ANGEL RISING
REDEMPTION BOOK 1
By
LaVerne Thompson
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, or other status is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2015 by LaVerne Thompson
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever known, not known or hereafter invented, or stored in any storage or retrieval system, is forbidden and punishable by the fullest extent of the law without written permission of the author. LaVerne Thompson. [email protected]
Lavernethompson.com
[email protected]
Editor Lara Parker
Line Editor Wicked Muse Productions
Cover Art Fiona Jayde
http://fionajaydemedia.com
Cover Model
Grigoris Drakakis
ISBN- 978-0-9859646-9-6 eprint
Dedication
For all those who believe in angels and for those who need to believe. But especially for those who believe in love.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my critique partners Angela, Scarlet, and Janice. And thank you Zena and Lara for the first round of edits. Leanore you rock! Could not have done this with you all.
Prologue
Warning to those who follow:
Evil does not always wear the face of the unappealing. People don’t usually spend time gazing into the eyes of the homely. On the contrary, most poor souls are too busy looking away, or perhaps trying to pretend they don’t notice the unsightly wart on someone’s face. Yet, they gaze raptly into the eyes of beauty.
Malevolence can and will display the face of immense loveliness and often not just a stunning portrait, but one reserved for gods and angels alike. After all, such is a face with which to become enraptured. Mortals are unable to look away from those eyes of deepest midnight, set in such perfectly symmetrical beautiful features, only to be ensnared in the abyss of their own destruction. Most people don’t bother to look past the façade. If, for some reason, they happen to catch a glimpse of the vast emptiness lying within the portals to what should have been a soul, they discount it. Claiming it is nothing more than a trick of the light. More fool they.
People are experts at denial, especially with what they don’t understand. Or fear. Which is why those with hollow souls exist unknown among us. The soulless ones roam the world looking for something to fill the void inside, craving the emotions they do not have. Human blood, fueled on strong emotions, provides such nourishment.
Hate and violence are the most filling and favored, but over time, require vast amounts of human fodder. These emotions are the easiest to understand and manipulate on a large and more satisfying degree. It is mere child’s play for these soulless creatures to manipulate brother to kill brother, or friend to turn on friend, and then gorge on the resulting hatred and violence. When one is nearby, death is sure to follow.
All it takes is a whisper in the right ear—at the right moment. Timing is everything. Wherever there is war, destruction, fear or strife, there is one without a soul nearby, filling the desolation with strong emotion. Guaranteeing the escalation of negative, destructive energies.
However, as with most things under God’s creation, there are gray areas and exceptions. Some soulless ones are not evil and merely wish to survive, to exist among us. Without a soul they must be, but they try to maintain a balance, taking as well as giving. While one kind kills, the other doesn’t. They even bring a sense of relief. But there is no easy way to tell the difference between those that do and those that don’t until it is much too late.
So, if you happen to catch a glimpse of anyone with black, dead, depthless eyes, it is not a trick of the light. Look away. Then, Run!
Kalipia, first Chronicler
Chapter One
The man stood in front of the building housing his uncle’s dojo and inhaled. The odors of sweat and even a little blood filled his senses. Exhaling, his warm breath frosted white when mixed with the cold. He pushed against the closed door and it opened. The sounds of grunting inside reminded him of his own victories and defeats. It drew him beyond the empty waiting area and down the long hallway flanked by classroom doors. The only lit room flagged the last evening class coming to an end. But he wasn’t there for class. He made his way to the back of the building to the only door without a window on it—Samuel’s office.
Beyond the open doorway, he found his uncle seated behind his desk.
Samuel looked up as soon as he walked in. His uncle rose, coming around the desk to hug him and pat him on the back. “Karl, what are you doing here?”
Considered tall at six feet, he still had to glance up at his uncle who had a good three inches on him. Even though they both had the same green eyes and sharp cheekbones, he had red hair while his uncle’s was dark brown with blond highlights. And whereas, Karl just turned twenty-eight, his uncle only looked about twenty-eight. The nature of their blood relationship was complicated.
“Not that I’m not damn glad to see you,” Samuel continued, “But it’s late. Is Brenda alright?”
Karl pulled away from his uncle and raked jittery hands through his short-cropped hair. “Yeah, she’s fine. She’s home.”
“Come on, sit down,” Samuel urged, closing the door and gesturing to one of two chairs in the room.
So far so good. Karl took a seat, inhaling this time to calm his racing nerves. He should have known his uncle would be happy to see him. Now, he felt guilty he hadn’t done more to keep in touch.
Samuel leaned against his desk facing him. “Okay, I know something’s wrong. What is it?”
His uncle could read his emotions. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“Two years is too long, Karl.”
