Flawed Angel (The Fall Book 1)

by J. J. Dean

  The moment my head hits my pillow, I'm dead to the world.

  Asher

  Eli is laying in the pull-out sofa bed, content to have a decent bed for the night. His snoring is soft, breathing deep, making me aware that he's crashed hard after the shitty sleep he's had in the motel we'd rented. We played 'rock, paper, scissors' for the queen-sized bed the moment Luna left for bed, but he didn't seem sore about losing. If anything, he just seemed happy to have a comfortable, clean bed to sleep in.

  I've been lying awake for the last two hours, sleep evading me no matter how hard I try to succumb to my subconsciousness. I've been tossing and turning since falling into the soft mountain of cushions and duvet that had been stacked neatly before I crashed into it all.

  The little alarm clock flashes four in the morning when I hear a noise from upstairs. At first, it sounds like a soft feminine moan, but it quickly turns into muted anguished cries. I listen for a moment longer, but a sob and a quiet 'please' that I manage to hear from here has me shucking the covers and jumping out of bed.

  I'm out of the door and up the stairs to Luna's room faster than a blink, and I stop in front of her door and listen. Sure enough, another heart wrenching cry hits my eardrums through the door. When a pained sob comes shortly after, I decide intruding on her privacy isn't so bad when it literally sounds like she's being tortured in her own room.

  Slowly sliding the door open, the scene that greets me has my heart picking up pace for two reasons. The first would be Luna lying in bed with the covers strewn everywhere, her baggy shirt risen up her back and her, what I'm assuming to be underwear, on full display, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her underwear is the last of my focus, however. I can see two long, uneven scars on her back, partly hidden by the shirt, that are barely visible under the magnificent tattoo of a set of beautiful black wings. It doesn't take a genius to realize she's tattooed over her wing scars. There's a sharp ache in my chest at the thought of her losing her wings, a sickening feeling in my gut at the pain she must have gone through.

  The second thing that has my heart pounding unsteadily is the way the sassy, vibrant woman I met is lying in the fetal position, her arms hugging her stomach, knees up high to her chest. She looks like she's tried to pull herself into the smallest position she could manage. The pillow her head is resting on is soaked, and a sheen of tears covers her beautiful face. She looks tiny and vulnerable, the back chatting, fierce woman nowhere to be seen. Her face is pinched in an expression that makes swallowing difficult, a display of pure agony in her scrunched eyebrows and her eyes that are squeezed as tight as possible.

  Another cry has my feet moving further into the room, closer to the bed. As though she can feel my presence, she flinches and caves in further into herself. This close, I can see her entire body is trembling and a layer of sweat covers her from head to toe. What the hell could be causing such a reaction?

  When yet another cry comes spilling from her parted lips, I decide to take a trip into her dreams using one of the gifts I was blessed with before the Reaping. I was gifted with the Power of Dreams, where I'm able to enter the dreams of others, and potentially influence and control those dreams. I normally try to avoid using this power. I can never tell what kind of damage it would cause once the dreamer woke up.

  I crouch down until I'm face level with Luna, and I watch a few more tears run down her face before breathing a cold stream of air in her face. My power is visible in that one single breath, a light blue mist with sapphire sparks languidly flowing from my mouth and bathing Lunas face. I sit down and lean my back against the bed and wait for my power to pull me into a dream I'm already dreading.

  It doesn't take long before I feel reality fading and my mind falling into a world of Luna’s making. I blink a couple of times, ridding my eyes of the blurriness that always accompanies Dream Jumping. When my vision adjusts, I find myself looking at another version of Luna, very much in the exact same position, lying on a ground covered in dirt and rubble. Only this Luna isn't in her night wear, clean and pristine. No, this Luna is covered from top to bottom in dirt and blood. Her once white dress, a toga if I'm recognizing it correctly, is tattered, stained and barely hanging on to her lean frame. Her hair, a light silvery white, is matted and caked with dried and fresh blood. She looks like she's been dragged through a war and came out worse for wear.

