Claimed by my Dark Angel: A Forbidden Paranormal Romance (Saints to Sinners Book 1)

by Fiona Darling

  “Cower back home to your master, dog. Tell Trigger not to bother coming round’ here. Revolver will be long dead by sun-up. I’ve done him a favor, putting down his rabid dog.”

  The wolf’s molten eyes gleam with malice, but it turns around and limps off in the night.

  Chapter 22

  Sophie

  “I’m going to make you sorry you ever laid eyes on me,” Revolver hisses, his face so close to mine our noses are practically touching. The sticky sweet scent of tobacco washes over me, and I quake in his death lock as my vision slips in and out. I can barely breathe with his hand clutched so tight around my windpipe the world starts to fade.

  A hand slams against my chest, knocking out any last whisper of breath in my body, and I stumble back into a graceless mess on Elise’s bare mattress shoved to the corner of the room. I gasp for air, sweet relief flooding my lungs. But the relief is only momentary. Before I can recover, my breath a new weight is on top of me, pressing me down.

  “Get off of me,” I try to scream but my words are hardly a wheeze with the man of hardened muscles and sinew smothering me with his impossible mass. My vision returns slowly, but in the scuffle, my hair is a mess over my face, and I see only pieces of my sister’s murderer through the screen of blonde over my face, like my body is trying to protect me from bearing witness to what’s about to happen.

  I thrash against him, but this only seems to excite him more by the massive bulge in his denim, pressed tight against my thigh.

  “If you touch me my—”

  “Your what?” His hyena-like cackle severs my threat. “Your guardian will come for you to save you?”

  He will come for me, I tell myself. He’s just outside, dealing with the werewolf I threw from the window. Then he will come for me. He has to. What’s taking him so long?

  Gideon…

  “I’ve got news for you. Your angel doesn’t give a shit about you. Why else would he have caved so easily when you chose your little drug habit over him? A better guardian would have fought for you and wouldn’t have cared what you wanted if it went against protecting you.”

  Revolver’s words sting like salt in a fresh wound. They hurt, because I know he speaks the truth. He admitted as much. But he’s different now, I feel it in my bones.

  “He’s protecting me now, and he’s going to come for you and tear you limb from limb.” The strength of my voice returns as I snarl at him and spit into his eye. Not the best course of action when an angry, bloodthirsty, horny werewolf is pinning you down to a mattress. But my searing fury is in the driver’s seat, and I know, I know Gideon will take over so my fury isn’t my only defense against the werewolf. He always prefers to drive.

  Revolver wipes the gob of spit, sliding down his cheek with the back of his hand and chuckles. The sound is void of all humor and brings the back of my hair to stand on end. I feel it’s similar to the reaction a deadly predator might have watching it’s ensnared prey struggle.

  “You’re different than before…” He drawls and grips my arms, running his hands over my skin like he’s examining me for any mark, any trace that might betray the secret he knows I keep. With one hand he pins my wrists above my head in a hold so tight it’s painful. I wince, burring my head to the side of the mattress, trying to squirm out the spotlight his eyes of gold cast over me.

  “You’re thicker, healthier, you’ve got a fire in you that wasn’t in you before.”

  “A near-death experience can change a person.”

  “No,” he whispers. In my periphery, I see him squint, biting his lips like he’s trying to solve a difficult puzzle and if he can’t, he might scramble the puzzle and scatter the pieces in frustration. “Bullets don’t do that. They make the weak weaker, not stronger.”

  The shifter’s free hand grips my chin, jerking my head so that my eyes are forced in front of his. I glare at him defiantly, and his grin widens like he’s found the last piece of the puzzle. “And bullets definitely don’t make their victims more intelligent. So, who are you?”

  “I’m Elise. Who else?”

  “That’s an interesting question. And I’m excited to pull the answer from you…” His hand lets go of my chin and snaps down to the neckline of my blouse. I yelp as his fingers curl under the fabric, and in one swift yank, shreds the top off me, disposing of it with a flick of his wrist. His sweaty, greedy palm cups my breast, and I buck against him in rebellion but I soon cease my struggle as he grows harder against me.