They’d last seen each other on Karl’s wedding day. After Karl’s marriage, Samuel put distance between them. His uncle’s way of trying to protect him, since Karl didn’t want to tell his bride the truth about himself or Samuel.
Samuel looked a little sad. “I didn’t want it to be this way.”
“I know. I couldn’t tell her.”
“Just because I was against the marriage at first, because I thought you were both too young, does not mean I’m not happy you found love.”
Karl grinned. Practically everyone they knew, even the eighty-five-year-old maintenance man in the building, would be too young for Samuel. “I understand, Samuel. It was because of my own fears and immaturity that you cut me loose. You did the right thing.”
“True, and by staying out of your way neither one of us would have to lie to your wife about the ugly side of my life.”
Karl nodded. “I know. And I understood, still do.”
“You’re here now and I’ve missed you, man,” Samuel said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I would also never allow Brenda to be anywhere near the danger I’m involved in.”
Karl’s mouth curled up into a weak smile. First and foremost, Samuel protected those closest to him. Which is what made this both difficult and easy.
“Okay. So what’s going on?” Samuel asked. “Your depres
sion is beating at me, and you’ve lost a little weight.”
Karl hung his head then raised it to look his blood uncle in the eyes. After so long of having to hide his true feelings, he allowed his fears to surface. “I lost my job as a broker about eight months ago. But even before that, things were tight. We lost a lot of money in the stock market and have been living on savings. I’m—I’m facing foreclosure.”
“Shit!” Samuel dropped his hands to the desk. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Brenda doesn’t know. She thinks I’m out buying more wine for our cellar. God, man, I feel like such a failure.” His damn pride, the reason why he hadn’t gone to Samuel earlier. Shit, pride didn’t pay bills.
“You are not a failure.” Samuel leaned forward a little. “I should have paid closer attention to you both. Okay. What’s left on the note for your brownstone?”
Karl told him.
Samuel moved back behind the desk and opened up the laptop on it. “What’s your checking account number?” He took his bankcard out of his wallet and passed it to him.
“I don’t want a hand out, Samuel. I will pay you back.”
“Oh, no you won’t. You’re family. I have more than enough for ten life times. Besides, if anything happens to me, it’s all yours anyway.”
“Thank you.” One less thing to worry about, but regardless of what Samuel said, he had to find a way to pay his uncle back. He’d been wrong to allow Samuel to stay out of their lives. He could have approached the man before this happened.
A knock on the closed door had Samuel glancing toward it. “Come in.”
A tall, dark-skinned, heavily muscled man stepped into the room. “Hey, sorry to bother you. Just wanted you to know class is over and I’m ready to roll whenever you are.”
“Eric, this is my nephew, Karl.”
“Hey, Karl,” Eric said, stepping forward to shake Karl’s hand.
Karl noted he didn’t bat an eye at the fact he appeared older than his uncle. Which meant he knew Samuel’s secret.
Samuel tossed Eric a set of keys. “Saddle up. I’ll be with you in five.”
“Cool. Nice meeting you,” Eric nodded, then left.
“I don’t recognize him?” Karl noted.
“Yeah, he started not too long after you left. There are quite a few new members.”
“Are you going out tonight?” Karl asked, getting an idea.
Samuel nodded. “Yes. We’ve seen a pattern.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” he offered.
His uncle smiled and shook his head. “We’re good.”
“But you can use my emotions,” Karl insisted. “They’re still running high, and I can focus on them.”
“No.”
“Samuel. Let me do this.” He gripped the arms of the chair. “I can help. Remember, I was trained by the best.”
His uncle paused, staring at him intently before grinning. “Okay. Last time.”
Karl released the breath he’d been holding and relaxed his hands. He owed his uncle so much and regretted not telling him about the baby—he couldn’t. If Samuel knew Brenda was ten weeks pregnant, Samuel Glaus would never let him put himself at risk. But he had to. His small way of making up with his uncle and paying him back.
Thalya stood alone on her balcony, hands braced on the wide stone railing overlooking Central Park. The wind picked up, blowing her chest length curls away from her face and cutting through the material of her thigh high sleeveless silk dress. Bitter cold accompanied the end of January or so she understood. She would love this time of year, if she could, even the cold. Too bad, she couldn’t feel any of it. No matter the external temperature, her body heat never changed.
Winter boasted her most fulfilling time of the modern year. The onset of depression. The time mortals realize they’ve spent way too much of the money they did not have over the holidays and now owed more than they could afford. Then, maybe they have gained twenty pounds during those holidays on top of the twenty already making them overweight. Or how about the woman, who at thirty, not only didn’t get an engagement ring for Christmas, but also by New Year’s, she no longer has a boyfriend?
