The Fallen One

by C. R. Jane

  The Fallen One

  The Fated Wings Series Book 2.5

  C. R. Jane

  The Fallen One by C. R. Jane

  Copyright © 2018 by C. R. Jane

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review, and except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  For permissions contact:

  crjaneauthor@gmail.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For all my wonderful readers, thanks for taking this journey with me.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Definitions

  Author’s Note

  Other Books by C.R. Jane

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  The Fallen One

  Damon Pierce. Football star, devoted lover… arrogant, impulsive fallen angel. Once a chosen being straight from the heavens, his fall from grace left a mark on his heart that he didn’t think could ever be erased. Discover his story, along with never before published scenes with his obsession, Eva. The Fallen One is a romantic adventure you won’t want to miss.

  “He remembered the forceful hand that cast him to the earth. He'd fallen like a shooting star, his flesh burning until his wings fell away. Pain was something he had never known before. But even worse than the physical affliction was the knowledge that he would forevermore be denied Heaven.”

  ― James Burnham , The Fruit of the Fallen

  Prologue

  After

  Two months. Two months of fruitless searching. Two months of wanting to tear my heart out of my chest so I don’t have to feel the pain that her disappearance has left in me. I haven’t found a clue as to where she went. Had I made her unhappy? Had she chosen to leave me? I can’t bear the thought that she left me on purpose, but at the same time the thought that someone has taken her fills me with a dread and rage that seeps out of every pore in my body.

  I’ve searched every inch of the city, and still nothing. I go to take a sip of my drink but find that it’s empty. What number am I on? Does it really matter? I hang my head over the balcony and gaze down at the city. My city. The passersby walking on the sidewalk below look tiny to me. I want to bellow and curse at them…throw my glass at them. How dare they go about their everyday lives like my life isn’t in shambles.

  Maybe I’m doomed to never find true happiness again, and certainly not the happiness that comes from having someone like Eva in your life. My mind wanders to another time, another life, moments that I thought I had finally been able to leave behind thanks to Eva. Moments before…

  Chapter 1

  Before

  If I could die, I would have died from boredom ages ago. I’ve been trapped on this insufferable planet for what seems like forever now, not long enough to forget how much better Paradise is mind you, but long enough that the days all seem to blur together. Every day is the same, watch the humans, protect the humans, fight the bad guys. It goes on and on, running on repeat until I could probably go about my day blindfolded and still achieve the same results. I remember being so excited about this mission when I first got the call. I’m an idiot. Note to self. Leaving Paradise is never a good idea. There’s a reason everyone is trying to get into it.

  Angels are born from fire, or at least that’s what they tell me. I can’t remember anything beyond being the form that I am now. We do not become angels, we simply are angels. I am one of seven Archangels, the guardian class of the heavens. I’m great at my job, in fact, I’m the fucking best. Now, now, don’t get offended by my language. I’m sure when you think of angels you think of harps and cute fat babies with tiny wings. I assure you, I’m no tiny baby…anywhere.

  My comrades and I are called Watchers, sent to guard the human race from the Fallen. As a council, we rule over the lesser angels and direct them with their everyday tasks. I spend my days hovering right outside the fringes of mankind, never actually interacting with the beings I have been sent to protect.

  It’s funny about humans. They run around constantly, so sure in their own superiority, unaware of the powers that circle around them. They worship Gods that don’t exist, and slaughter each other like fools over the pettiest of inconveniences. Everything that they hold dear becomes meaningless once they die.

  I resent them. I resent that they are so important to the Creator that I’ve been tasked to toil away my days protecting them despite the fact that they are complete and utter idiots. I miss Paradise. I miss the sweet smell in the air, the light melody that always seems to be playing nearby. There’s no imperfections in Paradise. Everything has its place and purpose. There’s no worries…only fun. And the girls…I miss the girls most of all. So fucking gorgeous. So fucking arrogant as well, but with a body like that who needs a soul. I’ve yet to find a human that even remotely reminds me of them. I’m starved for sex at this point. Don’t get me wrong, there’s been some nymphs that have kept my attention for a hot second, but overall, I’m deeply dissatisfied with my sex life since I came to this place. Me, I’ve never wanted a soul. I’ve never seen the need for it. I’m already perfect. As far as I’ve seen, having a soul just gives you a lot of complications. All this talk about right and wrong, it’s exhausting. For an angel, the only wrong is the Fallen. The rest is just a mix of fighting, eating, fucking, and sleeping some.

  Humans are filled with so many…emotions. It’s hard to stomach, and the fact that they remind me of leeches doesn’t help the situation. How such imperfect creatures got the chance at souls is deeply disturbing to me. My time on this mission should be ending soon though. And then I’m never leaving Paradise again.

