Nephilim The Awakening
Book 1 of Wrath of the Fallen
Elizabeth Blackthorne
Copyright © 2021 Elizabeth Blackthorne
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, wthout the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommerical uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.
Editing by Elemental Editing and Proofreading
Cover by www.avdaldesigns.com
For my family who kept me grounded.
For my friends who kept me dreaming.
And for the RH Rogues who kept me believing all the way to the end.
All hope abandon, ye who enter here.
Dante Alighieri
Author's note
Thank you for reading my book! While a team of people have gone through this book to find typos and other mistakes, we are only human and the odd one or two can slip past. If you spot any, please email me at [email protected] so I can put it right. Please DO NOT report it to Amazon, as it could cause them to take my book down. I'd really appreciate it!
PLEASE NOTE: I am a BRITISH writer. All my characters speak British English and therefore words may be spelt differently to spellings you are used to.
WARNINGS AND TRIGGERS:
The Wrath of the Fallen series is based on ancient Abhrahamic mythology and religion, using sources such as the Apocrypha, and the Bible. However, creative liberties has been taken and this series is meant as a piece of fiction and is not intended to cause offence.
Nephilim The Awakening is the first book in a steamy paranormal reverse harem romance series featuring supernatural races, magic and mythology along with a badass heroine who never has to choose one man over another.
This book includes:
MMF and MF scenes including a MM relationship separate from the harem
Multiple PoV
This series is meant for readers aged 18 and up.
Possible triggers:
Swearing
Graphic sex, including threesome scenes
Gore and violence
Torture
Sexual assault
Reference to past sexual assault and rape
Finally...
IF YOU ARE RELATED TO ME IN ANY WAY, PUT THIS BOOK DOWN AND WALK AWAY!!! TRUST ME ON THIS ONE!
(Except my awesome beta reader, but you know who you are!)
Prologue
FAITH
It was the voices that tipped me over the edge. The whispering, the growling, and the cruel, terrifying laughter that filled my skull until I screamed and screamed. The sound faded away, but I kept screaming. Somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered that this was what happened when people lost their minds and went insane, that I’d be trapped forever in this darkness and pain, but I knew it would end eventually. It always did.
My senses returned slowly, and I could feel my blood thumping in my ears, my heart hammering in my rib cage. I concentrated on my breathing, each rise and fall of my chest, until my heart rate slowed. I turned my head, pressing the side of my face against the cool stone floor. Somewhere far below, in the depths of the earth, a deep rumble resounded, so quiet I almost missed it. Then there was another, slightly louder now, and this time the building shifted with a soft rustle of dust descending as ancient stonework stubbornly resisted the slight movement of its deep foundations. Taking a deeper breath, I opened my eyes. My gaze travelled along the flagstone floor, up the massive stone column that towered above me, along the path of the carved chevrons, and up the great pillars to where they arched over the cavernous ceiling before curving back down to old dusty pews waiting for a congregation that had never arrived.
Rolling onto my side, I pushed myself onto my hands and knees, and using the stonework to steady myself, I slowly got to my feet. My head spun, so I leaned back against the pillar, feeling the cold seep through my clothes and into my skin. I’d been dreaming of this place for months now. I always awoke here after experiencing darkness and pain or hearing the voices that haunted me. There was no one else here, and it felt as though no one had been here for a very long time. Time seemed to move differently in this place, and I relaxed slightly as I stood alone in the deserted cathedral, watching the dust fall from the vaulted ceilings, glinting in the late evening sunlight as it drifted towards the floor. Intricate, stained-glass windows threw coloured light across the grey floor, the most beautiful being an immense rose window at one end of the nave.
Beneath it stood the altar. A polished metal cross was the only item that stood upon it, and something about the way it shone in the golden light fascinated me. I walked slowly towards it, my eyes never leaving its glow as I moved through the pews, my outstretched hands running over the arms of each bench as I passed. The ancient wood had been smoothed to silk by the hands of hundreds, if not thousands, of people throughout the ages.
I reached the steps and hesitated. Turning, I glanced back at the cathedral. I hadn’t seen or heard anyone since I arrived in this place, but I was still anticipating for someone to tell me I shouldn’t be here. Religious buildings were like that. There were always places you couldn’t go, things you couldn’t touch, and words you shouldn’t say. Much like religions themselves, really. Despite my given name, I’d never been a big believer in the Heaven and Hell thing, preferring history and science over a belief in the supernatural. Growing up with biblical archaeologists for parents, I learned to look at everything with some degree of scepticism. Hell was here, it was real life. Something a person had to survive and fight against. Heaven. Now then, Heaven was riding fast, the rumble of a powerful engine between my legs, the wind in my face, or a man in leather. Heaven was an excellent whiskey and dancing like I’d live forever or die tomorrow. I turned back and climbed the stone steps to stand in front of the altar.
