Octavian's Undoing (Sons of Judgment, book 1)
Title Page
Prologue
PART I
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
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
PART II
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Epilogue
About Airicka Phoenix
Octavian’s Undoing
©2013 by Airicka Phoenix
All rights reserved.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the copyright owner and/or the publisher of this book, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover Designer: Airicka’s Mystical Creations
Interior Design: Airicka Phoenix
Editor & Formatter: Kris Atkinson
Beta Readers: Kimberly Schaaf & Krystal Marlein
ISBN-13: 978-1490497501
ISBN-10: 1490497501
Published by Airicka Phoenix
Also available in eBook and paperback publication
Also by Airicka Phoenix
Series
Touching Smoke (Touch Series, Book #1)
Touching Eternity (Touch Series, Book #1.5)
Standalones
Games of Fire
Anthologies
Whispered Beginnings: A Clever Fiction Anthology
Midnight Surrender Anthology
Dedication
To my beautiful readers,
Thank you for all your love and support.
Acknowledgement
Another mountain conjured and what a mountain Octavian’s Undoing was, too. Truth be told, it would not have been possible if it weren’t for the much needed boot in the butt whenever I wanted to give up. There are so many people I want to thank, so many people who stood by me every step of the way through this novel, but unfortunately that would be a novel in itself. Nevertheless, there are a few people that deserve an extra topping of ice cream for putting up with me.
My Family — thank you for putting up with the mountain of dishes in the sink, the lack of clean socks and for the endless hours of moaning and sniveling I know I must have done. I don’t know how you guys put up with me, but I love you. Never forget, you always come first.
Kristy — what do you say to a person who drops everything to edit 600pgs on a week deadline? What do you say to someone who is always there, offering a hand or a boot in the butt? I seriously love you, Kris. Thank you for not giving up on me and for making everything I write shine.
Kimberly — my beautiful and talented PA, what would I do without you? I mean that. What would I do? You are there every day like the sunlight we never see here in BC. Your constant friendship and support guide me to do impossible things. Thank you for being my rock.
My amazing Street Team — Susú Vicuña, Len Phelps, Irayda Quezada, Katherine Pegg Eccleston, Nanette Del Valle Bradford, Heather Andrews, Cara Crabtree, Heather Heslip Alexander, Candy Smith, Brigitte Hernandez, Amy Chris — for standing by me and supporting me. You ladies are angels and I am blessed to know you.
Tiffany King, Krystal Marlein, Liz Jaquier, Laura Hunter, Derinda Love, Laura Hunter, Amber Garcia, Trevor Couturier, Becca Misura, Konstanz Silverbow, Kimberley McInroy & so many others — Thank you guys so much for your unwavering support and friendship.
My readers — an author is nothing without her readers. I am thankful for each and every one of you. Thank you for being you and for always being the light at the end of the tunnel.
Love all of you!
~Airicka
Prologue
From Lilith rose the children of discord, sons and daughters of vengeance. Chained by their birth, the guilty bear marks as guardians of justice. They battle to win their freedom by judging those who defile the Black Laws. They take no side but the side of Judgment and cast death upon the wicked.
~ Book of Judgment
PART I
Chapter 1
The theory was that Hell could only be accessed through death. Riley disagreed. The door to Hell, in her opinion, was standing in line at the post office when the air conditioner was broken and the temperature had skipped mildly discomforting and gone straight to downright inhuman, and the people ahead of her made her want to take a shower.
They weren’t so bad. They weren’t shouting or complaining that the woman at the only kiosk open was paying for her package in pennies, or that they’d been standing there in that cramped space for the last thirty minutes watching her lose count and start over. As lines went, they were a quiet lot, even the woman with the kid clutching at her hand. It would have been a relief if that said kid hadn’t been enthusiastically digging for gold and wiping it on his mother’s skirt. Then there was the woman who chewed on her nails and spat the bits out over her shoulder at the man behind her dressed entirely in black, who kept trying to dodge the bits of nail spittle from landing on him. But the worst was the man directly in front of Riley, the one who wore a stained white t-shirt and checkered golf shorts. The stench of him was made her eyes water and the hairs in her nostrils scream in terror. She seriously began to reconsider her decision to mail her electricity payment. It wasn’t like she needed power that badly. The pioneers lived without and they were fine. Never mind cavemen and hippies.
