The First to Fall: A Fallen Novel (The Fallen Series)

by Tanisha D. Jones

  “No- what are you?” She repeated more deliberately. He pondered this question for moment, his stare matching hers, his brows arched in confusion. The room seemed to fill with electrical energy; the temperature of the already warm room rose ten degrees as they maintained their silence, their gazes locked. The lights on the entire floor flickered momentarily, and the water in her fish tank began to bubble. His body burned with need for her, he wanted to bury himself deep inside of her, sink his fingers into her hair and hold her hard and tight against him. He wanted to kiss her, to feel her beneath him, be inside of her, feel those long legs wrapped around his waist. He could imagine the sweet warmth of her, imagined she’d taste like honeysuckle.

  Her breath caught in her throat under his steady gaze. She squirmed in her chair, her body trembling for the sheer presence of him. She could feel him, the heat rolling off of him, the want and her heart raced. The thought of his hands on her made her skin prickle, her chest tightened as she exhaled sharply. He was going to kiss her, she thought. He was going to get up in a second, come around the desk and kiss her. If he did that, if she let him kiss her it wouldn’t end there.

  Unable to take anymore, she broke their gaze, turning her face away as she tried to compose herself. The room slowly regained its normal temperature, and the hair on his arms stood on end with the residual power in the air.

  “Detective-” she began, her voice thick with longing and anticipation.

  “Eli. I think you can call me Eli,” he whispered his own voice heavy.

  “Eli.” She repeated his name in a low breathy sigh, and he longed to hear her say his name over and over, her mouth close to his. “This is real right? I’m not imagining this? I didn’t imagine you? What are you doing to me?” She asked breathlessly. The question hung in the air between them, echoing in his head. What had she done to him?

  “I’m very real. Can’t you -feel me?” His words had a seductive undertone that he hadn’t intended, but seemed to naturally flow from him. Now it was her turn to be speechless.

  “I had to restart the hand dryer five times, but I think I got it mostly dry-” Riley entered the room holding Eli’s shoe. He paused, taking in the two as they guiltily avoided his gaze. They were both flushed, and nearly panting. He glanced at Eli as he attempted to conceal the obvious nuisance of his unyielding erection. If he didn’t know better and if they weren’t completely dressed, Riley would have sworn he’d walked in on them having sex. Shaking his head, he did a quick double take; the fish that had been swimming so prettily before had all floated to the surface, dead.

  ***

  Riley said nothing as he took his seat, handing Eli his shoe as he did. Eli took his shoe, mumbling a thank you, reading Riley’s confused and suspicious thoughts loud and clear. He cleared his throat and continued to look at the little leather notebook in his hand, without looking he could feel Riley’s eyes on him, a knowing smile on his face.

  “Back to your questions E-, Det. Cain.” She cleared her throat and absently shuffled and stacked papers on her desk. “Do you believe that there could have been a mistake? Pronouncing Nicky dead.” Eli asked.

  “No mistake. Why do you ask?” She asked, trying to avoid his eyes. She was blocking him again; he could feel a pressure in his head as if she were physically pushing him away. There was something that she was hiding, something serious. He pushed harder and felt a sharp pain behind his eyes and relented. She glanced at him briefly, her eyes narrowed in warning and his brow rose in surprise. That was new.

  “Nicky Sky walked out of the St. Pierre Brothers Funeral home sometime after midnight last night.” Her head swiveled quickly to Riley.

  “What?” She asked incredulously. ”There must be some mistake. Or some sort of joke. Nicky was dead,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” Riley asked.

  “I assure you, I checked. Nicky was dead. There is no mistaking when you find your best friend dead.” Her gaze was steely, the bright turquoise seemed to deepen until they were a deep midnight blue, and her lips pulled in a tight hard line. She looked fierce, like a warrior.

  “I think that’s all we need. For now.” Eli spoke up, his voice still thick. Her anger seemed to reignite his need for her and he needed to get as far away from her as possible. “If you have any questions or you remember something that may be significant, please call us.” Eli rose, handing her his business card with ease. In the same movement, he buttoned the bottom button on his suit jacket in order to hide the evidence of his arousal.