  This sick fuck likes it when I struggle.

  “Tell me, did your near-death experience somehow erase the tattoo you had on the top of this tit?” He gives my left breast a squeeze, for demonstration.

  “What?” I hiss through clenched teeth, stupidly.

  “You had a tattoo right here…” Another squeeze. “That said ‘survivor.’”

  My stomach knots into an unpleasant mass of nerves and grief. I didn’t know Elise had a tattoo, but then again, what did I know about her? So very little. Survivor. What a sad twist of fate.

  “I ask again, who are you?” Revolver’s fingers slide up my chest, wrapping around the base of my throat with a grip that has me choking for breath in seconds. My mind scrambles for an answer, but at this moment, all words evade me. Does it matter anyway? Regardless of my answer, my fate will be the same…

  “I-I—” I choke, but whatever answer I was about to give my assailant, another voice, silky and deep, answers in my stead.

  “She’s my girl. Take your hands off her of your own accord, or I’ll rip them from you myself if I must.”

  Gideon! My heart leaps for sweet joy as that commanding voice permeates through the tiny studio. I try to lift my head to see him, but despite the gravity of the angel’s threats, Revolver’s hold over me remains firm and unmoving.

  Instead movement in the shattered mirror of Elise’s vanity catches my line of sight. A shiver bolts down my spine at the sight of what greets me in glass’s reflection. In the circular mirror, a hulking figure of heavy muscle and sinew is perched in the window like a blood-drenched gargoyle. His head is silhouetted by the crescent of the moon and in the broken mirror, he wears it like a halo made of fractured light.

  I’m unsure if it’s the trick of the light in the vanity mirror or the product of my blurring vision as my windpipe is slowly being crushed. But for a moment, I swear I see wings made of smoke and steam radiating from the warmth of Gideon’s rain-drenched body.

  “Well, well, looks like your guardian showed up after all,” Revolver snarls. His voice falters. Even the werewolf is frightened by the creature perched on the window sill.

  But Gideon is no guardian, he’s a shadow, a remnant of the angel we once was. Sitting before us, power and dark energy emanating from him like a miasma is the avenging fallen I have come to love.

  My dark angel.

  “Come any closer, and I’ll crush her windpipe.” To punctuate his point, he gives my throat a hard squeeze, and I choke, gasping for air. The black edges around my vision slowly start to close in around me, but their voices remain.

  “Try it, and you’ll die slowly, painfully.”

  “Where is Diesel? What have you done with my brother?” Revolver’s tone spikes, skirting the edge of panic. The deep timbre of Gideon’s voice is different than how he’s ever talked to me. No longer is in gentle, as tender as a gravely baritone can be. It’s imposing, catastrophic even in its severe promise that laces his words.

  The last sensation I feel is the tremble of Revolver’s arm pinning me down as rapid, heavy footsteps approach. The weight leaves me in the next moment, and a muffled scream rattles my ears before I slide into darkness.

  * * *

  I’m surprised when I wake to see the first light of day, beautiful hues of blue and pink and orange slowly staining the horizon just beyond the passenger window of my Honda Civic. I blink rapidly, trying to shake myself free of sleep and focus on a familiar hand, warm and comforting on my thigh.

  “Good morning,�
�� Gideon murmurs. I turn to look at him and see him beaming at me, positively radiating light as if he’s the source of all the colors of the sky and not the rising sun.

  “Where are we?” I wince and reactively reach up to rub my tender throat. My voice is hardly more than a dry croak. I reach to pull down the passenger visor and wince at what I find in the mirror. A ring of black and blue bruises in the shape of Revolver’s hand sits just above the hollow of my throat.

  “Almost to Portland, we’ll be there soon I think.” Gideon’s smile fades to a scowl, dark brows pinching before returning his attention to the road. “Those bruises are the last remains of the drug dealing piece of shit who murdered your sister.”