The sun was setting, and the cross now reflected the rosy hue of the sky outside, shiny and perfectly smooth, except for the small engraving at its centre. Interested, I leaned closer, my green eyes reflecting back at me in the horizontal arms of the cross. The etching was a stylized depiction of a tree with a vertical trunk that branched at the top with no leaves or flowers, and roots that spread under it in a mirror image of the boughs above. As I looked at it, the branches and roots seemed to move slightly. I frowned and reached out to run my fingers over the shallow grooves, but when my skin touched the metal, the tree glowed red. I drew back, gasping as the deep crimson colour spread through the cross and spilled out of its base, pouring onto the snowy white altar cloth it stood on. In disbelief, I touched the cross again, feeling only metal, and yet the ruby colour flowing across the pedestal and streaming down the sides to pool on the dusty stone below was most definitely liquid. A sharp, metallic smell hit the back of my nose and throat, and I gagged as I realised what was happening—the cross was spilling blood. I sank to my knees, the blood covering my skin as the darkness began to descend, flooding my body with pain, and as the terror overtook me, I began to scream again.
Chapter One
FAITH
I opened my eyes slowly and stared across the room at the poster of a Harley Davidson Road King tacked to my wall. I followed every contour of the sleek metal, imagining
the wind in my hair and the rumble of the engine as I slowed my breathing and calmed my heart rate. The sheets were tangled around my body, damp with sweat. It felt uncomfortably like being tied down, so I kicked them away. An annoying whine from my phone on the bedside table reminded me I had things to do and places to be. I rolled over to grab it, knocking a box of tablets onto the floor. I let them lie there. These sleeping pills had lasted even less time than the previous ones. I was already doubling up, and the dreams were breaking through again. Time for another trip to the doctor for a different prescription. Until then, whisky would have to do. A damn good fuck would hit the spot too.
Untangling myself further from the sheets, I balled them up and chucked them towards the growing pile of dirty laundry in the corner, and then I grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom. I needed a hot shower. I sighed as I stepped under the steaming water, feeling it drench my hair and my body with heat. I washed my thick locks, and then worked conditioner through my long red tresses, watching as the dark strands flowed down, seeming to merge into my tattoo. I traced the ink with my fingertips. The intricate feathers began small on the side of my neck and drifted down across my collarbone, the side of my breast, my ribs, and waist, before curving over my hip and disappearing into the curls between my legs. I’d always loved feathers. They symbolized freedom, a notion I was always chasing, which was ironic for a woman trapped inside her own nightmares. Maybe I should see someone about them. Though I didn’t think a fluffy counsellor would do me any good. With what went on in my head, I’d probably be better off with a priest who could perform an exorcism. I grinned to myself and rinsed the conditioner away. That was a thought. Maybe my dreams were warning me I was going to Hell. Fuck, even crosses and cathedrals were showing up in them now, so I must have really pissed someone off up there. Hmm... cathedrals...
I turned the shower off and wrapped my towel around my body before padding back to my bedroom. Wandering over to the window, I pulled up the blind and looked out over the city. My tiny apartment was quite high up, and I definitely paid extra for the view—not by choice, but cheap accommodation was scarce in a student city. The view was gorgeous at any time of the day. Creamy sandstone buildings were dotted between swatches of trees, the wide river winding through. Not exactly a bustling metropolis, but it was home. The skyline displayed the distinctive outline of the castle and the cathedral, golden in the evening sunlight. My eyes settled on the towers of the cathedral as I remembered my dream. I’d recognised it as soon as I saw the famous rose window. I’d visited it many times when I was younger, both on school trips and visits with my mother, who worked nearby at the university and often used the cathedral library for research— one perk of being a top lecturer at the university. I pushed any thoughts of Rose Matthews out of my head, a habit so ingrained now I didn’t really need to think about it. Switching on my stereo, I blasted some rock music as I scrambled around trying to find some clean clothes, determined to block out any memory of my dreams.
At six in the evening, the cathedral was still surprisingly busy with tourists. I heard at least four different languages as I traversed the broad path between the gravestones and stuck my tongue out at the lion-headed knocker on the enormous doors. I’d done it ever since I was little. My parents had brought me to visit the cathedral one weekend, and I’d been scared to walk through the door because of the way the knocker glared at me. My dad had told me he was just being grumpy and to stick my tongue out at him. He’d done it too, and so had my mum, and we’d all gone into the cathedral laughing.
What’s with all the sentimentality, Faith? Get a grip, woman, that life is long over. Dad’s gone, and Mum... well, she may as well be.
