Your kind words and encouragement motivate me as a writer and as a person.
Your thoughts and engagement also help me become better.
It’s my desire to take things to the next level based off our shared discussions!
Want to know when the next book or major update is ready? Join the email list here:
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Thank you again with all my heart to my readers. Nothing happens without you.
Thank you to my editor who deserves all the credit in the world.
And thank you to friends and family for putting up with me disappearing into the story world.
Writing this story was truly a pleasure and adventure, and my biggest hope is that you came away with a fun experience!
All the very best,
Leighton Lawless
P.S. I’ve included the beginning of Death Suits Her Book II: Lost Angel below as a thank you for joining me on this journey.
About the Author
Leighton Lawless grew up in the countryside and had her first taste of life through stories and characters. It was an escape into other worlds where she got to meet exciting and interesting people who were birthed from the imagination of creative authors.
Her first job was traveling between restaurants, gas stations, grocery stores, truck stops, and pharmacies to stock novels on those old-fashioned metal book racks that you can swivel around until you find one to your liking. Leighton devoured the books while stocking the racks and recommending her favorite stories to readers she met out on the road.
The second she turned eighteen, she was off to explore the rest of the world and moved from country to country devouring experiences and folklore from any person who would share, from Asia, Africa, Europe, South America, Central America, and The Middle East. Along the way, she collected insight from their stories and from meeting interesting people in every corner of the world. Eventually, she applied her love for the tales of others and began editing short stories, non-fiction biographies, and poetry for several magazines and publishers.
There was one thing she’d always wanted to do but hadn’t even thought possible. She wanted to tell stories too. So, she started sharing what she’d experienced with anyone who would listen and found that if she could apply oral storytelling traditions to the written word, the stories and experiences she had could be brought to life inside the world of books.
While some of the books are grounded in reality, others explore exciting new worlds with elements of pulp fiction, thrillers, science fiction, fantasy, superheroes, villains, and the supernatural. The settings and themes may differ in the books, but all of them share one thing in common: they focus on powerful but flawed individuals who aren’t afraid to stand their ground, rely on their natural abilities, and develop a team of friends and allies to help them achieve their goals, all while trying to stay true to what they believe is right in this world. If you enjoy exciting stories that push boundaries, it’s Leighton’s hope that you’re about to begin a journey of adventure and excitement that opens up a new world of imagination.
Acknowledgments
All the thanks and gratitude in the world goes out to the editors, advance copy readers, and workshop writers who have given their support and encouragement. This story isn’t possible without all of you.
Equally, it’s barely possible to express how much gratitude and thanks goes out to family and friends who have been so supportive, encouraging, and kind throughout the journey that a writer goes through in pouring one’s heart and soul into a story. You keep the world going.
Lastly, all the thanks and appreciation that can be mustered in the known universe goes out to you, the readers, who have given this story an opportunity to open up worlds of possibility. None of this is possible without you. You are the reason for this story.
Death Suits Her II
LOST ANGEL
“And There Was A War In Heaven,” a soothing, powerful, and resonate voice booms through the darkness. “Revelation Chapter Twelve, Verse Seven. The war has arrived.”
A quarter moon hangs over a European cityscape. The streets are cobblestone, the homes were built centuries ago with intricate craftmanship that still stands, and the oak trees lining the sidewalks are even more ancient.
This city, Vatican City is a beacon of hope, but overcast storm clouds wash away that hope and warn of a much darker era.
The brushstrokes of an angry sky envelope everything that’s visible for miles on end. Storm clouds mass over a warren of clenched streets and alleys echoing with the sound of rapid footfalls.
Most believe that the War in Heaven happened long ago. What they don’t know is that this was only the First Holy War.
Lucifer rebelled and was cast down.
The archangel Michael then led a force of his own volition to end the conflict and invade Hell itself but without God’s blessing.
Without the full backing of Heaven’s armies, Michael fell.
Lucifer prevailed and has been building his armies of darkness ever since.
I would know. I was there for the rebellion in Heaven and Michael’s misguided invasion of Hell. My punishment for following Michael was the loss of my wings.
The only thing more painful was the day that Lucifer had my son, Noah, taken from me and delivered to his domain. We lost three archangels in the attempt to rescue him.
Since his fall, Lucifer can’t reenter Heaven despite having amassed armies throughout the centuries under his command with the intent to attack again.
He kidnapped my son, who’s half-angel and half-human, which makes him Nephilim, as part of a plan to use Noah as a living key to break through the Pearly Gates.
I wasn’t having it.
With the combined strength of the remaining archangels–Brody who gave his life to save us, Michael who had betrayed me but turned back against Lucifer once he had the chance to help us escape, Jessup who let jealousy take him over and lead to his death, Dominic, Hines who is half-human and half-angel like my son, and me—we took the fight to the gates of Hell.
We rescued my son and broke from The Order upon our return to earth.
Noah and I are on our own now.
Dominic and Hines are still out there patching holes as demons and lost souls try to wreak havoc on Earth.
