Praise for the writing of Cyndi Friberg
Rebel Angels 1: Born of the Shadows
Born of the Shadows is an amazing story with some unique twists. Naomi is a wonderfully strong heroine, in a time when men usually made all the decisions... This sensuous tale gives vampire lovers something delightfully different and utterly satisfying. It's highly recommended.
-- Renee Burnette, The Romance Studio
Born of the Shadows definitely lives up to its “Hot” rating. Gideon is sexy, seductive, and oh, my! There are not enough words to describe this fallen angel, and Naomi is the perfect mate for him in every way. First in her Rebel Angels series, Cyndi Friberg's Born of the Shadows captured my interest and makes me thirst for more.
-- Sinclair Reid, Romance Reviews Today
Born of the Shadows gives great insight into the world of vampires as well as a biblical background... The sexual tension is really high in this story and when the couple gets together, wow. I am looking forward to seeing what Cyndi Friberg comes up with for her next story; she is definitely an author to watch.
-- Angel, Romance Junkies
I was captivated by Cyndi Friberg's Born of the Shadows… I recommend Born of the Shadows and the Rebel Angels series to anyone who is interested in angels, demons or vampires. You will not be disappointed.
-- Tanya, Fallen Angel Reviews
Rebel Angels 1: Born of the Shadows is now available from Loose Id.
REBEL ANGELS 2:
ECHOES AND EMBERS
Cyndi Friberg
www.loose-id.com
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * * *
This book is rated:
For explicit sensuality and graphic language.
Rebel Angels 2: Echoes and Embers
Cyndi Friberg
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29
Carson City NV 89701-1215
www.loose-id.com
Copyright © January 2005 by Cyndi Friberg
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.
ISBN 1-59632-078-8
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Maryam Salim
Cover Artist: Fabiano Fabris
www.loose-id.com
Chapter One
Monthamn Major, England
1378
A beam of sunlight fell across Sariel’s boots as his quarry entered the church. Though a calculative smile bowed his lips, he didn’t turn around. Listening to the muted echo of her footfalls against the stone floor, he waited until she was nearly upon him. Her fresh, feminine scent teased his nose. Did he detect a hint of cinnamon? Where had she come by such a rare treat in this secluded hamlet?
Focus, he must focus. He couldn’t allow her youth or apparent innocence to distract him from his purpose. It was imperative he sense her before he saw her.
Appearances could deceive.
Closing his eyes, he searched her essence, scanned her being. His objective was specific, but far from simple. The outcome of his decision would determine her fate. He must be certain before he passed judgment.
“Do you often pray to angels?” He heard her voice from beside him, gentle, yet mocking.
“Do you often disturb men while they pray?” he countered without opening his eyes.
Complex and convoluted, the specifics of her nature eluded him. Most humans were simple to interpret, transparent despite their hypocrisy. He sensed something more within this girl. But what accounted for the complexity? Was she aware of the duality within her being? Could she control the opposing forces or were they controlling her?
Testing the accuracy of his instincts, he tried to picture her. Her head would come no higher than his chin, but he was uncommonly tall. Dark hair, sable brown, not black, with no curl or wave to distract from its gleam.
He heard her take a step away and opened his eyes. This opportunity must not slip away. “I was not praying.” He halted her retreat with a smile. “I was committing the frescos to memory. They’re extraordinary.”
She was just as he had pictured, petite, dark-haired, pretty. Sky-blue eyes dominated her delicate features. She glanced at the massive painting he’d mentioned and then returned her gaze to his face. “Where is Father Myron?”
Taking a step back, Sariel hoped to ease the sudden tension in her tone. “The priest went to arrange lodgings for me. I didn’t want to presume I’d be welcomed at the castle. The person I’m here to visit is a guest herself.”
“Who would that be?”
“Lady Lailah. She and I are old friends, but she is unaware of my arrival.”
The girl smiled, a deep blush coloring the crest of her cheeks. “I am Lady Rosalind Monthamn. Any friend of Lailah’s is welcome at my castle.”
He made a gallant bow and broadened his smile. “How fortuitous that our paths should cross. I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”
“I should go find Father Myron,” she said with obvious reluctance.
“This is a church, my lady. Be at ease. Tell me about the frescos. I’m enthralled.”
Despite her hesitation, she assessed him far too boldly. A less honorable man might indulge her curiosity, but his interest in Rosalind Monthamn had nothing to do with pleasures of the flesh.
“The original designs were painted by Naomi of Monthamn around 1150.” Her sweet musical voice provided the information he’d requested. “A restoration took place about a hundred years later and the frescos, which preserved the original scenes, were done by my grandmother just before ... before the Black Death swept across England.”
