Only the Fallen (UnHallowed Series Book 1)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Dina made herself invisible and dropped to the sidewalk. She walked with a quartet of humans as they ambled down the street, laughter traded between them. Dina didn’t sense any Darklings. That didn’t mean they weren’t near, cloaking their evil intent.

  As the humans passed her intended destination, a wave of malice hammered her. Darklings. Inside the Cruor’s temporary home. Dina swept through the outer wall and into the dwelling. She freed her sword from the scabbard and paused between the sofa and coffee table, absorbing the auras permeating the structure. Two humans slept upstairs. A third human…rounded a corner leading to the kitchen.

  A glass of water in one hand, a bag of snack-sized potato chips in the other. The boy’s footed pajamas made a soft whoosh as he skidded to a halt. Adult humans couldn’t see her. Their minds were closed to the possibility of angels in their midst. Children, with their unlimited imagination, their minds accepted the improbable, embraced the impossible, and could see angels and Darklings.

  Eyes wide and face pinched with fear, his mouth opened on a long inhale, preparing for a scream. Cloaked and shrouded in the dark of the room, Dina shook off her hood, allowing the child to see her hair and the inner glow of her grace permeating her skin.

  “I’m here to protect you,” Dina said and watched his mouth slowly close. “I need you to return to your room and—”

  “Close the door. I know. The other angel said the same thing, but I was hungry.” The child dashed to the stairs.

  Other angel? Dina waited until she heard his door clink closed. Then she placed a protective shield around the bedrooms so none inside would hear anything transpiring below.

  Next, she moved to the half-open door below the stairs. If Gemma disobeyed her orders and followed, Dina would demote her back to a Comfort. She’d listen to humans whine every day for the next century as punishment.

  But it couldn’t be Gemma. Right now, Gemma should be engaged in battle, not in this house, ordering a child to their room. That meant one thing; the child or a parent had invited a demon into his home. They let the dark into what should have been their safe haven. Stupid. Irresponsible. Human. When would they learn? Apparently, never.

  Dina pulled the hood over her head and cloaked herself with a minimal amount of power, so not to alert the intruder. She faded through the wooden door and staircase. On the other side, she sank to her haunches and raised her sword.

  An iridescent light bled from a corner of the basement along the back wall. The portal was here and not waning. Over the millennia, she had been in this same position a handful of times, only to have the tether keeping the Cruor in this realm disintegrate the moment she approached. Today, this wasn’t the case. The portal covered the entire back wall, its connection to this realm was strong.

  Energy leached from the doorway. Its sweet scent beguiled the senses, a lure promising things only those weak in spirit could smell–desire. It led to damnation and delivered eternal doom.

  She should’ve brought the entire company and…done what? Though several methods had been attempted, there still was not a definitive way to close the portal, only anchor it.

  Once that had been achieved, and for a century the flow of Darklings had ended. Man flourished. Heaven rejoiced. That time would come again. She’d see to it.

  A quick glance around the room confirmed the basement was empty. She straightened but didn’t move from her spot. Something bothered her. This portal had to be here for a reason, as was the Darklings amassing in Flint. The Darklings could be a diversion for something greater. Something deadlier than them.

  Was the family resting upstairs involved? Either way, they were certainly at risk. Protecting them and slaying any Darklings daring to enter this world became her priority. The mission took on greater urgency.

  Now wasn’t the time to be foolhardy. This task was too much for her alone. She needed backup.

  Dina opened a link to Gemma.

  A figure separated from a shadowed space near a utility rack. Male, wide and muscular by the cut of the coat draping his tall frame. He moved directly in front of the portal, which throbbed in response. The light from inside expanded while the shadows curled and reached with whipped like tentacles to pull him back into the darkness.

  The way the Cruor responded, the male had to be a Demoni Lord. None other could cause such an effect.

  One had finally crossed over. No matter the cost, he had to be slain. Silently, she eased from her position.

  He spun, braced for battle.

