Gideon
Fall From Grace
Sharon Hamilton
Sharon Hamilton’s Book List
SEAL Brotherhood Series
SEAL Encounter (Prequel Novella)
Accidental SEAL (Book 1)
SEAL Endeavor (Novella)
Fallen SEAL Legacy (Book 2)
SEAL Under Covers (Book 3)
SEAL The Deal (Book 4)
Cruisin’ For A SEAL (Book 5)
SEAL My Destiny (Book 6)
SEAL Of My Heart (Book 7)
SEAL Brotherhood Box Set 1 (Accidental SEAL & Prequel)
SEAL Brotherhood Box Set 2 (Fallen SEAL & Prequel)
Ultimate SEAL Collection Vol. 1 (Books 1-4 + 2 Prequels)
Ultimate SEAL Collection Vol. 2 (Books 5-7)
Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3 Series
SEAL’s Promise (Book 1)
SEAL My Home (Book 2)
SEAL’s Code (Book 3)
Big Bad Boys Bundle (Books 1-3 of Bad Boys)
Band of Bachelors Series
Lucas (Book 1)
Alex (Book 2)
Jake (Book 3)
Jake 2 (Book 4)
True Blue SEALs Series
True Navy Blue (prequel to Zak)
Zak (Includes novella above)
Nashville SEAL Series
Nashville SEAL (Book 1)
Nashville SEAL: Jameson (Books 1 & 2 combined)
Fredo Series
Fredo’s Secret (novella) Book 1
Fredo’s Dream (Books 1 & 2 combined)
Standalone Novellas
SEAL You In My Dreams (Magnolias and Moonshine)
SEAL Of Time (Trident Legacy)
Kindle Worlds
SEAL’s Goal: The Beautiful Game
Love Me Tender, Love You Hard
Paradise Series
Paradise: In Search of Love
Sleeper SEALs: Bone Frog Brotherhood Series
Bachelor SEAL
Fall From Grace Series (Paranormal)
Gideon: Heavenly Fall
Golden Vampires of Tuscany Series (Paranormal)
Honeymoon Bite (Book 1)
Mortal Bite (Book 2)
The Guardians (Paranormal)
Heavenly Lover (Book 1)
Underworld Lover (Book 2)
Underworld Queen (Book 3)
About the Book
Gideon’s Fall From Grace comes after one too many boring days atop the Golden Gate Bridge as a Watcher. Tethered by celestial restraints and feeling abandoned by the very beings who “enhanced” him, he rebels in a very public fashion, forever altering the San Francisco skyline. At first he just wants to escape. But later, he wants revenge from a heartless Supreme Being and his angelic minions for having ruined his immortal life.
Can a freak who dwells somewhere between Heaven and Hell find love and happiness in a typical Wine Country small town?
Begin Reading
About the Author
Series Overview
Table of Contents
Copyright © 2017 by Sharon Hamilton
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Author’s Note
The following is a little piece I did for a writing exercise in a class some years ago. It became the image and framework for this book of Gideon. The character changed from this original concept, but the idea about the symbol of a Guardian did not.
The book took some three years to further conceptualize, nearly finished in another two and then shelved until I was in the space to finish it properly. After writing so many Navy SEAL stories, I felt the need to come back to this compelling creature, Gideon, who had never fit in any world, until he found his true love and a purpose and place carved out by his own hand.
Sometimes a writer just writes things of her heart. I love my SEALs, but there are some times when a writer just needs that little change of pace, to explore worlds and talents she doesn’t always find in other genres.
You may be one of my dedicated readers of my SEALs. For that, I thank you. But please help bring Gideon’s story to life, if you can. Tell someone about it and help make him real. All he wants is a chance to find a place in your heart along with the other fine warriors I write.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Sharon Hamilton’s Book List
About the Book
Copyright Page
Author’s Note
The Labyrinth
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
About the Author
Series Overview
Reviews
The Labyrinth
“There is a symbol that started with the angels. You won’t find it in churches or cathedrals, but it is ours, nonetheless.”
His warm brown eyes nudged their way into her heart, his dark lashes fluttering up and down as he spoke, fanning the flames of her desire for him to take her again.
“What is it?” she asked, afraid to speak, breaking the warm space between them.
“Guess.”
“Give me hints.”
He smiled. “An angel in quiet contemplation, bowing in reverence to something more precious than life itself.”
She closed her eyes. “I can’t see it. I see the angel, but I don’t see the symbol.”
“Watch.” He delicately held the pink fingers of her right hand, and softly pressed them around a No. 2 yellow pencil that suddenly appeared. He leaned in to her, his chest against her back as she sat on his lap, his other arm gently residing on her left hip. The simple, intimate act was stirring. She inhaled deeply as he pressed the graphite vein to the smooth white vellum of the sketchbook materializing on the table. The scratch became an arched curve, like a backwards comma.
