciousness.

  With the blanket of insensibility upon me, I relaxed and dreamt of the events which had led me to be in the dark, dirty cell I'd been shoved into like a discarded piece of trash.

  The morning of my twelfth birthday dawned bright and sunny. The birds chirruped outside my curtain-less window and I awoke to the sounds of my parents bustling about in the kitchen, singing and laughing like I'd never witnessed before. The aroma of frying bacon set my empty stomach growling and the warm, vanilla pancake scent filled my mouth with saliva.

  If I had died and gone to Heaven during the night, this surely would have been how I imagined it would sound and smell.

  I was given a bubble bath, something I had never experienced before, and I dressed in the blue and white gingham dress I wore to church functions. A pair of new, white tights and black patent leather shoes sat, still in their packages, on the chair next to it.

  Once dressed, I was fed pancakes and bacon for breakfast with a large glass of orange juice. Maman even took the time to braid my waist-length, golden blonde hair and tie a new satin ribbon that matched my dress over the elastic holding the ends of my hair together.

  I received everything a normal child would during our seemingly innocent road trip; songs sung in the car, permission given for me to roll down my window and enjoy the wind rushing over my face. Lunch was provided at a fast food restaurant when my tummy rumbled from the backseat and stops made when I needed to use the restroom because my system rejected the greasy food I wasn't accustomed to digesting.

  To the casual observer, my family - the Lisle's - appeared to be enjoying a casual outing. How wrong they were soon became all too apparent.

  Our car turned into a highly industrialized area, not the shopping malls and retail stores I had been fantasizing about for hours. Instead, ramshackle warehouses and abandoned buildings lined the street. The odd unsavory character darted from one outcropping of concrete to the next.

  My parents returned to their usual quiet selves as they scanned the buildings for addresses and, at last, located the one they wanted. The building the car pulled up to had rusted green corrugated metal siding and mostly boarded up windows; the uncovered ones showed no sign of occupancy to anyone's eyes but mine.

  Ghostly faces peered out of the windows at me and I cringed into the soft leather of my seat as I questioned our business there. Maman shushed me. They parked the car in front of a dark doorway where two men stood waiting under the blinking light of a bulb threatening to go out any minute. “Ardeur, silence. We have something to do with these here gentlemen and then we will go.”

  One of the men was tall and lanky with greasy uneven hanks of shoulder-length brown hair. The torn knees of his greasy faded blue jeans gaped. His lumberjack's shirt hid beneath a grubby denim jacket with various gang patches. The other man, a few inches shorter than his companion, had the look of evil about him. Beady brown eyes, short graying hair and a potbelly covered by a grease-stained shirt and jacket. His pants fared no better than the other man's and displayed a variety of holes and clumsy patchwork.

  Tall and lanky stepped away from the door and addressed my father. “Lisle?” My father grunted in acknowledgement as he came around the car to open my door.

  I was only a child, but it didn't take a genius to figure out something bad loomed in my immediate future when my father hauled me out of the air conditioned car. When my struggling became too much, father tossed me brusquely over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and took me into the warehouse. At ninety pounds, I wasn't very heavy but I fought like a champion prize fighter to stay in the car. “Put me down Daddy. I don't want to go in there.”

  “Ardeur, stop fighting. We're doing this for your own good, ma chère.” Try as I might, I couldn't crane my head around enough to glimpse my mother as she said what amounted to her version of goodbye to my retreating back. It may have been a good thing I couldn't see her and the lack of tears as her only child was carted off to who knew what.

  The sound of masculine snickering followed us as the two unsavory characters followed Daddy inside. My kicking and screaming was ignored by anyone listening. In this area, mostly inhabited by criminals, drug addicts and prostitutes, those sounds were as commonplace as the wailing of sirens in the night.

  Directions were given in hushed tones and I soon found myself deposited on a crude metal table below a naked bulb suspended from the ceiling. The thin material of my dress and the tights I wore failed to keep the chill from leaching through to my skin and bones. “Daddy? What's going on? Why are we here?”

  My eyes widened with fright. I tried to peer through the gloom outside of my small pocket of light and failed miserably. I listened to the wind howling through the upper levels of the warehouse and the skittering of unidentifiable creatures across the dirty floor.