“Next!” the frail little man behind the kiosk croaked as the penny-counting woman shuffled away, humming happily to herself as she snapped her considerably less weighty purse closed.
The nose picker and his mother hurried over and the line scuffled forward. Riley stayed where she was, putting a safe distance between herself and the sour aroma wafting off her companion. She wiped away the sweat accumulating across her brow with the back of her hand and sighed. This was not how she imagined spending her afternoon. She mentally kicked herself for not thinking to bring a book along with her on the journey, but she was supposed to be job hunting, not wilting away in this unnatural heat. Thank goodness she’d already dropped her resumes off before hitting the post office. Something told her potential employers didn
’t look too kindly on people who had taken a bath in their own sweat, fully dressed. She was too afraid to check, but she was sure her makeup was running and the sassy knot she’d stubbornly twisted her hair into was now fuzzy and mad-woman-ish. Nope. She was relieved she’d be going home afterwards and stripping down to her shorts and tank top. Granted, there was no air conditioner there either, but there was a shower and the freedom to kick her heels off.
“Screw this!” Sewer-Man griped, as he turned and marched past Riley to the door.
One down, three to go. It was like the TV show Survivors. One by one, the contestants were eliminated until only the very brave — or stupid — remained. Riley was prepared to go the distance on this one. Nothing short of someone releasing a plume of body gas smelling of peanuts was going to make her leave, and only because she was allergic and may require emergency medical attention. But to prove she had the female balls to make it to the final round, she scuttled up behind the man wearing black and breathed in deeply the fresh scent of rain, wilderness and pine. Surprise lifted her eyebrows as she eyed the man in front of her, and traced his wide shoulders and lean back with new interest.
She estimated he was roughly six-three and about a hundred and ninety pounds, with dark neatly cropped hair cut short in back and left shaggy in the front. His hips were narrow, made narrower by the black t-shirt he’d stuffed into the waistband of his black jeans, jeans that molded a little too distractingly to his extremely well formed backside. Riley cocked her head and stared for a just a moment longer — her well-earned treat for the day — before continuing on downward over long legs and abraded army boots. She couldn’t see his face, but she was seriously liking his back, a back that seemed to tense the longer she studied it. The hands at his sides tightened into fists, knuckles white against his golden complexion.
“Next!”
The nose-picker and his mom left and the nail-biter took their place at the counter, shouting a bit too excitedly, “I only need a stamp!”
Thank God! Riley thought, exhaling, although standing behind Tall, Dark and Gorgeous had its own perks. Her gaze drifted downward again. It was her way of thinking that if she had to waste more time standing in line, she may as well take in the good view.
But her sightseeing ended when the nail-biter, letter and stamp in hand, hurried away and Riley lost her treat. She smothered her sulking by organizing her mail, making sure the checks were inside and the addresses were written on the envelopes clearly and correctly. All of that took her a full two minutes, which seemed to be enough time for Mr. Sexy to finish his business and turn to leave. Riley jerked her head up, hoping to catch a glimpse of him as he stomped past her, but the dude moved fast. There was a solid punch of air as he charged straight past her and out the door.
Riley’s shoulders drooped. What a crappy day.
“Miss?” The clerk waved at her from behind the counter.
Feeling even more miserable, Riley shuffled forward and dropped her letters down on the counter. She bought her stamps, shipped off the bills and left.
Outside, in the crisp autumn air, Riley moaned shamelessly. She closed her eyes and let the breeze wash over her, gelling the sweat to her skin and unplastering her only nice blouse from her spine. It was the last scrap of her pride that kept her from stripping out of her clothes right there and letting nature cool her skin. Instead, she adjusted the strap on her purse and started around the building to the parking lot. But she couldn’t have taken more than a handful of steps when her foot treaded on something squishy.
For a split, horrific moment, she was certain it was a dead rodent, something that had fallen out of a nearby tree and was now embedded with her shoe print. It was the only image she needed to make her run away without looking back. Curiosity and the need to sleep without nightmares of flattened road kill under her shoe, forced her to take a peek, just one, just so she would never have to wonder again if those shoes needed to be burned.