She’d seen that pattern before. It was the line of radiance the orange sunglow gave to the outline of one wing, as he stood in a golden field late in the afternoon.
A smile slowly curved the ends of her lips. He was watching every movement she made. Her mouth felt naked and quivered to mate with his. He lowered his head, his long sensual fingers still cradling hers on the page. Her breathing became notched and ragged as his face approached hers and she drank from the softness and the wonder of their love. His warm flesh melted in to hers and her mouth opened to him, like her soul opened to him to touch her in every way.
&
nbsp; When he pulled back, she was filled with loss. He focused down to the drawing and applied pressure to her fingers again.
“And now for the other one,” he whispered.
Under his slow, deliberate tutelage, he made another curve the opposite to the first one, beginning and ending by touching the two corresponding spots of the other image.
And there it was, the symbol she would forever associate with angels until her last days:
A heart.
It wasn’t a symbol of death or sacrifice. No struggle. Part curved, part straight. Two halves becoming one, touching identical places on the other and becoming one whole symbol from two separate and distinct parts, something neither could do without the other.
She had seen him stand in front of her naked, with his head bowed and his wings looming above, arching with grace. His strong shoulders would cast a shadow of power over her, his head lowered in complete and utter devotion.
Pure love.
Gideon’s love.
Everlasting love.
Chapter 1
The monstrous purple bus barreled down Highway 101 at eighty miles an hour. Multicolored block letters were shrink-wrapped onto the hulking frame: Blood Bank of the Redwoods. Gideon was still shocked it had been so easy to steal the beast. Flapped his wings and showed his fangs, and the technician was out of there.
Motivating the decision today to take his life into his own hands, he was completely done with being isolated, separated from all the other Guardians called to missions by “Father” in his infinite wisdom. Father was not nearly the right name to describe the heartless codger he labeled Supreme Being, or SB. The only mission given to Gideon was to watch and report. Be a spy on the civilian population.
A Watcher wasn’t a doer.
Like all the other Watchers before him, his job was to help the Guardians save lives, and by saving lives they saved souls.
He’d seen thousands of them carting the civilians’ precious cargo, their red elixir of life. Gideon had always wanted to drive one. Today had been a true Red Letter Day, the best day of his life so far. Coming over the Marin grade, the stainless-steel beast almost leapt off the pavement like a skateboard as the freeway suddenly made a steep dip, heading toward San Francisco.
Happy to be down off his perch atop the North Tower of the Golden Gate Bridge where he had spent the last fifty years of his immortal life, Gideon was finally looking forward to a future carved by his own hand. Probably a dark one. When earlier today he’d used his wings, searching for the bus in Marin, they were white, as all Guardians’ wings were, but he suspected by sunset they’d turn black.
Worst, coldest fuckin’ job in the universe. Did the Supreme Being hate him that much? And what had he ever done to deserve this? Could he help it if he saw the human population as flesh sacs? That’s what they were. He was tired of pretending, holding back his true vampiric nature. He had to stuff down his urges so he wouldn’t become a piece of scorched meat buried in Heaven’s graveyard somewhere. None of it was easy, with the incessant singing and Guardianship classes in gardening and lacemaking, which nearly drove him insane. Maybe he was insane. A person would have to be insane to be that happy and cheerful all the time.
Fuck that shit.
He was bored to death. It took a saint to endure that kind of life. He’d even begun to bring heavy weapons to work with him like he was looking for a large enough target to use them on. He had fantasies about taking down a blimp or a cargo ship.
I’m an angel messenger all right. I’m going postal.
Being stuck there was worse than being ignored. He was buried. Buried alive in the human world on top of the coldest fuckin’ bridge in the state, the only heat coming from the glow and meager warmth of the red lamp sitting beneath his butt on his perch atop the massive metal structure. The Supreme Being was cruel, and contrary to what the Guardians preached to him, SB did not know the meaning of the word compassion. Or pleasure. Or ecstasy.
Why leave him up there alone to suffer? He knew the asshole was watching, could feel His eyes on his back. Probably the kind of guy who liked to pick the wings off flies and watch them run around chained by gravity. Tasking Gideon an eternity to make calls to Guardians so they could swoop down in their gossamer-winged finery and save humans from jumping? And be okay with letting them get all the credit for the “saves”? The celebrations of their victories were the worst. Cherub choirs hurt his ears with their incessant clapping and yodeling in preternatural form humans couldn’t hear.
No, the Golden Gate Bridge might be a little better than Heaven. But just a little.