A twinge of guilt threaded through me at the thought of my mum. It had been six years since we’d spoken. My fault mainly. At eighteen, when her parental authority ran out, she’d completely lost it and had me committed. At the time, I’d hated her for it. When they’d finally let me out, it had taken me precisely twelve minutes to pack my shit and announce I was leaving for good. It hadn’t gone well, but now that the dust had settled and I was older and slightly wiser, I could see it from her perspective. I hadn’t exactly been an easy teenager once my dad had died. I should give her a call. Maybe we could have a drink together or something, if she wasn’t digging up pots in the Middle East...
I sighed and stepped under the huge archway. Once inside, I veered off to the right, heading for the main part of the cathedral. Not for the first time, I wondered what the hell I was doing here. Some sadistic part of me wanted to check the details in my dreams to see if the cross was there, but a sick, nagging feeling inside me wanted to avoid confronting the place. I came to a pause near a low stone sarcophagus just before the column I had woken up next to in my dream. I stood with one hand flat against the pillar to my right as memories of the pain and torment swept over me in a cruel reminder of what my fucked up imagination could do when I was asleep. Around me, visitors started to file out as closing time for the cathedral approached, and I was pretty much alone near the pulpit. The altar was positioned way back behind the choir stalls, but the path that had been open in my dream was roped off with a warning not to cross. I walked up to the rope, trying to see the altar, and a mixed feeling of relief and disappointment filled me as I realised the metal cross on it looked nothing like the one in my dream. Silly girl, I chided myself. Why would it be the same? It was just a dream.
“Excuse me?”
I turned to see someone’s chest. A rather attractively toned chest mainly concealed by a maroon shirt open at the first two buttons. Fighting a sudden indescribable urge to run my hands over it, I looked up at the face belonging to the muscled perfection. Longish auburn hair fell into deep emerald green eyes, which were framed by thin wire glasses, and I watched as generous lips curved into a shy smile. I froze, and a tremor ran through me. For a second my breath caught, and I swear my heart stopped. I felt strange, like something had almost gone click in my brain. Realising I was staring, I moved back slightly and focused on his eyes again.
“We were looking for the cloisters and got turned around. Would you be able to point us in the right direction?” His voice was deep and smooth, and there was a faint accent there, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“Of course, yes, um... you go down that way, and the door to the cloisters is on your left.”
“Thank you so much.” Another man, this one slightly shorter, stepped up behind him. “Alex is a closet Harry Potter fan. We couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see the filming locations here.”
I laughed. “No problem, we get a lot of those here in Durham.”
The second man grinned at me, revealing a flash of white teeth, a stark contrast against his impossibly dark skin. I smiled back, my eyes travelling over a shaved head, chiselled jawline, and a body that looked like it lived in a weight room. He wore a tight black T-shirt and jeans, and intricate black tattoos wound around his arms, barely distinguishable against his skin. I licked my lips, imagining what it would be like to trace every detail with my tongue.
“Are you local then?” he asked. I looked over to see his eyes locked on mine, and this time, I couldn’t avoid staring. His eyes were a stunningly bright blue, and I stood for a moment transfixed by his gaze. Another click. He blinked, and the spell broke.
Mentally shaking myself for looking like a total idiot, I managed to get out a reply. “Uh, yeah, well, I lived outside Durham when I was a kid and moved into the city when I was eighteen. Are you students?” They looked too old to be students.
The tall one shook his head. “We’re from Newcastle, but farther over by the coast, really. Just fancied a change in scenery today, but we’re heading home soon. It was nice to meet you though, and thank you for the directions.” He turned, but the one with the startling eyes grabbed his hand, making him pause. Blue eyes fixed on mine, and I got another blindingly white smile.
“It was lovely to meet you, and you’ve been very helpful. Maybe we’ll run
into each other again next time we’re in Durham. Go for a drink or... something.”
I smiled then frowned slightly, glancing down at their joined hands. Getting hit on by a guy was not uncommon for me, but I’d never been flirted with by someone holding hands with his partner at the same time. “Um, aren’t you guys... a thing?”
He grinned, and his eyes seemed to dance. He glanced back at his partner, who smiled softly then looked away. “Well, yes, I guess you would call us a... thing. But we have a very special relationship, and we’re not averse to additional company, especially some as lovely as yours.”
I couldn’t help raising my eyebrows. This was a first for me. One man was enough to deal with, two would be hard work. My gaze drifted back over them and their gorgeous bodies. Yes, very... hard... work.
He held out his hand. “Amadi Gisemba. And this is Alexei Makarov.”
“Faith Matthews.” I put my hand in his, and he raised it to his lips, his warmth eliciting a tingle through my skin that was definitely not unpleasant. Alexei also took my hand but contented himself with giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it quickly. Makarov... so the accent was Russian.
He turned to Amadi. “We really need to get going, we’ve not much time before the cathedral closes for the night.”
Nephilim the Awakening (Wrath of the Fallen Book 1) Page 1