  “Call anytime.” When he spoke, there was an obvious intention behind his words, one that caused Riley’s brow to shoot up in alarm. Their fingers brushed as she took the card, her expression softened at his touch.

  As the doors of the elevator opened into the lobby, Eli’s cell phone rang. He looked at it and made a face at the name brandished across the display.

  “Grace,” he mumbled. “I promised her I’d have lunch with her today.”

  ***

  Riley remained silent until they were in the car and heading downtown.

  “Drop me off at the station.” he said, referring to the eighth district police station in the heart of the French Quarter. That was where Adam Forrester, Riley’s current boyfriend, was stationed as a patrol man. Eli nodded, but said nothing. He couldn’t stop thinking of Dr. Kent and what had transpired in that office. Just the thought of it sent a luscious shiver of anticipation through him. He was going to make love to her, that was a given, but the rest of it, that’s what was confusing to him. He’d never encountered someone like her; from the second he’d seen her she had made an imprint on him. Everything about her seemed to be branded on his skin. He frowned and rubbed his right temple as the dull ache in his head subsided.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?” Riley asked, breaking into his reverie.

  “I don’t know what happened. It was like- electric. I’ve never felt such a strong pull to someone before in my life, and I couldn’t read her at first. Even with concentrated effort, it was hard to do. It’s because she - she could read me. But once we realized- she was so- and I wanted- I felt like I needed to-”

  “You needed to fuck her.” Riley intervened. His bluntness was right on point as usual. Suddenly it was pouring out of Eli like a flood.

  “More than I have ever wanted to fuck anyone in my entire life; but it kind of felt like I did. In here.” He pointed to his temple. He shrugged, unable to explain it without going into graphic detail.

  “The ultimate mind fuck,” Riley said in complete awe. “Talk about safe sex.”

  ***

  Dr. Kent waited, watching from the windows in her office as they drove away. She watched Det. Cain with a growing curiosity, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. She felt a shiver go through her at the thought of his eyes on her. There was one thing she knew for sure, Elijah Cain was a dangerous man on the trail of something that he was probably not prepared to deal with. She sighed heavily and picked up the telephone and dialed, her mind racing.

  “Ello,” was the gruff response when the line was picked up.

  “We have a problem.” She said quickly and quietly.

  “What kind of a problem?” The voice, deep and hoarse, with a thick almost undecipherable Irish brogue, was suddenly more alert. “The police were just here. It seems that someone has turned Nicky. Someone who was not there for his rebirth. He’s loose.” She said.

  “Jesus- do you know who did it?” The voice asked.

  “No, but the cop who was here is not the type to let this go. You better do something before this gets to the media. The Collective will have a fit if this becomes public knowledge.”

  “Does Jonas know?”

  “I’m trying to keep him out of this for as long as I can. Find him, find his maker, and make this go away. Get the police and the media to drop it. Now.”

  “I don’t know, if he’s out- there are people who’ve seen him. There are probably humans involved. This could be a big job...
” The voice trailed off and her anger rose suddenly.

  “Your job is to handle these things, Briar. Remember the last time something like this happened. It took nearly two decades for your skin to grow back. This time would be much, much worse. If you can’t, then the Collective will make YOU go away. You know how they are.” There was silence on the other end. “Get the situation contained. The cop who’s on this- he’s not normal. He’s something different. I need him to let this go. And I need you to get on it as soon as the sun goes down, Briar. ”

  “Sure thing, Sarge.” He relented and hung up.

  As she disconnected, she noticed her fish floating like colorful driftwood across the surface of the fresh water tank and sighed heavily. She crossed the room and looked down at them in frustration before holding one hand open, palm down over the fishy corpses. Exhaling she waited, watching as they slowly drifted below the surface and began swimming again. Smiling, she leaned down to peer at them through the glass and they all moved closer to her, lining the side of the tank. “I am so sorry, my babies.” She cooed and gently tapped the glass with a fingertip. They all migrated towards her finger.