It was a man’s wallet, black with soft, worn leather. Relief pulsed through her as she swooped down and scooped it up, surprised by its weight. She glanced around, hoping to catch sight of the owner, but she was the only one there. Part of her wondered if she should take it to the post office and leave it with them. Maybe the owner would retrace their steps and return for it. She started to turn back, even as her fingers flipped it open to the flaps. No picture. No driver’s license. But there was enough cash and credit cards to buy a small island. The thing was stuffed full of fifties and hundreds. Nothing less than twenty dollars in bills, no loose change here, and somehow, there was still room for a packet of matches, a receipt from the post office for stamps and an unwrapped condom in silver foil. Someone had tucked several business cards to the same place into one of the slot.
Carefully, she withdrew one of the cards and read the fine, loopy print. “Octavian Maxwell.” It was followed by an address.
It surprised her that the address was on the same stretch of highway as her house. More so, that she had never noticed a turn off anywhere between her house and that place. She wondered again if she should just leave it with the post office clerk, but decided against it. It was on her way for one thing, and for another, she doubted anyone who got their hands on all that cash was going to return it. Hell, even she was tempted. There was enough money to keep her afloat for months. It was enough to help ease the load until she could find a job. Even a handful of the bills would have been enough. But she’d lost money before and no matter how much of it you had, losing any hurt. Besides, for all she knew, this could be all the money the person had and they’d been on the way to the bank or something. It could make all the difference in that person’s life. It sucked, but she’d never be able to sleep at night if she didn’t return it. She’d drop it off and go home and sulk about the money she could have had.
She stuffed the wallet into her purse and hurried to her prehistoric Toyota and climbed in. The thing grumbled like an old man being asked to move, and puttered out of the parking lot at a snail’s pace. Riley flipped the radio on, drowning out the car’s protest with Skillet belting about Monsters as she followed the address to the outskirts of the city, along the industrial stretch of highway reserved mainly for delivery trucks. She kept her speed under the required limit, not wanting to miss this mysterious turn stated on the card.
When it materialized, almost quite literally, Riley almost missed it. She slammed down on her brakes, thankful no one else was behind her as she twisted the wheel and pulled onto the shoulder to gape.
She’d driven down that road a million times. She lived a single block further up and yet not once in ten years had she ever noticed that opening. Yet, there it was, so either she wasn’t very observant of her surroundings or it had appeared by magic. She went for the first, because magic did not exist.
Carefully, she eased into the bend, keeping her foot light on the gas as she maneuvered the tight wind deeper into a stretch of wilderness she wasn’t all too comfortable navigating. The dirt path carved deep into the unknown, guiding her, seemingly compelling her forward without an end in sight. It felt like hours before the thin, bare trees finally parted, revealing an opening paved in gravel, weeds and dirt. The surrounding trees loomed like gangly giants all around, reaching up to the heavens, choking the blue and sunlight with creeping shadows. It was no wonder nothing grew there. Every bush, plant and shrub was dead, barren and wilted.
Riley shuddered as she pulled up in front and cut the engine. Aside from her car, there were a number of very shiny, very expensive looking cars crouched like hunched mammoths throughout the wide clearing-turned parking lot. She climbed out, slammed her car door closed and faced the monster of a house looming like something from the Addams Family before her.
The place was a jungle of vines climbing over dark stones and stained glass. Columns of granite loomed with massive force over curved stairs leading onto a broad porch. With the four turrets, several levels and the sheer height, it was impossible to judge just how many floo
rs actually created the place, but it was a thing of horror movies. She wondered briefly if she’d find wind chimes fashioned of human bones hanging from the drain pipes and if a creepy Frankenstein butler would be answering the door.
Riley second guessed her decision to continue the handful of steps from where she stood near the safety of her car and climbing the marble steps to the grand opening. But move she did, crossing the distance until she stood before the doors.
It was a thing of legends, ten feet of solid bronze stamped into mahogany. Sunlight spilled pale fingers down the precise design, tracing the grotesque figures immortalized in the metal. It took some squinting and two full steps back to fully take in the image.
It was a bird, majestic wings sprawled from frame to frame in flight. Its feet were buried in the disemboweled bodies of men crawling from fiery pits. They clawed at the bird’s legs, trying desperately to untangle themselves from the flames tearing flesh from bones. Over the bird’s head, men stood on clouds, brandishing bows and arrows aimed below. Above the door, the words Final Judgment were burned into smooth oak. Riley swallowed thickly, wondering what the hell kind of place she’d stumbled across. Then she spotted the umlaut carved into the plaque just beneath the sign.
Octavian's Undoing (Sons of Judgment) Page 1