Sariel studied her expression. She spoke in a calm, clear tone, but he hadn’t missed the emotional catch when she mentioned her grandmother. “Please, accept my apology. I didn’t realize the subject would cause you pain.”
“The subject would only cause me pain if people didn’t appreciate the brilliance of my grandmother’s work.” Again her voice belied the pain visible in her gaze. “I’m pleased you enjoy them.”
He nodded, turning to the largest of the six scenes. Three angels fought back to back, their flaming swords poised to strike the attacking demons. “These angels seem rather fierce. Far more warriors than messengers of God.”
She swept her hand toward the far end of the wall. “That one is my favorite. It’s the last Lady Naomi painted in the church. She continued to paint, but no one managed to convince her to undertake the ceiling.”
Sariel smiled as his attention focused on the final scene. A lovely woman stood surrounded by five children, three male, two female. Behind her stood a dark-haired angel with piercing golden eyes. His hands rested on the shoulders of the woman and his wings spread wide, sheltering the entire brood. “She looks rather like you.”
&nbs
p; Rosalind tilted her head as she considered the fresco. “Aye. I suppose she does.”
The door banged opened, causing Rosalind to start. Cursing the interruption, Sariel turned as a furious young woman advanced across the church. A cloud of bright red curls bounced and bobbed with her purposeful stride. Her hands clenched and bright flags of color stained her high cheekbones.
Deep in Sariel’s being carnal hunger stirred. He ignored the urge to clutch his chest and abdomen. What was wrong with him? He had battled long and hard to banish these yearnings. Why would they reawaken now?
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Fear battled anger within the woman’s expressive eyes.
“You could not have looked everywhere or you would have found me.” Rosalind raised her chin.
“I’ve been frantic, young lady.” Her tone was tight, but her lips trembled. Clearly, Rosalind had given this woman quite a scare. “Not even Lailah knew where you’d gone.”
Rosalind angled her hands, gesturing toward herself. “It would appear I’m more capable of caring for myself than you believe.”
The redhead stood her ground. “You will address me with respect, or this will end our conversation.”
“I didn’t invite this conver--”
“But if this ends our conversation, you will be taken back to the castle under guard. Then you will find a guard stationed outside your bedchamber door, ensuring that you remain within the curtain wall for the next sennight.”
Sariel watched the battle of wills, far more intrigued than he cared to admit. What was the relationship between these two females? They couldn’t be mother and daughter; hardly a decade separated the two. The red-haired beauty handled Rosalind’s belligerence with remarkable aplomb. Violence was the response of many to such rebellion.
As Rosalind considered her alternatives, the woman’s gaze drifted to him. Silver, gray and blue, her eyes combined the colors into a shade, both pale and sparklingly intense. He’d never seen their like before. The beast within him yawned and stretched. Restless. How long had it been since he’d held a woman, felt her softness, caressed her smooth skin? Buried his face in a wild cloud of soft, fragrant curls? He swallowed awkwardly.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been tempted. Why now? Why this woman?
Turning back to Rosalind, she asked, “What is expected of you when you leave the castle compound?”
“They are your expectations, Alyssa. I was never in any danger.”
The girl’s gaze darted toward Sariel and he fought back a smile. Rosalind was performing for him. He recognized the cunning gleam in her eyes. This was not good.
“Go back to the castle.” Apparently Alyssa reached the same conclusion. “I’ll be with you momentarily.”
“I’m going to take Sir Sar--”
“I will see to the needs of your guest.” Alyssa pointed toward the doorway. “Go.”
Images of all the ways he would like Alyssa to “see to his needs” bombarded Sariel. His shaft hardened and lengthened. He barely suppressed a moan. Impossible! He had conquered his carnal nature, transcended the need for physical release. This couldn’t be happening to him, not after all these years.
Rosalind’s nostrils flared, her lips compressed, and her chin quivered.
“Now.”
The girl spun on the ball of her foot and stormed from the church.
Perhaps he should insist they accompany her. He didn’t trust himself alone with Alyssa.
How ridiculous. He wouldn’t hide behind a child.
Gathering the full strength of his angelic intuition, Sariel scanned the lovely creature at his side. She was an angel and yet she was not. Stunned, he delved deeper. Conflict and confusion battered his senses like a tempest. He’d never encountered anyone with a nature quite like hers. He didn’t think she was Fallen, yet undeniable passion surged through every fiber of her being. What was she?
Alyssa sighed, pausing to rub the bridge of her nose before she returned her gaze to Sariel. “I apologize for Lady Rosalind’s rude behavior.” Her features relaxed, her full lips softened, increasing their sensual appeal. “Hers has not been an easy life.”
“How came you to be her guardian?” Sariel focused on the issue at hand. His mission must take priority over the mystery that was Alyssa.
She narrowed her eyes, her brow furrowed in speculation. “Who are you? Why were you with my ward?”