To walk the earth she must feed her hollow soul. Yes, this time of year kept the void inside her full of emotion. The kind she craved. Mortals were so ripe for plucking. Hunger had her licking her full cranberry-colored lips in anticipation…the void within would soon be filled.
Opening up her senses, she sniffed out the most depressed in the city block around her. While she had no human sense of smell, the scents of emotions to her were as potent, as humans would say a bouquet of freshly cut roses. She could have gone out and canvassed a wider area but her favorite show, Being Human would start in a half hour. She never liked recording the program if she could help it, so she tried not to miss an episode.
Thalya preferred to live in the moment, because she’d had enough of the past. Besides, she didn’t have to go far, plenty of depression existed right around her. Why, right across the street a man entered the park. The scent of his depression rode right to her on the wind. Hot, potent and yummy, she would feed on it for a few days. There were no others of her kind in the area, so she wouldn’t have to warn anyone off. Although, quite a few soulless resided in New York, the size of the area ensured she didn’t run into others if she didn’t want to, which she usually didn’t.
Going back inside her penthouse condo, she walked across thick sand-colored carpet. Her artist friend, Franklin, would have both loved and hated the great room. Loved it for the cool colors—reds, beiges, and golds. Those had been his favorites, but then she’d stuck a long, extra-wide black leather sofa smack in the center of it. He hated leather and black.
Franklin, long gone…just another from her past.
She changed her mind about recording her show and headed for her entertainment control pad sitting on the low side table. The pad came with the flat TV. Picking up the control, she programmed it. Just in case. A long, dark chocolate colored leather coat lay over the arm of the sofa. She grabbed the coat, put it on and headed for her private elevator. She didn’t need it but she wanted to blend in. No jumping from her balcony or moving too fast for any mortal eyes to see. Tonight she would act normal. Normal, at least for a human. As an additional benefit, when she walked through her lobby to get to the street, she would open her senses to her immediate surroundings, sampling a taste of surface emotions as she passed by. A nice appetizer before her main course.
Not all of her kind could suck out emotion without touch but as an olden, one from a time long past and more powerful than most, she could. But other things also set her apart from those like her. She did not need to kill her providers or have them kill others to satisfy her needs. Draining humans of their depression, her emotion of choice, more than satisfied her. Why, she didn’t even have to cause it. Humans had it in abundance. She merely put her providers to sleep and afterwards, they usually woke up feeling less depressed. Hers represented a more symbiotic relationship. She actually helped people, much like a psychiatrist would. Only, instead of talking them out of their depression, she drained it right out of them.
The elevator door opened and she got on.
This hotel where she lived also housed private residences, but a few guest milled around the lobby for the evening. Just enough people around with some serious issues to make her grin and tremble within her ankle-length leather coat.
“Delicious,” she purred, savoring her version of oysters on a half shell. Red knee high stiletto boots clicked as she crossed the polished marble floor. She ignored the appreciative looks of the men and women as she glided among them, intentionally projecting a do not approach compulsion. Look but don’t touch, unless she was the one doing the touching.
The doorman opened the door for her and smiled. “Good evening. Cold one tonight.” Bundled in layers and with a wool cap on his head, he stood directly beneath a heating vent to stay warm.
He always
spoke. She rarely did and tonight, she didn’t. She flashed him some teeth in the semblance of a smile. At least she hoped it looked like a smile and not a grimace. Happiness. It rolled off him in waves. She’d never tried draining that emotion from her providers, although over the centuries she’d met a few of her kind who preferred it. Anything to fill the void in the soulless place. But stealing someone else’s happiness always seemed unnecessary to her. Depression worked just fine.
Out on the sidewalk, the scent hit her again. Like a shining point of light in dark woods, the depressed man she’d sensed beckoned her to follow him. After crossing the street, Thalya entered the park. It didn’t take long to find him.
He sat on a bench at the other end of the park, leaning over with his head in his hands.
She wouldn’t be able to read his thoughts until she actually touched him. No matter, she sensed his depression.
He’d picked a bench away from the lighted path, but they didn’t have complete privacy. A few people walked through the park at the other end and they weren’t far from the street. Still, she could not resist. No more than the moth could fight being drawn to a roaring flame. They were secluded enough for her purpose. Besides, anyone could look in their direction any time, but no one would see anything alarming. Just a beautiful woman sitting with a man. Even if they did notice, it wouldn’t prevent her from doing what she must. Her survival demanded it.
She sat on the bench next to him; he didn’t even bother to look up. Thalya placed her hand on his shoulder and her inner feminine muscles contracted to the point, she almost had an orgasm.
Depression, and so potent.
“Mmm, good,” she murmured.
At her touch, he raised red-rimmed eyes in her direction.
Finally, she had his attention.
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