  Dragging my eyes away from the broken woman before me, I glance around my surroundings. There's nothing around us for miles and miles, my eyesight only seeing flat ground covered in rubble, grit and dirt. There's literally nothing as far as I can see.

  A whimper has me spinning around to face Luna where she lies with her face pushed into the ground. I walk until I'm close enough to hear her delirious rambling, unable to work out what she's saying through her cries. I check her over for any signs that she's injured, trying to work out what her dream is about, when I spot most of the blood that covers her dress coming from her back. I pay closer attention, bending slightly to look at her blood-soaked skin, and that's where I see two of the most gruesome, jagged wounds slashed down her back. The skin is torn and shredded, raw and still pulsing blood from the openings where her wings were once attached.

  I quickly come to the realization that I've found myself witnessing the aftermath of Lunas Fall. Her cries of agony mak a lot more sense now that I've seen firsthand what she suffered when she was exiled from Heaven. A sharp pain hits me in my chest, my heart physically aching for the beaten Angel hurting and shivering in pain in front of me.

  Luna’s rambling picks up again, so I lean down to hear better. I angle my head close enough that I manage to hear bits and pieces and immediately regret it the moment I work out what she's saying.

  "Make it stop. It hurts so bad. Make it stop. Please, make it stop."

  She has no idea that I'm here. After all, this is a dream of hers, reliving one of the most painful looking experiences imaginable, so I know she isn't talking to me. Simply uttering words in hopes that someone stops her suffering.

  With a sharp cry pouring from her, my heart shatters. I can't stand here watching her suffer and do nothing about it. I can't listen to her pain pour in agonizing waves from her dry, cracked lips a moment longer without doing something. Throwing all caution to the wind, I fall to my knees and crawl until her head rests directly in front of my thick thighs. Being as gentle as I possibly can, I tuck my hands under her head and lift. She cries out in pain, but I make quick work of resting her head back down on my lap. The noises of distress quiet down a fraction until she's silently crying, tears dripping down onto my gray sweatpants.

  With her somewhat settled, I begin to brush my hand through her hair, untangling knots and removing debris from her pale strands. I move it away from her face and pull it far from her back so as not to irritate the wounds further. With her hair out of the way, I gently draw my finger across her dirt covered face, softly brushing a finger across her skin in a soothing gesture.

  I do this for a little while, and it seems to give her some comfort when the sobbing and gut kicking cries lessen. Just when I think she's passed out, she croaks, "Who are you?"

  I don't answer, just continue to stroke my hand over her stunning features, hoping she'll let it go and fall asleep, accepting my comfort without question. Luna hasn't changed one bit, it seems, when she asks again, "Who are you? You've never been here any other time I've suffered through these dreams. Who are you and why are you here now?"

  Holding on to my silence causes more trouble than answering her when she feebly bats my hand out of the way and carefully tilts her head up to see for herself. When her pale gray eyes connect with my dark blues, they widen and she stills, whispering, "Asher?"

  With a sigh, I respond, "Yeah, it's me. Just try to relax, okay?"

  Surprisingly enough, she does as she's told, dropping her head back into my lap. I continue my brushing, tenderly trailing a thumb and forefinger across her bruised skin. I faintly hear her sigh softly before it's cut off by a s
harp intake of air and a body wracking sob.

  "Shh. I'm here, you're not suffering alone. I'm here," I soothe, holding her carefully as her cries slow down.

  "How are you here, Asher?" She hiccups, her small hand slowly and shakily reaching up to capture my other hand that rests high on the opposite thigh, "You're really here. I can feel you. How?"

  She doesn't let go of my hand, so I keep it where it is when I answer her, "You're dreaming, which you already know. I couldn't sleep, and I could hear you crying and calling out in pain. Thought something was wrong, so I went to check on you. Nothing looked out of place, but it sounded like you were in agony, so... I used one of my gifts and jumped into your dream. I'm sorry, but I couldn't listen to you cry without knowing what was causing it or-"

  She cuts me off with her hushed words. "Thank you. So much."