  She couldn’t see his features, not with the portal as a backlight. He seemed to grow and strain against the confines of the room.

  An optical illusion to create doubt and despair. A common tactic, her mentor had tried that trick a few times in training. She almost laughed.

  Filled with items, she couldn’t fly in the tight space of the basement. Her wings would be a hindrance, so she retracted them and charged. This battle would be deadly and she had no surety of victory. Nevertheless, either her life would end, or this Lord’s, nothing less would suffice.

  He darted to the nearest shadowed area and vanished. She couldn’t chase him, not into the Shadows where no light—spiritual or natural—existed. An arm banded around her neck, the pressure enough to lift her off her feet. In the struggle, her hood slipped off her head. A fist slammed into her wrist, but she wouldn’t release her sword. Two elbows to his ribs produced grunts, yet no release of the pressure on her throat. For a second, she was surprised he hadn’t used his strength and leverage to snap her neck. The move wouldn’t kill her, but would immobilize her long enough for him to steal her weapon and slay her, if he was strong enough to withstand the burn the Empyreal steel inflicted on demon skin.

  His lack of skill would mean his downfall, not hers. A twist of her wrist shortened the length of the sword to a dagger. She thrust the point back into her attacker. He released her, spun her around and slammed her into the wall inches away from the portal. His forearm pressed across her throat. His hand ground her knuckles together, stopping her from twisting the handle again and skewering him.

  None of that was what halted her struggles to free herself and kill the male. What ended her struggle was the male himself.

  Light spilled over his face. The broad forehead with lowered brows, strong jaw and chin was familiar. His hair, once shoulder length, now the coppery strands were cropped close to his skull. His skin was devoid of the natural golden tan she remembered. Yet the eyes…the cerulean eyes she’d never forgotten were now pierce

  It couldn’t be him, except why else had her body come alive in ways it hadn’t since he fell? She had to say the name she’d only whispered once on the day he fell. Logic threatened to overrule her base instinct. She forced it away and said,

  “Gideon?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gideon leaned in and intensified the pressure on Dina’s throat. The bones in her wrist creaked as he tightened his hold, in sync with the dismay shredding his chest. He stared into her gold rimmed, peridot-colored eyes, and shut down his body’s automatic response.

  He hardened his resolve and ignored the corresponding hardening of his cock. “Surrender,” he commanded and was proud of the abbreviated snarl ripping from her throat and the knee to his gut. He wasn’t too pleased about his acidic blood eating away at his clothing as it dripped from his side and dissolved the concrete where it landed on the floor. Luckily, the wound wasn’t large and would soon close.

  Two jabs to his temple doubled his vision and weakened his hold.

  Gideon jumped away. The arc of her sword missed his torso by a hair. She kept coming, each swing, thrust, and spin a study of grace. She advanced, no hesitation in her attack, their lessons evident with each step. No mercy or uncertainty on her face, while his every action spoke of his indecision.

  He needed to get to the Cruor, which meant going through the woman fighting him, even if he had to hurt her. Everything in him revolted at the thought. He should have sensed her before she attack
ed. The aura of the Cruor must’ve masked her arrival. If he had sensed her, the current battle would’ve been avoided. He would have entered the portal instead of second guessing, and never had this precious memory.

  Lost in his ponderings, the tip of her sword grazed his throat. A backflip saved him, and a kick to her chin bought him time.

  Dina crashed into a stack of boxes. She didn’t stay down, but was on her feet the second he climbed to his. A shadowed corner lay to his right. She charged him. He stepped into the corner and allowed the stygian folds to engulf him.

  Gideon traversed the interwoven conduits only the UnHallowed could navigate and stepped out of the folds behind Dina. He slammed into her back and flattened her against the wall, using his weight to immobilize her. Even though his armor covered every inch of her body, she rubbed against him. The action was unintentional, yet still caused his muscles to momentarily seize, followed by a shudder coursing through his system. He bit off a moan.

  She hissed in outrage.