  Years of being undernourished and mistreated had stunted my growth and at the age of twelve I had reached the height I would forever remain. My body would eventually fill out into the curves of a woman but I would never be taller than the five-feet-four inches I'd reached. In that moment, I appeared every bit the small china doll my parents had intended in my checkered blue dress and beribboned braid.

  Daddy stood with the two men on the cusp of the circle of light the bulb cast around me. My eyes strained to make out the exchange of a large bag between them before my father strode off into the darkness beyond. “Daddy? Please come back. I don't want to stay here. Please? Maman? Daddy? I promise I'll be a good girl from now on but, please come back!” No goodbye, no admonishment to be a good girl, no see you soon came from the doorway. Abandoned in the cold, vile smelling room with the strange men, the fear in the pit of my stomach exploded into full-blown terror. They approached where I sat and began to circle the table as if inspecting the prized blue ribbon pig at the county fair.

  “Well aren't you the pretty one? Better than they expected, eh Boyd?” This came from tall and lanky as he reached out and flicked the golden and gleaming end of my braid against my back.

  The stench of stale cigarettes and alcohol assaulted my nose as rough hands reached out to grasp my chin and turn my face up to the light. Another set of hands busily unzipped the back of my dress and stripped it from my tiny frame. “I think we got ourselves a steal with what we paid those two for the kid Wes. A real dolly this one is.”

  I was stripped down to my brand new day of the week underwear and the ill-fitting training bra I'd outgrown several months before while Wes and Boyd inspected me from every possible angle. Cold fingers, rough with calluses touched my skin and words like porcelain doll and angelic were whispered between the two men while I shivered in the cold and fetid air.

  Satisfied their money had been well spent, they quickly shuffled me into a small room and locked me in with nothing but a grimy mattress and the sound of my frightened sobbing to keep me company. Wes, Mister Tall and Lanky, sneered at me while I cowered in the corner. “Behave and we might feed you. Maybe.”

  Hunger and cold had never been strangers to me, but this, this was new. Soul-starving, gut-wrenching deprivation was to be my constant companion in this tiny space.

  Boyd and Wesley came now and then to rattle the door to my cell and whisper obscenities at me or laugh at my tears when I wailed and begged to be let go despite the knowledge deep down that I would never really be free again. They could have saved themselves the trouble though. The spirits in the building where they kept me were not happy ones and when I made the unfortunate mistake of looking at one of them, they all descended upon my dark, putrid hole in the wall and the true torment began.

  Two

  I never knew the number of days I spent in that dank cell. However many, it was sufficient time to weaken me for what my captors had planned.

  The dream started as always, flashing back to the day in Kindergarten when I'd been hiding under the hedge because
a particularly nasty ghost refused to leave me alone. I'd made the mistake of looking at him and he'd latched on to my side, the unending barrage of pestering a constant until I'd shouted at him to go away. The usual gang of tormentors had caught me flinching with each insult the spirit threw at me and, when I'd yelled at it, had begun adding their own brand of injurious comments to the mix.

  Petite thing that I was, none of the other kids fit into the tiny cubby hole I'd found for myself and they left me to cower in the leafy haven with the only one thing that could follow since the spirit had no actual body to prohibit him from doing so. The hedge protected me from the physical assault but did nothing to deter the verbal onslaught my tormentors, corporeal and non, continued to rain upon me.

  Everything in the dream was much more vivid than usual when it came. I inhaled the freshness of the earth under my feet, the crisp green smell of the hedge, and the rotten garbage the other kids had thrown as I ran.

  I waited - I knew what came next. Brody Callaghan, always my savior thereafter, would soon poke his head through the branches and flash the most charming smile ever before pulling me out and offering to be my friend and bodyguard forever.

  “Ardeur, wake up.” A bucket of water, colder than the dead of winter in Antarctica, washed over my prostrate form and again, the snickering drifted to my ears. “I said wake up you stupid bitch.”

  I came to, sputtering and hissing, a wildcat ready to defend itself. My shivering hands made a move to wipe the glacial water from my face only to stop short of their original positions. The discovery that I lay strapped down to the frigid metal table by the wrists and ankles had me furiously blinking to clear my vision. “What's going on? Why am I tied down?”