  “Go play,” She whispered and they dispersed almost immediately.

  She returned to her seat and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that the headache that was trying to start behind her eyes would go away. She immediately opened her eyes; closing them only brought images of Elijah Cain to the forefront of her mind; he was so large and intense. She could just imagine him as a lover, his body writhing against hers in a tangle of sheets, his naked body hard and muscled, slick with sweat. She could just about feel his hands on her breasts, his mouth on hers, his throbbing hard-

  “Damn.” She exhaled, and let her head rest in her hands. “Trouble thy name is Elijah Cain.”

  THREE

  Grace Corazon Babineaux lived in a two story mansion hidden from the street by a brick fence and a large wooden gate on Ursulines Avenue in the French Quarter. As Eli pulled up to the gate, he rang the buzzer announcing his arrival.

  “Come on in,” came the voice of the housekeeper as the gate swung open to reveal a cobblestone driveway lined with palm trees and elephant-eared plants that hung over the fence. Eli pulled into his regular spot in the garage next to Grace’s own rarely driven but very well maintained Rolls Royce. The house was large and white, built in the style of a French chateau, with hardwood floors and high ceilings. Grace had taken great care to maintain the upkeep of this house. It had been in her family since her great- great- grandfather had built it when he’d come over from France as a gens de couleur libre( free person of color) in the 1700’s. She loved to boast to anyone who’d listen that the chandeliers and floors were all original to the house. Not to mention the restoration of the many fireplaces, as well as the elaborate tile work recently done to the pool.

  He entered through the back door as he always did, and spotted Boogie, Grace’s live-in housekeeper and good friend. Boogie, whose real name was Marcella Roché , was a short woman with a figure that could still stop traffic, even at her advanced age of seventy-three. Her short hair was dyed a vibrant shade of red that she wore in feathery spikes all over her head. Her makeup was always perfect, accenting the smattering of freckles across her cheeks and her alabaster skin. Born and raised in Chalmette, she had the distinct “yat” accent of the St. Bernard Parish and the sassy attitude to match. She wore a pair of tailored Capri pants in a deep shade of blue that emphasized her slim hips and well-rounded ass. As usual, she wore a low cut blue and white striped top that showed of her rather impressive bosom. She was putting the finishing touches on the salad she would be serving for lunch as he kissed her on the cheek.

  “Hey Boogie.”

  She smiled and patted his cheek.

  “Hey, Baby. How you been?” She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “And who have you been boning this morning?” She asked bluntly, holding his face and staring into his eyes.

  Eli blushed and pulled away. He glanced down at the tray on which she’d placed Grace’s pristine Wedgewood china serving bowl. He glanced at the food Boogie was preparing and raised a questioning brow. There was a fresh salad with walnuts and fresh grapes, Shrimp Creole over fluffy white rice and was that bread pudding he smelled in the oven? Rolling his eyes, he glanced at Boogie, who didn’t bother looking up from her cooking.

  “Where’s Grace?”

  “In the salon.” Boogie gave him a knowing look and Eli’s face dropped. “And this one is a piece of work.” Boogie snorted.

  ***

  Grace was Eli’s maternal grandmother. After his parents had died in a car accident when he was twelve, she had been the one to raise him. And for the past seven years or so, she had been on a mission to get him married off. As he entered the room, she rose to greet him. Grace was a strikingly beautiful and graceful woman of seventy, but could easily pass for her late forties. Her skin was smooth and unlined, the color of café au lait. Her eyes the clearest green he’d ever seen. She wore her usual uniform of neatly tailored chocolate brown slacks, a pink cashmere twin set and low heels in the exact shade of chocolate as her slacks. Her hair, neatly curled in a stylish bob, was the color of spun silver and she dripped in gold. She was old school southern elegant.