  I don't respond. Instead, I continue to stroke her hair and face, holding her a little tighter every time another wave of pain washes over her body.

  It's some time later when she starts to drift off to sleep, indicating that she'll be leaving her dream very shortly. Before she succumbs to her body's need for sleep, she asks one last question. "Why did you come check on me?"

  I go quiet for a moment while I think on it and come up with the only answer I know to give her there and then. "Because it hurt to hear you hurt."

  With that, she drifts off to sleep and I'm evicted from her dream world.

  I come back to my body with a sharp intake of air and my eyes snap open to the still dark room of Luna’s. Her curtains are still open, so the moon's light shines softly across her room, highlighting little ornaments, paintings and photos of an unchanged Luna and a younger Ms. Frenchie.

  When I find my focus, I move to leave Lunas room so she can rest peacefully when I feel a weight in the crook of my neck, partly on my shoulder and partly on my neck. Carefully moving my head, I look down to see Lunas clean, pale hand resting on my bare skin. I twist my head around again and note that Luna's moved in her sleep and instead of the fetal position I found her in, she's now lying with her body at the edge of the bed. Her body is curved around where my head pokes up from the side where I'm still resting, her face close to mine and her knees pulled up close to the other side of my head.

  I turn my head slowly to look at her face, confirming she's sound asleep and no longer in pain, her features are smoothed out in peace and the smallest hint of a smile rests on her mouth.

  Lifting my hand, I go to remove hers from where it's resting on my shoulder, only for her hold to tighten. I go to stand slowly, but she huffs in her sleep. Not wanting to disturb her now that she's finally asleep without trouble, I decide to stay where I am until she moves in her sleep, allowing me to leave the room without waking her.

  Only, I don't get that far, when the time starts ticking by and exhaustion starts to weigh on me. I can feel myself falling asleep when Luna unconsciously begins to rub her thumb over my neck, lulling me into the most relaxing sleep I've ever had.

  Luna

  The morning light shining through my unclosed curtains is what rouses me from the best night's sleep I've had in... well, ever.

  Every night I'm plagued with dreams, or nightmares rather, of my time Falling. I guess it's the aftermath of my Fall, considering I don't actually remember the whole falling part. The only thing my brain remembers of that night is waking up in a crater of my own making, my Fall hard enough that the ground from miles from where I'd landed had flattened out, nothing but rubble and debris littering the earth around me. I also remember the pain. The godawful, mind numbing, soul shattering pain. I remember the blood, so much blood. My mind won’t let me forget any of it, not my blood and dirt caked dress, the once beautifully white material tainted red. Not the smell of copper, so strong that the smell of blood today nauseates me, and certainly not the fact that I'd been writhing in sheer agony without a single damned soul around. No one to help me, no one to hear my pleas to end the suffering, no one to hold my fucking hand while I endured every ounce of mind splitting pain that raced all through my body, the source coming from where my one gloriously pristine white and silver wings had been attached.

  I'm forced to relive the worst moment of my incredibly long life every single night, no reprieve from the one memory I'd love nothing more than to forget.

  Until last night.

  My dream had barely begun, my subconscious already in the first stages of the nightmare that makes me remember every painful intake of air and excruciating exhale, every slight movement that would cause another wave of hurt to wrack my already broken body. Just at the very beginning did Asher blessedly pop into my dream. I hadn't even reached the worst part where my skin sealed itself together, feeling every thread of skin tighten and pull together, every noise of flesh stitching with other bits of flesh, the feeling of my blood soaking further into my already ruined dress and pooling on the ground underneath me.

  I've never been so glad to see another person in all my life, feel another presence with me while I suffered. Forgotten was the fact that this Angel could be doing the dirty work of Him or Lucifer, gone was the fact that he'd made me feel like an idiot when we first met. There and then, he was my saving grace, my soothing balm when a raging inferno crawled all over my skin with no way for me to stop it.

  Asher was there in my worst moment. He stroked my hair and comforted me, whispering little nothings in my ear while I endured the same thing I do night after night.

