“Well, I’m glad that you did,” Isaac said.
“Send me the report when you have it.” He hung up.
Spotting a food cart, Chamuel’s stomach grumbled. Time for breakfast, he thought and uncloaked. No one noticed his sudden appearance next to the glass door of Cara’s building. Using the glass as a mirror, he stared back at his own vivid blue eyes. He wore the standard, all-black Guardian uniform; his open duster exposed the T-shirt and cargo pants underneath. Even though his hair was still neatly tucked into a ponytail, he couldn’t resist smoothing the sides with his hands. Satisfied that he looked presentable, he smiled. The expression softened his face and transformed his image from intimidating to attractive.
Chamuel ambled over to the street vendor to buy an egg sandwich and a cup of coffee. Not exactly gourmet, but it would do. Starting his assignment early, he planted himself outside the building and devoured his breakfast under a veil of invisibility. He wasn’t willing to take any chances with Cara’s safety after this morning’s surprises. He smiled. Maybe it was wrong, but he looked forward to catching a glimpse of his very beautiful new charge.
Chapter 4
ACHANELECH
New Jersey. Teterboro Airport. Wednesday, March 19, 10:00 a.m. EDT
Achanelech shifted his weight onto his jewel-topped cane and paced the cabin of his private jet, impatiently waiting for his consort’s return so they could take off. He’d gone to take a look at Cara himself and, he must say, he was disappointed. Was this the best the Angelorum had to offer?
He winced as he walked. As he was unable to retract the claws at the end of his toes, his Armani leather shoes pinched his feet. Although he paraded around in human form most of the time, he couldn’t fully transform his feet, or his forked tongue, to the human equivalents. He’d never honed his skills that far.
His leg ached more than usual today as he hobbled back and forth along the aisle. An old battle injury that had never healed followed him across all his forms. All the milling about he’d done earlier in the subway hadn’t helped. Then there was the incessant pulsating on the back of his neck under his hairline where his sigil lay hidden under his skin. But even the pain in his leg wasn’t enough to quiet the demonic whispers reverberating in his head, calling his name, and making his neck throb.
The hellspeak of his demon children taunted him as he waited. The sound grated on his nerves and nearly drove him to the edge of madness whenever he had no distractions. Their hunger drove their urging. They needed more souls to keep them satisfied and to prevent a not-so-friendly summoning through the portal into Hell by his Master. Achanelech understood, but they would have to wait. In the meantime, he would do what he could to elude a trip to Hell...forever. He’d gladly waste away here on Earth, a dusty chunk of Purgatory, rather than take his place in the perpetual hierarchy of suffering down there, even for a visit. The only thing worse would be getting thrown into Heaven’s prison with Semyaza and his fornicating Watchers to spend an eternity consumed in remorse until Judgment Day.
Speaking of which, he wondered how his pet Nephil had performed on its assignment.
Vile abomination, he thought with disgust. He couldn’t even bring himself to acknowledge the Nephil by its gender. That would have bestowed a certain level of dignity Achanelech was unwilling to give.
Angels breeding with humans. The Watchers deserved to rot in darkness for sullying their bloodline. He may have fallen far and had his wings ripped from his body, but he was once of their essence. How those of his ilk could bear to get caught up in the pathetic little lives of humans, much less breed with them, he didn’t know. Humans would be the eternal weakness of his enemies, the Angelorum—a bunch of bleeding liberals blindly protecting His creation. To look at mankind as more than what they were—a mere source of food—was stupidity of the highest order.
The noise level rose to a crescendo in his head.
“Be patient, pets. Sustenance shall be forthcoming,” he whispered in their language. The pulsing on the back of his neck receded. He passed his hand through his hair and gave his sigil a good rub.