Despite no longer being part of The Order, we’re still the Watchers who keep Lucifer’s minions from breaking the armistice and finding a way to bring his armies of darkness to Heaven.
No matter how hard we fight back, though, a second war is coming.
It’s been four years since Lucifer tried to snatch my son from me. Things have been relatively quiet since, which is never a good sign.
It only means the Silver-Tonged Serpent is planning something larger and taking his time.
I dread the day I can no longer keep Noah out of this war that he didn’t ask for and certainly doesn’t deserve. That’s the main reason I’m seething as I keep watch from above.
Noah’s curiosity about his role and the battles you don’t see on the news has drawn him to Father Jerome, who’s a wise teacher but also sharing more than I’m comfortable with, considering my son’s youth.
At dusk in a darkened alley, Noah hustles past as I watch over him from a ledge above. We’ve made a mother-son agreement that I get to keep a close eye on him until he comes of age and turns eighteen.
Today is his birthday, which means it’s the last day of our agreement.
My son clutches himself as a stiff wind rattles over the alley’s cobblestones. He’s grown up too fast.
It feels like yesterday that he said his first words. Since then, he’s learned every language known to humankind.
He’s wise beyond his years and he’s already begun to manifest the superhuman powers of a Nephilim.
He’s handsome and can’t walk down the street without turning the heads of anyone who looks at him. He’s stronger than ten soldiers combined but avoids fights. He’s always abhorred violence.
&nbs
p; He’s intelligent and clever, almost too clever. More than once he’s escaped my careful watch, despite knowing that Lucifer wants to use him. He’s fearless.
His studies at the Vatican are the reason we’re here and not back home in New Orleans.
According to Father Jerome, Noah has the most potential of any pupil he’s ever had the privilege of teaching.
My son carries a brown leather satchel over his shoulder. I have a feeling his innate curiosity has led him to go on a treasure hunt based on one of Father Jerome’s teachings about ancient relics and special items blessed by Heaven.
Noah likes to see the real thing once he’s read about it in a scroll or dusty book.
Everything about Noah makes me a proud mother. My hope is that he’s more like his father, Jenkins, than me.
Jenkins is the kind-hearted one who’s always thinking of others first. If Noah takes after him, I’ve have less reason to fear that Lucifer could corrupt his soul.
Cloaked in a black rain-coat with a briefcase dangling from one hand, Noah rushes forward but startles and grows still when a bell rings out in the distance.
He picks up his pace again and rounds a corner.
Then, he lays eyes on the cathedral, a mist shrouded, titanic edifice hidden behind a fourteen-foot, spike-tipped, wrought-iron fence.
Noah steps out onto the deserted street, striding toward the cathedral when he freezes. Slowly, he turns around and peers back down the alley from whence he came.
That’s when he sees them. They’re barely visible.
From my perch up above, I tighten my grip on my bladed chain, which rattles to life with a bright red glow.
In the alley, two shadowy figures, who look like black cutout silhouettes, hang in the shadows, hovering just above the cobblestone. They’re watching Noah, waiting to see what he does and if he’s the one they’ve been searching for.
Noah, averse to conflict as he is, turns back toward the cathedral as the rain pours down harder. He crosses the street, passes a Vatican Guard at the gate.
The guard waves him forward without even looking. He’s busy streaming a show on a small touchscreen tablet.
Noah runs along a marble path to the front of the cathedral.
A stone statue of Christ gazes down from the facade as Noah balls a fist, pounds on the cathedral’s massive steel and wooden front doors.
A moment passes, then the sound of footfalls from the other side.
The double doors swing open to reveal Father Jerome, who’s in his late-fifties and bald with wizened eyes. He’s a silver fox despite not having hair, and he’s clad in a black cloak.
“Have they come?” Father Jerome asks.
Noah nods. His eyes are wide with curiosity.
Father Jerome looks up and sees me not far away, still perched, ready to launch down and destroy the demons hunting my son. He looks back to Noah.
“Did they—”
Noah interrupts him. “Father…”
“Yes, what is it?”
“It’s raining,” Noah says and gestures to be let inside.
Father Jerome apologizes, nods, and steps aside so Noah can enter.
Inside the cathedral, the front foray is lit by votives that illuminate masterpieces of art festooned to stone walls.
Paintings, etchings, and motifs of scenes from the Bible, comprising past moments and future visions.
Father Jerome’s hands tremble as he slams the door shut behind them and slides half a dozen deadbolts across it.
I swoop down from the rooftop across the street using my bladed chain to guide my descent.
Despite not having wings anymore, as long as I wield my weapon blessed by angel tears, I can soar up to fifty feet into the air.
I slip across the street masked by shadows. My son might be the clever one, but he hasn’t seen centuries of war. I know a thing or two that he should pay heed.
Then, I clamor up the side of the cathedral and slip in through an open window that leads to the upper terrace just above Father Jerome and Noah.
“They stay in the shadows like furtive vultures,” Father Jerome says. “Despite all their bluster, they fear the light.”