  I heave a sigh of relief and give his hand a squeeze. “Thank you for saving me from the werewolves.”

  He returns the squeeze, his tone growing soft. “Thank you for saving me from myself.”

  A drowsy but happy smile touches my lips, and I look down to the hand in my lap, admiring the way my slender fingers entwine with his thick, calloused ones. Then another object resting in my lap catches my attention, one that had gone unnoticed until now.

  Resting on my thighs is a thick and well-loved book with creases in the spine and a paper bookmark sticking out of it. Outlander. It’s the romance novel we had found on Elise’s vanity the first visit we had made to the apartment. It was the book I had meant to grab when we paid a sudden, final visit to my sister’s home, a visit that could have turned out fatal and nearly did.

  Gideon had grabbed the book for me, knowing I had intended to retrieve it. Trying to hold back the tears that blur my vision, I open the page to the bookmark. I half expected to find the piece of paper that Elise had used to mark her place, the one with Revolver’s cell phone number. Instead, there’s a new piece of paper with a new number written in a different hand, one more sloppy and less elegant than my sister’s. At the top of the number is Gideon’s name scrawled with a lopsided heart drawn next to it in a ballpoint pen.

  “Your number?” I rasp.

  I cock a brow at the angel. With one hand still on the wheel, he removes his other from my leg and digs in the pocket of his denim jeans to extract an ancient-looking flip phone. He gives it a little wave, grinning ear to ear. “I never gave you my number. If we’re going to be living together, you should probably have my cell.”

  I look down at the paper, back to him, then back down at the paper. He’s right, I don’t even have his number. We’ve skipped a lot of the ‘normal’ steps in a relationship in the last two days to get to where we are now.

  Complete and utter perfection. I clutch the book to my chest and let out a content sigh.

  Epilogue

  Sophie – Six Months Later

  “Is that even?” Gideon calls down to me at the top of the ladder. With my hands holding the legs steady, I crane my neck to look at the banner that reads ‘Under new management.’

  “I think so, but it’s hard to see at this angle.” My line of sight drifts to my angel’s toned ass, looking absolutely sinful in his well-fitted jeans. Gideon looks down at me, his dark eyes warming in the light of the sunset as he realizes my attention is on his rear and not his task.

  “Maybe if the boss lady wasn’t so busy checking out her bouncer’s ass, she’d have a straighter banner.”

  I stick my tongue out, giving him a playful wink. “It’s my first official day as the owner of my bar. I have to make sure everything is in tip-top condition. That includes my hired muscle,” I grin up at him like a lovesick school girl. It’s been six months since Gideon walked into my life. I still work at the same shit bar I’ve worked at for years, I still live in the apartment above it. But now everything’s changed. Thanks to Damien’s generous donation of 25,000 dollars, and with Gideon’s relentless encouragement, I purchased the building and the bar from my elderly boss, making me the owner and operator.

  My angel’s obsidian eyes smolder and his lips quirk into a mischievous grin. “Maybe the boss lady should accompany me to her office and we can make sure her desk is in tip-top condition. Make sure it’s sturdy.”

  My cheeks flush and I bite my lip. Before I can get in another word, he scoops me up in his strong arms and whisks me inside the bar. I giggle, catching the playful smiles of all the employees I’ve worked with over the years.

  “Don’t mind us, everyone, just getting a very stern tongue lashing from the boss lady.”

  “Gid, stop,” I giggle in a way that suggests I don’t want him to stop at all.

  Once inside the office, he smacks the door shut with his heel and carries me over to the desk.

  The bar’s office is a room I’ve been in many times before but it was always to speak to the previous owner, I never imagined the little room would be all my own. I didn’t bother changing it much, with the desk and the leather chairs and the original bar sign from the 50s that came with the place when it first opened reading, “The Second Chance Tavern.”

  “Gideon, they’ll hear us,” I snicker as he places my back on the desk, wrapping my thighs around his corded waist.