  Torin, my brother for all intents and purposes, is sprawled out on the grass beside me, whittling away at a piece of wood in the meadow that we’ve adopted as our own. We’ve battled by each other’s side from the very beginning. There’s no one on this pitiful excuse of a world that I trust more.

  We’re taking a break from our usual schedule. The Fallen have been more active as of late and even I’ve tired of the constant battles. There’s only so much search, fight, and destroy that can happen before you get annoyed. Their activity has been somewhat puzzling though. We always have the usual struggle for whose side the humans are going to be on, but the Fallen have never been known for strategy in their attacks. It’s usually a one-on-one kind of thing where a Fallen gets bored and decides to steal a human’s soul for fun. The fact that they seem to be traveling in packs now is confusing. Their actions almost seem like they are more focused on keeping us busy, than actually turning a mortal’s heart.

  Torin is still concentrating on his piece of wood. He saw a human carpenter doing it once and is now determined to master the skill. The
only problem with this is that Torin has no artistic talent whatsoever. I’m not sure how an angel has managed to be so imperfect at such a lowly skill, but he’s done it. I have a collection on my windowsill of shapeless blobs of wood that Torin has given me. According to Torin, these blobs are supposed to be representative of the female form. According to me, they actually are more representative of a large man’s buttocks.

  “I think this one is done!” he announces proudly, holding up his chunk of wood.

  “Well done,” I say absentmindedly, staring up into the cottony clouds, still musing over the Fallen’s actions.

  “You can add this to your collection,” he continues excitedly. He lays the wood beside me. I glance at it briefly before continuing to analyze the Fallen’s latest movements. A pebble bounces off my head and I glare at him annoyed. He has light brown hair that sticks up all over the place and there’s always a merry twinkle in his bright brown eyes. He reminds me of a puppy I realize as I throw a pebble back at him.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asks in an amused tone. Torin has always been far more lighthearted than me. I sometimes wonder how we can both be from the warrior class. Torin’s heart is never in the mission, always finding things to distract him from his duties, like carving. I spend half of my time just making sure he doesn’t get his head cut off since he spends his days with his head in the clouds rather than on our job.

  I turn my head to look at him. “Have you noticed anything different in the way the Fallen have been attacking lately?”

  “Different?” he laughingly asks. “You mean besides the fact that they smell worse than usual? Nope.” He pops his lips as he says “nope” and I roll my eyes in frustration at him. It would be nice if at least some of the time he could take anything seriously. It’s difficult to tell between a Fallen and other angels such as myself. We are all ridiculously good looking no matter what side of the aisle we are on. It would be useful if they did carry a stench to differentiate them.

  Torin doesn’t talk about Paradise very much. He doesn’t even seem to mind it here. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is because of the major upgrade in prestige and ranking he received by becoming a Watcher. In Paradise he had been one of the angels that was often overlooked because of his somewhat lazy and easygoing nature, and it was only because of my influence that he ended up as one of the seven Watchers in the first place. When I first got the assignment from the Seraph Leadership, I was ecstatic at the opportunity. I had reached the point where the only way up the ranks was to start fighting the Seraph Leadership for their spots. I saw a position as head of the Watcher council as a way to delay that for a while. Plus, one of my regulars had gotten a bit needy, and there was only so much of her cock blocking me at every turn that I could take.

  Torin had been miserable at the prospect of being left behind and had begged me to find a way for him to come along. Angels with Torin’s temperament usually found themselves either as a member of one of the Seraph’s courts or as a trainer of weaker Archangels. Torin may have been easygoing and lazy, but he lusted over power. In the back of my mind I always wondered if we would have been such close friends if I wasn’t who I was.

  If I was honest with myself, Torin brought down the whole counsel. It was supposed to be a group of the most talented and capable of the Creator’s warriors. Torin definitely didn’t fit that bill. I couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t in my life though, and I did my best to help him overcome his many shortcomings even if it made my life harder.

  Shaking myself from my reverie, I sit up and brush grass off my shirt. “We should probably get going,” I tell him, standing up and letting my wings surge out, the feathers moving slightly in the breeze. I may be an arrogant bastard, but my wings are fucking impressive. Charcoal black with strands of silver, and with a wingspan longer than my frame, they stand out, even among the other Watchers. Even now, with as many times as Torin has seen my wings, he stares at them longingly, a bit of jealousy seeping out of his eyes.

  “I can’t go today,” Torin says, shifting his weight uneasily.

  “Why not?” I ask him confused. What else would he have to do during the day then fight Fallen?

  “Jarbin has asked me to help him. There’s some sort of nest of Fallen over near Arondale that he wants me to help clean out.”