  “Elijah, sweetie, so glad that you’re here.” She kissed his cheek. Another woman stood, smiling nervously. She was short, thin, with obviously surgically altered breasts. She had volumes of long brown hair, that cascaded over her shoulders and eyes that seemed too large and too dark to be normal. She wore a plain black skirt that clung to her narrow curves and a beige twin set similar to Grace’s. Except for her nearly cartoonish breasts, she and Grace could have been twins. As he approached, she nervously toyed with a strand of pearls around her neck. She was pretty, but then they were all pretty. They were all elegant, all well dressed, well educated, and all dull as dishwater. Every week Eli had lunch with his grandmother and at least once a month he would find a relatively attractive woman of the same make and model as this one waiting for him. They were always some debutante or society friend’s daughter, niece, granddaughter or cousin that Grace was sure would be perfect for him. They weren’t.

  They were all too polite, too dull, too uninteresting. After a moment with them, he would receive the clear impression that they were after a ring, big society wedding and this house or one very close to its like. A few times he received the impression that they were after money to help save the family business, get their daddies out of debt or simply to shop and live a life of leisure. A couple had just wanted to brag that she was the one who managed to snag the notoriously stealthy Elijah Cain. To marry Elijah Cain was to marry old money. How old, he didn’t know for sure, Grace had never been completely clear on where the money came from, but there was plenty of it. Grace liked to say that she was recession proof. And she‘d proven that she was.

  “Elijah,” she was saying, steering him closer to this newest young woman. “This is Hannah Freeman. Hannah, this gorgeous hunk of muscle is my grandson Elijah.”

  Being polite, Eli took her hand to give it a shake, when Hannah curtsied and positioned her hand for a kiss. Eli looked at Grace before reluctantly kissing the back of Hannah’s hand. It tasted like perfumed lotion and seemed to coat his lips. Suppressing a grimace, he nodded.

  “Nice to meet you, Hannah.” She smiled wider, exposing a mouth full of sparkling white veneers.

  “Good lord, listen to that voice. Like melted chocolate it’s so smooth,” she gushed. Eli smiled politely and stood aside motioning for the women to head into the dining room.

  “Shall we?” As Grace passed, he gave her a menacing look that she purposely ignored.

  ***

  Lunch went as it did on these occasions. He listened with little interest as his grandmother and his fix up du jour spoke of society events, charities and what hobby held the young lady’s interest at that particular time. This year there seemed to be a growing affinity for flower gardens and Zumba. Every year or so
it changed, he noticed. One year it had been scrap-booking and Tae Bo, another it had been cupcakes and yoga. Hannah had graduated from Loyola with a degree in Art History. She used that degree as the head of several historical societies and charities in the area. He feigned interest, but drifted off listening to her mind instead.

  He had to like her, she thought. He was the platinum standard in New Orleans society, and if she could land Grace Babineaux’s grandson, she would be the envy of all of her friends. He was sexy as hell, she had to admit. Polite, courteous, he’d held out chairs for she and Grace before being seated. Who does that anymore, she thought. And those eyes, they were gorgeous- a pure clear turquoise that seemed to shimmer in the afternoon sunlight. He had laugh lines around his mouth and eyes that made him even better looking if that were possible. And he was so large. She was thinking that he was delicious and that she would screw him three ways ‘til Sunday. She thought he would have a massive dick and that he would fuck like an animal. She imagined herself doing a sexy striptease. It was sexy to her, but to his mind, it was quite comical. Yes, she liked them thick, dumb and rough, the dumber the better. The dumb ones made the best husbands.

  He glanced at her, an amused smile on his lips. She took this as a signal and seductively ran a shrimp across her overly glossed lips before biting it in half in what she assumed, incorrectly, was a sensual way. Eli nearly choked on his iced tea as he tried to stifle a laugh.

  Hannah left after the excruciating lunch and the equally agonizing coffee and dessert session on the patio. She’d slipped Eli her phone number and a wink before she pulled away from the curb in her little white Mercedes, which seemed to be the norm for these women. They all had a Mercedes or BMW or some other cutesy little sports car. Shaking his head, Eli went back into his grandmother’s house, feeling lighter than he had earlier that morning.

  ***

  “So?” Grace asked, expectantly clapping her hands together in excitement.