  He couldn’t move away or give her quarter because she would use any leeway to her advantage. That was how he taught her: Kill quickly with resolve and know your blade is Just.

  Now that her blade was turned on him, he wished he hadn’t trained her so fiercely. Then he wouldn’t be forced to break her wrist.

  The snap and crunch of bones sent a ripple of anguish through his body, coupled with her silence neither was a balm, yet the sword clanging to the floor helped. A broken wrist would be the worst of it. He kicked the weapon into the shadows and folded it into the conduits. That didn’t end her fight. She bucked and kicked.

  “Yield, Dina,” he grunted from each blow.

  “Never, Demoni. You wear his face, know my name, but you are not my Gideon.”

  Her voice…he hadn’t heard the husky tone in eons and had to quell the drugging effects. Her words weren’t surprising though they pained him. “I am Gideon.” Your Gideon. “Not a Demoni.”

  “Stupid of you to throw away the only thing that can kill an angel,” she snarled.

  True enough, if he could touch Empyreal steel without the metal igniting his skin. “I’m not going to kill you.”

  Her wings snapped open and slapped him. He leaped away and prepared for another attack. She turned, her wrist held against her abdomen. Gideon wasn’t fooled. The break would heal within the next few moments.

  “Then you are a Darkling. A new breed then.” She shrugged, a tactic to gain time and assess the situation. Pride swelled for her again. “Whatever you are, a single Darkling kill a Celestial Warrior? It happened once when a warrior had been outmaneuvered. You, Darkling will not be so fortunate.” She extended her hand and the shadows peeled away from her sword. The weapon flew to her palm. She raised it and stepped forward.

  Gideon didn’t move. The ability to retrieve her sword from the shadows, Dina was no ordinary warrior. How far had she risen in the rank?

  And trash talk? He couldn’t stop a grin from forming. She had no hope against a true Demoni Lord. Only an Archangel could tangle with one of them. Dina knew this because he’d drilled that into her head in her first lesson on the training field. That didn’t stop her from challenging him.

  And she was magnificent with her desperate determination. Her hair—compiled of every shade between brown and red—once flowed down her back, now brushed her jawline and framed her heart-shaped face in soft waves. Her grace pulsed beneath her pale skin.

  “The last time I saw you was seconds before I fell. You started toward me. I shook my head,” he said.

  Her steps faltered, and then halted. Her sword remained poised.

  “You kept coming. Caught me as Metatron plummeted and so many of his soldiers joined him. You wrapped yourself around me. Pleaded with me not to follow.” The bitter memory seared his brain. He didn’t want to remember the feel of her body, the softness of her feathers batting him, but had too. “I snapped your wings. Pushed you away and followed my leader—”

  “Into the pit.” She finished for him. Her voice a shaky whisper while the sword never wavered.

  Neither Metatron nor most of the warriors who followed him ended up in the lowest pit of Hell. Their existence would’ve been easier if they had. After all, it was what they deserved for their defiance. “Couldn’t let you follow me.”

  Her gaze searched his face, moved down to his body, and settled on his side where she’d stabbed him. The wound had healed quickly enough before the acid in his veins destroyed much of his clothing.

  “What are you? I want to hear the truth from your lips alone.”

  Precise and to the point. All this time, so much had changed. He found comfort that she had not. The glow from the Cruor bathed her in bluish light, and drew his attention to the armor shielding her. “Why are you wearing my armor?”

  Her sword dropped to her side and her head did that tilting thing whenever uncertainty outweighed reason. “If it’s your armor, call to it.”

  “And leave you unprotected?” He shook his head. “No.”

  She gnashed her teeth and pointed the blade at him. “Something the Gideon I know would say. Do not deflect. Answer my question. What are you?”

  “Have you no knowledge of us? Of what I am?”

  “Twice I’ve asked the question and received no answer. There will not be a third,” she said, though her semi-relaxed stance didn’t change. The truth of his existence was affecting her.