  “They won’t hear if I’m gentle, ” he grins as he pulls his t-shirt over his head, muscles flexing under tattooed skin bathed in the soft red light of the neon sign. My mouth goes dry at the sight of the sinfully delicious man looming over me with pure lust glazing his face.

  “I don’t want you to be gentle.”

  His eyes glint wickedly in the crimson glow of the room. “Then let them hear,” he says through a husky growl. His hands grip my thighs in a hungry grasp, sliding the black fabric over my thighs. Knowing my mate, I’d expected he’d want to christen my desk as soon as possible so I had planned for the occasion.

  His eyes widen in surprise as he stares down at my bare pussy. “So, this is why your scent’s been driving me mad all day. You’re not wearing any panties.”

  “I thought I’d leave the wrapping off so you could enjoy your present right away.”

  The fallen’s nostrils flare in arousal, and his hand drops to free his length from his jeans, springing the beast of a cock from its cage.

  “Prepare yourself for me, baby.”

  But he doesn’t give me much time to prepare at all. With one swift jerk of his hips, his thick dick slams inside me, spreading me open. I smack my palm over my mouth to smother my cry, and it comes out strangled. My back arches off the desk and he grips my hips as he pumps into me with quick rapid-fire succession that has me melting underneath him.

  He’s painfully delicious.

  “Gideon,” I moan his name like it’s the only prayer I know. This drives him wild. He cups my cheek, a thumb hooking in my mouth. I suckle at the digit like a starving succubus.

  “Mine,” he grunts in a tone that doesn’t entirely sound like himself. The voice is disjointed, heavenly, hellish, a tell of his true nature.

  I’m fucking a fallen angel, my angel.

  “Mine, mine, mine.”

  “I’m yours,” I gasp around him. This is his undoing, and he grunts as he releases inside me with my own climax spiraling soon after his. He collapses on top of me while taking care not to crush me under his weight, his chest heaving against mine.

  For a moment, we lie in blissful silence. His hand threads in my hair, and I enjoy watching him from this angle, on top of me with his skin coated in a gleaming film of perspiration that makes his whole body glow in the after-effects of our lovemaking.

  “I love you so much,” he whispers into my ear after several minutes. “And I’m so proud of you.”

  I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders. I let my head loll back on the desk, and he follows my line of sight to the bar sign, my bar. No…our bar.

  “I couldn’t have done it without my guardian angel looking over my shoulder.”

  He chuckles and pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling me in for a kiss. We’ve kissed countless times now, morning, noon, and night. He’s always there, always beside me, always there to remin
d me that I’m loved. Six months later, he’s still made good on his promise, I never have to be alone again. Despite working as a bouncer at the bar, even before I bought it from my boss, he hasn’t had a single drop of booze.

  The darkness I found him in, was left behind in Seattle.

  He pulls himself up and looks down at me with an impish smirk as he stuffs himself back in his jeans.

  “I hope you call me to your office often, Boss. Maybe next time, I’ll give you the tongue lashing.”

  “Stop that,” I giggle. “I’m not your boss. We own it together.”

  “Together,” he drawls as if tasting each syllable over his tongue. “Yeah, I like that word. Together.” He leans down and kisses my forehead.

  “Always.”

  THE END

  Note from the Author

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read Claimed by my Dark Angel: Saints to Sinners Book 1. If you enjoyed this book or would like to leave a comment, I encourage you to leave a review. Reviews are so important for independent authors like me and your support is very much appreciated.

  If you’re eager to learn more about the Saints to Sinners world and I’ve left you hungry for more naughty angels, I encourage you to check out Gabriel’s story in Claimed by my Guardian Angel: Saints to Sinners Book 2.

  If you are interested in connecting with me you can follow me on Instagram or you can email me directly at authorfionadarling@gmail.com, I’d love to hear from you!

  Also by Fiona Darling

  Claimed by My Guardian Angel (Saints to Sinners Book 2)

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08HJ3F6QF

  I want him. I need him. Too bad having him probably means I’m going to hell.