The door of the plane cracked open and in walked his consort in the guise of a homeless crone. She was followed quietly by a tall, blond Nephil male wearing the loose, white garments of an ancient slave. Achanelech was nothing if not nostalgic. His consort had insisted his pet be bathed, the filth removed from it prior to being brought into her presence for this mission. His Nephil’s appearance now fresh, its angelic beauty unable to be contained, churned up feelings of loathing within Achanelech. Had the abomination dared to show its brilliant white plumage, Achanelech would have become violent. They were a reminder of what had been taken from him. Leathery bat wings sprouted from Achanelech’s shoulder blades whenever he took demon form now, providing a pale shadow of the beauty he’d lost.
The male hung back with his eyes averted, giving off an air of respect and deference.
“Mission accomplished,” Emanelech said before the air shimmered and her shape melted, transforming into that of a tall, raven-haired beauty in a slinky dress, which she knew pleased him. “She’s quite powerful, that young Soul Seeker.”
He looked at her impatiently. “Yes, but is she the One?”
Arching a brow, she gave him a sour look. “Our source believes it to be the case. Regardless, her essence could provide a hearty meal indeed.”
“Then let’s dispatch her. I was less than impressed,” he said, thinking of the hungry mouths he had to feed.
“No need to be hasty. She’s still unawakened. And don’t you think it would be best to get our facts straight before we send word to the Master?” She gave him a smug smile.
He suppressed a growl deep in his throat, despising the fact that she was right. Instead, he nodded in the male’s direction and asked her, “What about this one? How did the halfling do?”
Even as Achanelech looked at the Nephil, he wondered how much he could trust it after the abuse inflicted on it over the last century. Until his minions had started capturing other Nephilim, this one had been their only specimen. The creature standing before him was oblivious to what it was or that more of its kind existed...or so he hoped. Emanelech assured him the Nephil was less than smart and hadn’t caught on to his part in luring more of its kind into captivity before he’d been tossed back into a prison cell. Achanelech had kept it sheltered over the years, under constant watch due to its value. But that value had been diluted recently with a dungeon full of the halfling’s Nephilim brethren kept secretly and securely hidden. If Achanelech could harvest the abomination of its soul, he would. But its Nephilim essence rendered its soul poisonous to the Dark Ones. The same was true for members of the Angelorum: their souls were equally as poisonous. Another one of the galling rules in the battle between good and evil.
God forbid the playing field not be level, he thought, using a modern turn of phrase.
Emanelech cast a cold glance in his pet’s direction. “Fine. No complaints.”
“Mongrel, what say you?”
The Nephil kept its head bowed. “The mission was a success, Father,” it responded softly, but not softly enough to mask the rich, melodic tone of its voice.
Achanelech ground his teeth. If a whip had been handy, he would have used it to add fresh scars to the flesh underneath the halfling’s clothes. Nephilim heal fast, but with the right instruments, marks remain. The thought filled him with delight.
Raking his eyes over the Nephil, Achanelech snorted. He was unsure whether he despised the halfling’s light coloring more because it reminded him of the Nephil’s angelic half or human half. Compared to Achanelech’s own dark looks, the male looked soft despite its clear masculinity and large stature. After possessing this Nephil for well over a century, Achanelech found the male a poor substitute for the retribution he’d hoped to exact for the loss of the one who had mattered to him most at the hands of his enemies.
“Acchie, I was thinking...” Emanelech said, finger to her lips.
Achanelech’s brow shot up, and he gritted his teeth at the nickname. “Oh? That could be a dangerous proposition.”
Her ice-blue eyes turned to black. “I understand you’re in need of some souls. Unless you’d like to procure them yourself, I’d suggest you rethink your tone.”
If she were a less-powerful being, he would have killed her after having lain with her, but she was far too dangerous, and in many ways his perfect match. Hence, her longevity at his side. Brushing his hand over his face, he released a heavy sigh. “Fine, chérie. What were you about to say?”
Her eyes faded back to blue, and she glanced at his pet. “Maybe we should chat in private.”