  “Do I need to go with you?” I ask. It’s very strange that Jarbin would ask Torin of all people to help him out. His teammate, Marco, is perfectly capable of helping him clean out a nest. Jarbin knows that Torin is more of a liability on a mission like that. As a council, we had recently made it a policy that we should always hunt in pairs. The rise in Fallen activity had put more than one council member in dangerous situations that they almost didn’t get out of. I had always taken Torin hunting with me anyway to protect his skin, so the policy hadn’t been that big of a change for me. For Jarbin to ask Torin to accompany him right after we put the policy in place was annoying.

  Torin must have seen the suspicion on my face. “Jarbin knows that you’ve been covering for me a lot lately. He just thinks it would be a good way for me to get more practice in and give you a break.” Again, this doesn’t sound like Jarbin but if he wants to take over responsibility for not getting Torin killed, a break sounds kind of nice.

  “You don’t really need a partner most of the time anyway,” he laughs at me. This is true. Basically, the only reason I even like having a partner is that I have someone to talk to when I’m waiting for a Fallen to appear.

  My wings flutter, and I can feel the faint itch under my skin that signals it’s time to start. One thing about me, I can’t sit still for very long. There’s nothing that compares to the rush of adrenaline of fighting and even though I complain about how active the Fallen have been lately, I know secretly its satisfying that bloodlust I keep deep inside of me.

  “Well, don’t die hunting with Jarbin,” I tell Torin shortly, preparing to leave. Torin stands up and clasps my shoulder, a strange glimmer in his eye that’s hard to read.

  “Stay safe out there my brother,” he tells me.

  “Always,” I say cockily, pushing off from the ground and taking flight. There’s an uneasy tingling along my spine as I soar away though, looking back once and finding Torin staring out after me, a small smile on his face that’s so different from the grin he usually throws out. I shake the feeling off and concentrate on the task ahead, my mind already thinking of new fighting moves to use against the Fallen today. Battling by myself will be a rare treat.

  Chapter 2

  I’m soaring, the breeze brushes against my cheek as I go in and out of the cloud line, watching the ground half-heartedly for signs of anything amiss. I’m actually enjoying the solitude. I’ve realized that Torin is quite the chatter box. Having someone to talk to is a bit overrated when you’re hunting hidden Fallen.

  A flash of light catches my eye in some trees below. I change direction rapidly, speeding down to check it out. I land on the ground, looking around for anything amiss. I’m in a forest clearing, tall pines stand proudly around me. The light dances through the trees, hitting puddles that are strewn all over the ground from the recent rainfall. I wonder if I just saw the light reflecting off of one of those. Shadows dance between the trees, catching my attention. The air is quiet, too quiet, which is why I feel like something is amiss. An anxious feeling passes over me. There aren’t even birds chirping. That never happens in a forest this dense. I retract my wings back into my body, and crouch down to look at a red stain in the grass. The red liquid comes off on my fingers, I put my hand to my nose to smell it and immediately the iron tang of blood hits my senses. Maybe an animal has been injured?

  Right as I stand up to see if there is any more blood, something hits my side with the force of what feels like a thousand boulders. I smash into a tree. It gives a large shudder before crashing to the ground in a thunderous clatter. Before I can regain my wits, I’m pulled up and thrown again to the other side of the clearing. I roll my body and j
ust miss impaling myself on a long tree branch. I thrust my body up in the air, regaining my feet just before I feel the sharp sting of a sword nick the side of my ribcage. I roar in rage and finally make eye contact with my unknown assailant. Of course, it’s one of the Fallen. He’s so pale I wonder if he has some sort of condition. A shock of red hair is pulled back in a long braid behind him. He’s wearing a look of hatred so fierce it gives me pause for a moment, wondering how someone could hate a perfect stranger so much.

  Someone approaches me from behind at the same time the pale Fallen comes at me again from the front with his long broadsword. I bring an elbow sharply behind me, hearing a satisfying crack as my elbow meets something that was obviously important to the creep behind me. I catch the tip of the sword in between my hands, a nifty trick that has taken hundreds of years to perfect. The Fallen gives me a look of shock as I twist the sword out of his hands and flip it into the air. Grabbing it fluidly, I swipe the blade swiftly across his neck. A sick slicing sound fills the air as the red head’s body stays suspended in the air for a moment before thumping to the ground, his head rolling off.

  I only have a moment to relish his death before the other Fallen is once again attacking me from behind. Arms are thrown around my throat, the pressure feels like a steel vice is crushing my windpipe. A crash through the trees signals that others are coming. Bending my weight down, I use the momentum to flip the assailant’s body over mine. He winces as he hits the ground hard, his head bouncing a few times and momentarily striking him still. I still have the broadsword in my hand and I take advantage of his confusion to thrust the blade deep in his chest. He gasps for breath and blood begins to trickle from his mouth.