Noah remains silent as Father Jerome eyeballs him, leaning on an ornate wooden cane.
“You did see them, didn’t you?” Father Jerome asks.
“I saw…something,” Noah answers. “I can’t be certain. It was dark. They were in the shadows.”
“Were they following you?” Father Jerome asks. “Tell me, I need to know if it’s happening.”
“I don’t know for sure,” Noah replies. “They could have been watching the cathedral. I’m not used to all this. I’m not a warrior like my mother. I’ve never fought in a war. How should I know what their intent was?”
“It’s fine, child,” Father Jerome says. “Did you at least bring the artifact?”
Noah opens his brown satchel. He withdraws a small piece of stone shaped with the cuttings of a key. It’s no ordinary stone. The object vibrates in Noah’s hand. On its surface are ancient symbols, angelic script.
My heart skips a beat.
Father Jerome had better not have sent my son on a mission without my permission.
I get that Noah longs to make his own way, but going on dangerous adventures is not something I feel he’s ready for. He needs more mentorship, and his combat training has only just begun.
“Very good,” Father Jerome says. “This is important, Noah. You have no idea.”
I back up to stay hidden on the upper terrace as several priests and armed guards rush by.
“What’s going on?” Noah asks. “What are you so afraid of?”
“There’s so little time,” Father Jerome answers in his cryptic way.
He pivots and takes off down a side corridor. His cane click-clacks against the ground.
Noah follows at his heels.
I swoop down and stay just far enough behind to be out of sight, using my bladed chain to glide above the ground so as not to make any sound and startle them.
“I need to know what’s happening,” Noah says. “Why won’t you tell me?”
“Your mind is full of wonder,” Father Jerome replies. “You’ve seen too much, and you know too much already. It’s not safe for you.”
Noah grabs the old man’s shoulder and turns him around.
“You’ll tell me, or I’ll take that thing from you and hand it over to my mother instead,” he warns.
A long moment of silence passes between them.
I consider intruding but think better of it.
If Father Jerome knows some hidden secret that The Order has kept from me and the other remaining archangels, I need to hear it.
“You’re relentless, like your mother,” Father Jerome finally says. “The two of you will be the death of me.”
Noah smirks.
I smirk too but stay hidden.
Father Jerome strides to the other side of the corridor until he stands an inch from the stone wall. He grasps a votive and holds it up to the wall to reveal a medieval woodcut.
It’s a Germanic, Albrecht Durer-like work of winged angels plunging into a massive hole in the ground.
“What do you know of the War in Heaven?” Father Jerome asks.
“You can’t be serious?” Noah asks. “I was taken to the gates of Hell. I know all about the war.”
“You know what you saw when you were rescued at great cost,” Father Jerome replies. “The rest has been hidden from you.”
“You’re being serious,” Noah says. “This isn’t just another fairy tale, is it?”
“It’s more real and dangerous than you can imagine,” Father Jerome warns. “Now, what do you know about the War in Heaven?”
“Isiah, Father,” Noah begins. “I know what’s set forth in the Book of Isiah and, of course, Revelation. Some of the truth came out in those Left Behind novels, I believe. At least some of it matches what my mother taught me.”
Noah smiles.
Father Jerome does not.
“An attempt at humor?” Father Jerome asks.
Noah nods.
“Apparently a poor attempt, Father,” he says.
“Indeed,” Father Jerome replies. “Samya protects you, she keeps some of the worst from your ears.”
Father Jerome points at the woodcut and traces an index finger along the carvings.
“The Church has long followed the edict set down in Second Corinthians,” Father Jerome continues. “Namely that Lucifer was a creature of light and that, having become an apostate, he induced many of his brethren to take up arms against God...to become his dark followers. He desired to unseat God and take his place, offering the false promise of salvation for those who could not attain it from the Creator.”
“But he lost, Father. The Devil was cast down into the Lake of—”
Father Jerome waves his hand.
“Everything you’ve been taught, outside of my teachings and your mother’s, is a lie, dear Noah. History is written by the victors.”
He pauses and peers down the corridor as if he senses someone is listening and watching. He looks but doesn’t see me.
“In truth,” Father Jerome goes on, “the conflagration was much greater, the margin of victory much smaller.”
Father Jerome uses his other hand to lift the small stone object shaped like a key and with angelic script carved into it. He then slowly moves it close to the woodcut, with carvings drawn to the oiled and dark surface.
The images stir, come to life, and swirl into motion.
Noah’s eyes widen in awe.
“Before all of this was here, there was a time before memory,” Father Jerome says.
On the woodcut, the angels soar through the drawn sky, wings ablaze, plummeting to the ground like comets.
“In the beginning, God did not create Heaven and Earth in the way that you were taught,” he continues.
The carvings morph, and total and absolute darkness covers everything on the woodcut. It’s as dark as the bottom of the ocean.
DEATH SUITS HER_A Supernatural Reverse Harem Romance Adventure Page 20