  He helped me.

  But... now what?

  How do I face the guy, knowing he's witnessed the only moment I've ever been at my most vulnerable? How do I acknowledge what he did for me without making things awkward or weird? The potential to make things less uncomfortable is quickly yanked from me, stomped on and thrown out of the window when I feel movement from behind me. In my bed. Where I should be very, very alone.

  I'm wide awake in a split second, my eyes widening to the size of the fucking moon when I feel what I'm hoping to be a damn flash light digging into the top of my ass. A pretty big flashlight, at that. I feel a tightening under my breasts, looking down to spot a very toned, tattooed arm wrapped snugly over my ribcage where my heart lays underneath picking up speed. I feel a hand resting on my hip and I see that it's a tattooless, tanned hand that holds me firmly to what I'm quickly realizing is a firm, muscled body.

  I try to turn slowly so I can confirm who I think it is lying in bed holding me tight to his body, but the arms that hold me tighten further, a deep, gravely groan coming from my snuggle buddy. I don't want to admit that growl does very funny things to my body; my nipples harden under my baggy sleep shirt, and an enthusiastic fluttering making itself an unwanted resident in my belly.

  I try to twist again, a futile attempt when a sleep roughened voice grumbles, "Go back to sleep, Luna, for fucks sake."

  So, Asher is grumpy in the morning. Good to know. Sadly for him, however, his dick is prodding me in the back and sleep is the furthest thing from my mind right about now.

  Instead of listening to the grizzly bear, I manage to wriggle and shuffle my body until I'm twisted around to face him, his arms going slack enough to let me. His eyes are still closed when I plonk my head back down onto the pillow, so I snatch the opportunity to look him over.

  His hair is mussed in the sexiest way possible, his dark locks sporting the just slept look all women go crazy for, hints of blue winking at me where the sun hits it. His shirtless torso is truly a sight to behold, firm muscles in all the right places. His toned arms are enough to make weaker women weep with joy, and that pesky fluttering turns into a hoard of butterflies when my eyes drink him in. He's downright fucking gorgeous. It's unfair, really, when he could be working for the dipshit that defied Him before me, or Him who's a dipshit in His own right. I definitely shouldn't be having thoughts about the thing in his pants and what he could do with it, all things considered.

  After my thorough perusal of the man before me, my gaze makes its way back up to his fac
e, only for my breath to catch when my eyes connect to his bright blues. His gaze is intense, and I feel my body flush in both arousal at the lust filled look he's giving me and embarrassment at being caught.

  He watches me carefully, his eyes searching for something in mine. He must find whatever it is he’s looking for when he pulls me tighter to his hard body, the hand on my hip sliding to my ass and holds firm.

  My heart is doing double time, my skin feels flushed all over. He slowly pulls my thigh up and over his hip, and holds my ass tight to him, the very distinct sensation of his bulge pressing into the place that hasn't had nearly enough attention in far too long. My body lights up from the inside out, a shot of desire shooting straight to my core.

  He leans his head forward slightly, giving me ample opportunity to pull away or stop him, but when I make no move to shove him from me, his head moves at a faster pace until his gloriously soft but firm lips press into mine.

  A very undignified moan crawls from my voice box when the hand under my head slides into my hair and uses it to pull my head back to get a better angle. His kiss gets deeper and my panties get a whole lot wetter at the feel of his tongue brushing my bottom lip, seeking entrance. When I don't comply fast enough, he nips at my lip causing me to gasp in both equal parts shock and pleasure. He seizes the opportunity, his tongue making entry and sensually stroking mine. The hand still on my ass pulls me tighter still to his body, effortlessly shifting my body to grind my sex deprived vagina on his ever-hardening shaft, eliciting a thigh clenching growl from him.

  A loud knock at my door has us both freezing, his lips breaking away from mine. We're both panting, staring wide eyed at each other when another knock sounds from my bedroom door.

  "Ash, you in there?" Eli calls, opening the door without waiting for admittance. "Hey, Luna, have you seen my-"