  But damn! How could she still be ignorant of the world around her? Though he doubted this ignorance was entirely her fault. He’d lay that blame at the Council of Archangels.

  “I am UnHallowed. Fallen, like the Darklings we both hunt, but unlike those denizens from Hell, I have a chance at redemption.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. “You lie.”

  “Which is it? Hard to believe me or harder to accept?”

  “I find no truth in your words, Darkling.”

  The light from the Cruor sputtered. The time for talk was over. “Leave, Dina.” He moved around her without a care to the blade she kept on him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m sealing it.”

  She gasped. “How? How is it you have this knowledge when the Celestial Army does not?”

  “They had the knowledge and refused to use it.” Gideon stepped in front of the Cruor. He battled its effects the moment he exited the shadows and held them at bay, yet every second he weakened, and the darkness inside of him grew. Soon it would dominate the small amount of grace left in his body.

  Dina grabbed his arm and spun him around. Her sword was down. Her body inches away. “Explain your statement!”

  The light from the Cruor dimmed. He pushed her, but she wouldn’t budge. “No time.”

  “Your answer is more important than the Cruor.” She hissed and squeezed his arm.

  Gideon felt her strength through the sleeve of his coat. “Nothing is more important than permanently sealing the gateway to Hell. Is that no longer the first principle taught?” Confusion flared in the depths of her eyes. He wanted to address it, soothe her fears, answer all her questions, and give her the explanations she needed to make sense of her newly altered world.

  The Cruor sputtered twice, shrank to half its size, and with a pop, the portal vanished. A string of curses left him. Damn it. This was his fault. He let her distract him when his total focus should have been on his objective.

  Too much had been lost, sacrificed for a chance at peace. The safety of the world had been placed in his hands and one glimpse at Dina…it wouldn’t happen again.

  Gideon knocked her hand off his sleeve and spun away. He smashed a nearby cardboard box. Photos and knickknacks spilled to the floor. He ignored the mess and whipped back around to take a chunk out of Dina’s stubborn hide.

  A soft halo of light emanated from Dina. The glow from her grace flowing beneath her skin turned her into a beacon. Shadows skittered away from her angelic purity.

  A purity he was unfit to touch.<
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  Her eyes, those peridot gems, didn’t waver from his face. The darkness inside him responded, not with the violence he expected. It purred in welcome. The frozen center of him wanted to bask in that light. He trembled from the need to drag her to him, to claim, and keep her.

  Dina reached out, her palm open instead of fisted.

  Gideon snarled low in his throat, more to squelch the urge to lean into her touch than to intimidate Dina. Either way, it didn’t work. Her hand did drop to her side and that was it. She didn’t move another muscle.

  Damn him, he loved her stubbornness. Another angel would’ve taken the hint. Not his Dina. Toe to toe, she would not back down, never had. A quality he once admired—still did—now he feared it would get her killed. Or worse.

  Not my problem anymore.

  Logic prevailed and his anger cooled. Another opportunity to seal the Cruor would come, but when and where? Fuck. He would not let another distraction get in his way.

  Gideon kept his goodbye to himself. He folded into the shadows where she couldn’t follow. Here, in the shrouded conduits, the UnHallowed ruled and angels feared to tread.

  He should have left, instead, he watched her spin in confusion, wondering at the bitterness on her face. Was it for him or where it should be rightly placed? In the end, it didn’t matter. She ascended and faded through the ceiling of the basement. Keeping to the shadows, he tracked her until she exited the house and blended into the sky.

  Gideon watched from the front lawn of the house. An itch inflamed his skin, which quickly turned into a burn as the night sky pinkened, even though thick clouds dominated the horizon. Keep to the shadows, he and all the UnHallowed must, or risk immolation. Their punishment.

  Something fluttered in the air, twisting and turning in the morning breeze.

  No. It can’t be.

  He stretched out his hands and caught a long black, blue-tipped feather. He didn’t savor the delicate fragrance clinging to its downy structure. Despair blocked any possessiveness he may nurture because this one feather could mean her doom.