Harkening back to his old vampiric nature, he’d taken to counting again. It was what he did when he was nervous or when things weren’t going his way. He’d count ships that passed underneath. Count the cruise ships to Alcatraz. Count the freighters, the rice rocket cargo ships, and the dirty tankers. He even counted the number of cargo containers and grouped them into types by color, size, and branding. Occasionally, he’d get to count a pleasure yacht or sailing ship. What was he supposed to do? Pray? What a useless waste of time.
Sometimes he’d go days without a jumper. Others, there could be a handful. They seemed to run in bunches, like grapes. Perhaps it was the pattern of the “circle of life” in the human world. Or the Pacific Ocean’s currents or winds. Perhaps the pull of the moon or pollution or traffic. Who knew?
Let ’em jump. If they want to die, let them rest in peace. Float a target out there so they can hit the bull’s eye—go out with a perfect score, so to speak.
And then there’d be one asshole who’d miss and spend his last remaining seconds feeling a complete failure. He hated sharing their angst, something he was fully privy to. The fear was one thing he could tolerate, but their regrets, who needed it? He had enough of his own, enough for the whole human race and half the vampire race as well.
No, going out, missing the imaginary target and scoring a fuckin’ zero was the way to go. They were losers anyway. Might as well claim that last desperate act as a loser.
He was living proof not everyone wanted to be saved. He’d always thought vampires would wind up in the Underworld. But no, that wasn’t the way of Heaven, and it wasn’t his destiny. Just as not all the jumpers were saved, not every vampire wound up down below. What made him so special, he wondered. So what if a bunch of the human population and a few vamps wanted to end themselves?
No, Gideon thought, redemption was a dirty word and highly overrated.
He’d seen the Guardians’ super sanctimonious smiles while they fluttered back up to Heaven in a shower of golden sparkles. He’d seen them arrive home to a cheering crowd of angelic hoards and cherub choirs that hurt Gideon’s sensitive ears. And never once did any of them stop and bother to say thank you to him. Not once.
What’s up with that?
Maybe they knew about his bloodlust. He knew SB understood, but he wasn’t sure about the Guardians. It had been one colossal fuckup, turning him into an angel. He wasn’t capable of dying anyway, and he probably wouldn’t have even if some damned Guardian hadn’t decided to show mercy on him. The little do-gooder thought his wounds were life-threatening, that he’d been trying to save the young lady when he was actually going to drain her after he’d pushed her out of the way of the truck that clipped him. Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes fucked up his whole life. He’d been swooped up, fitted with wings he never wanted—he already could fly—“saved” they called it. More like fucked. And not in the way he liked, either. This was the fucking kind of fucked where the fuckee didn’t leave with a smile on his face.
His days in Heaven were tortured with music, which gave him migraines. The sunlight burned his eyes. How he’d like to drain the lifeblood from all their chubby cheeks.
He thought about the nubile young Guardians, especially the redheads, turned in their prime. Their lusciously smooth bodies definitely had heavenly curves. He lived in a state of stiff arousal those long years of his angel training classes, in such close proximity
to such lovely, naïve creatures. His sensitive skin craved to touch them as his fangs yearned to plunge deep and coat his throat with their sweet lifeblood. His ears had buzzed and his nose itched 24/7.
Their scent was addicting. It would only be a matter of time before the warnings and spells would no longer work on him, and he’d do his share of rutting through the entire redhead population. And that would never do. But it might have earned him a ticket down below. He was counting on that today. He wanted out of a life he never chose, but hoped he could alter.
So he was going to leave in a blaze of glory. Catch the attention of the Guardians who had ignored him for so long. Steal a Blood Bank bus, suck out the entire inventory, and send it over the edge. Go commiserate with his buddies down below where he heard the action was much better and the climate more to his liking.
Supreme Fucktard must have known he’d have a breaking point. So maybe that’s why they’d sent him up to the top of the North Tower. At first, he was relieved to be away from the choirs and angel dust, standing up above the fog line like he was in charge of the whole bay. But, as the years went by, it got worse and worse.
Even though they gave him an estate in Sonoma County where he could play around with winemaking on his one day off, he was utterly and completely bored. Making wine wasn’t at all like what he remembered of making love. He should have used his estate as a love nest. Perhaps they would have overlooked his indiscretion, violating the directive never to bed a female of any sort as long as he remained angel.
Well bugger that.
Practically no one ever visited him except his angel friend, Francis, the ex-Priest who took his Sunday shift. All his other friends had screwed up and been spirited away to the Underworld years ago. Francis just had to make sure he didn’t get too drunk and fall off that North Tower. That would surprise a commuter. A drunken Guardian on the windshield on the way to work? That was actually something he’d like to watch. Francis’s old angry Russian friend had nearly done that once.
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