“Sariel!”
He turned at the sound of his name. Lailah rushed across the room, her long skirts billowing out behind her. All her glorious silver hair had been confined into thick plaits and coiled to each side of her face, framing her delicate features.
Her smile was just as bright as he remembered, her eyes as fathomless and dark. In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, Sariel swept her into his arms and hugged her.
Bittersweet longing rolled through Sariel as he eased Lailah away. His gaze moved immediately toward the stunning redhead. His senses had intensified when Alyssa entered the church. She studied him, her suspicion obvious. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. She was right to be wary, but not for the reasons she supposed.
Not a carnal thought or impulse had flickered though his mind, until he saw her.
“You know this man?” Alyssa’s voice reflected her mistrust.
“Aye.” Lailah smiled, her eyes shining. “I invited him here. But after so long, I feared he wouldn’t come.”
“I’m Lady Alyssa. Is Sariel your only name?”
“Sariel Grigori.” He flashed a conspirator’s smile at Lailah. “Grigori is a principality, but Prince Sariel sounds rather pretentious, so I generally use sir, or just Sariel.”
“I see.” Alyssa tucked a crimson curl behind her ear. “I must attend to Lady Rosalind.”
Lailah sighed audibly as the other woman left the church. She stepped up beside him, her voice hushed and urgent. “I’m so glad you’ve finally come. It’s difficult to keep the entire castle from thinking --”
“Lailah.” He waited for her to meet his gaze before he continued. “You and I have known each other since time began, so I will make this perfectly clear. I am obligated to remain separate from the other angels. You know this. And you know why.”
“But Sariel.” Her dark gaze searched his, looking for answers he was unable to give. “You came. You’re here!”
“I’m not here about Alyssa.” He glanced away and strengthened his resolve. “I’ve come to judge Rosalind.”
* * * * *
Alyssa forced her jaw to relax and took a deep breath. “I continue to treat you like a child because you persist in acting like one.” Staving off Rosalind’s immediate protest with an upraised hand, Alyssa went on. “You are Lady Monthamn. Your conduct must be above reproach, your manner refined. The days of running amok with the village children are long past. You must accept your station.”
Rosalind unfastened her mantle. She ignored Alyssa’s directive to sit, but threw her cloak in the general direction of the counting room’s only chair. “I wasn’t running amok. I went to visit Mae.”
“I see.” Alyssa moved behind a sturdy wooden table and sat on the matching bench. She needed the barrier to keep herself from strangling the stubborn chit. Never in all her days had Alyssa faced a challenge so daunting as her teenage ward. “Why didn’t you inform someone of your whereabouts? Why did you leave without an escort?”
“I don’t need an escort to cross the bloody river!”
“Mind your tongue, young lady.”
The girl turned her face away and Alyssa scrambled for a strategy. Rosalind had always been spirited, but this rebelliousness was new, and out of character. “What business had you with Mae?” She chose her words carefully, hoping to diffuse the budding argument.
“I had no business with Mae. She’s my friend. I wanted to see her baby. You continually harp on my marrying well and producing heirs for Monthamn. I was simply spending time with --”
“Mae married the blacksmith’
s apprentice. Your situations are hardly the same.”
“Our situations are exactly the same. Mae found a man who treats her kindly, who provides well for her and her child. She has accomplished what you want me to do. I was attempting to learn from her example.”
The urge to reach across the table and shake Rosalind until her teeth rattled nearly overwhelmed Alyssa. She hid her fists in the fullness of her skirts and studied the girl’s flushed face. Belligerence burned in her eyes, but another more elusive emotion flickered there as well. Hurt, perhaps, or fear? Alyssa had to penetrate this defiance, find out what was driving the rebellion.
Alyssa cleared her throat and began in a gentler tone. “I have no quarrel with your destination, Rosalind. But you know better than to leave --”
“What is my punishment? I would rather forgo the lecture.”
“As you wish. Go to your bedchamber and stay there.”
Rosalind’s cerulean gaze snapped back to hers. “For how long?”
“Until I bid you leave. Your confinement is not your punishment. I need time to deliberate.”
“You’re horrible!” Rosalind stretched out the last word, stomping her dainty foot. “I wish you’d never come here. I hate you! I will always hate you!” Snatching up her mantle, she rushed from the room.
Tears blurred Alyssa’s vision at yet another futile effort to reach her rebellious ward. She hurried around the table and out of the counting room, assuring herself Rosalind’s angry flight had taken her in the direction of her bedchamber.
What am I going to do with her?
Alyssa meandered across the hall, drawn by the warmth of the massive fireplace. She felt ill equipped to deal with the girl so much of the time. She wanted to be a good influence, a wise guardian. But how could she, when ...
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