“Step outside, Mongrel,” he said, dismissing his pet with a wave of his hand.
Once the door was securely closed behind the male, she continued. “Your Nephil. He’d be the perfect spy to confirm our suspicions about the girl now that we know she’s in New York City.”
Achanelech wanted to question her sanity but knew better. “Why him?”
“Simple. He’s Nephilim. He can get close without causing panic. Demons will be hunted, but with him, the worst that could happen is they assume it’s a case of mistaken identity with one of the Angelorum Guardians.”
“How do I prevent him from running?”
She sniffed. “Like he has anywhere to go. Besides, you implanted him with a tracking device.”
He hated to admit it, but she had a point...again. He’d tagged the Nephil as a child, and recently embedded a high-tech explosive GPS under its skin. If his pet went rogue, he could always hunt it down and kill it... or just detonate the device.
“I’ll give it some thought.”
Emanelech stretched out on the bench seat and kicked off her high heels. “Unless you want him to fly back under his own power, it might make sense to decide before we take off. And for Lucifer’s sake, give him some proper clothes.”
Achanelech walked over to her, trying to mask his limp. A cold smile touched his lips. “Don’t get too smart, or someday I might just have to kill you.”
“Give it your best shot, hot lips,” she said, grasping his collar in her hands and pulling him down into a kiss.
More Books by This Author
TRINITY STONES, Book One in the Angelorum Twelve Chronicles series is available now where all fine books are sold.
“O’Connor tackles important world building, while also kicking off the story with a bang.” ~Publisher’s Weekly
On her 27th birthday, Cara Collins, a single New York investment banker with an anxiety disorder receives a stunning inheritance and is taken under the wing of angels. When Dr. Kai Solomon, Cara’s longtime friend and first love, is kidnapped by dark force, Cara must choose: accept her place in a 2,000 prophecy foretold in the Trinity Stones as the First of the Holy Twelve who will lead the final battle between good and evil...or risk losing everything she holds dear.
Genre: Paranormal: Angels / Urban Fantasy / Paranormal Romance
Audience: Ages 18+ / adult language and content (ADULT VERSION)
Publisher: She Writes Press
ISBN-13: 978-1-938314-84-1 (Trade Paperback)
ISBN-13: 978-1-938314-85-8 (eBook)
TRINITY STONES (ADAPTED FOR YOUNG ADULTS) VERSION Available exclusively on AMAZON
WANDERER’S CHILDREN, Book Two in the Angelorum Twelve Chronicles series is available where all fine books are sold.
Cara’s second chance encounter with rock star Brett King is no coincidence. One of the Wanderer’s Children, he and the blood of his secret siblings are the key to gathering the rest of the Twelve...if betrayal and Lucifer don’t rip them apart first.
Genre: Paranormal: Angels / Urban Fantasy / Paranormal Romance
Audience: Ages 18+ / adult language and content (ADULT VERSION)
Publisher: Collins-Young Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-0-990738-10-7 (Trade Paperback)
ISBN-13: 978-0-990738-14-5 (eBook)
Acknowledgments
I want to say thank you to my tremendous team for all your love and support. Without you, the final book wouldn’t have been what it is today. Thank you to my “cross-stitch” beta reading crew: Marilyn, Lesley, and Eileen; the newest additions to my beta reading team: Wendy, West, and Phoebe; my editor Ray Rhamey; and my final pair of eyes, Nancee Adams-Taylor. Without them, this book wouldn’t have been nearly as good.
About the Author
By day, L. G. O’Connor is a corporate executive in a Fortune 250 company. By night, she’s a writer of adult Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, and Contemporary Romance who lives in Northern New Jersey. She lives a life of adventure, navigating her way through dog toys and soccer balls and loaning herself out for the occasional decorating project. When she’s feeling particularly brave—she enters the kitchen.
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Hope's Prelude: The Angelorum Twelve Chronicles #2.5 Page 14