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

by Tanisha D. Jones

  As she’d kissed Remy, she imagined it was Elijah Cain, with those serious turquoise eyes and penetrating gaze. She imagined that he held her, his body burning heat against her own. Sighing, she watched Remy stride across the veranda. He was confident and unembarrassed about his unabashed sexuality, about his want and need for her. It was a part of their nature, she assumed. But there was something about Remy; he had more of an edge, an underlying danger that sent flashing warning signs off in her mind. Perhaps it was because he had more demon in his blood than human. Perhaps it was because of his shifting nature, which made him more animal than man that made her wary of him. No matter what it was, she didn’t love him the way he wanted her to and she truly regretted that sometimes. She sighed and began banging her head on the padded steering wheel.

  Remy paused on the steps, watching her for a moment, his dark hair ruffled in the cool air of the mid-November night. She had a long drive ahead of her, and it was well after eleven, but she was not the slightest bit tired. Those big dark eyes were focused on her when she looked up, considering her options. She could go home, read a book, do some work, keep her mind occupied until she dozed off or she’d lay awake thinking about Remy’s hands and Eli’s eyes and mouth, the way he laughed and the way his voice poured over her like hot chocolate. She could simply bed Remy and get it over with, or track down the detective, which was a much more thrilling, but completely out of character, option. Finally she smiled, her fingers going to the button to roll down the passenger side window.

  He walked towards her, zipping his leather jacket and shoving his hands deep into the pockets. He poked his head into the warmth, a curious smile on his lips. “Wanna go to Jinxie’s?” She asked, and his smile spread into a full laugh.

  “Hell yeah. I’ll follow you.” He sprinted over to his bike as she revved her engine.

  She pulled off so fast that her rear tires kicked up gravel. As she waited for the gates to swing open wide enough to allow safe passage, Remy raced past her, his front wheel rising as he wheelied out into the darkness. Remy was a pain in the ass, she thought, but damn if he wasn’t fun.

  ***

  She sat at her desk, her eyes focused on the colorful fish gliding through the water of the tank that sat atop the bookcase opposite her. She’d spent too much time at Jinxie’s with Remy the night before. What a disaster that had been.

  The entire time, she’d had to fend off his increasingly aggressive advances, until finally she’d gone home, alone and angry, Det. Elijah Cain on her mind. He’d invaded her dreams, last night, leaving her tired and disagreeable today. She was even more ill-tempered because she’d had to come into the lab to check Xander’s progress with the lab mice. They had a paper to complete for a medical journal and she had to keep him on track. She knew that when she wasn’t around, he spent most of his time making out with Bianca in her office. She didn’t even make out in her office, not that she had much of an opportunity for that. Not lately anyway.

  “Are you listening to me?” Xander was waving a hand in front of her face. She blinked and came crashing back to reality. “What?” She snapped, embarrassed by the thoughts running through her mind, but also angry to be taken out of them.

  “I was saying that the messenger is downstairs. Something about a package-” She nodded distractedly and told Xander to bring him up. She took the photos from the folder she’d stored in her bag, and flipped through them. The colors were so vivid and her heart ached to see her friend lying on the cool white marble of his bathroom floor, a halo of blood surrounding his head. His eyes were open, vacant, devoid of the vitality she had known. He was still, his mouth pulled in a grotesque smile and tiny puncture wounds all over his body. If he’d been examined by the coroner, they would have surely suspected he was an IV drug user or some sort of sexual sadist, but she knew better. Nicky was the healthiest, most vanilla person she’d known. He’d never been a fast food junkie, his drink of choice was chocolate milk. He’d drink once in a while, but had no tolerance for it and had never made it a habit. He didn’t smoke cigarettes and his biggest vice had always been sexy blonds, brunettes and the occasional redhead. His platinum blond hair, perfectly pore-less skin and big blue eyes made him look angelic, which made him the perfect rock star in the media age. Staring at the pictures of his death, made her remember how full of life he was. Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, she placed the pictures in an envelope, before putting them in a cardboard photo envelope and sealing it. She was scribbling Jonas’ address when the courier entered wearing her pristine blue and white uniform. She smiled, but said nothing as she was given instructions on delivery.

  “I need these in Jonas Kent’s hands no later than two this afternoon. He’s expecting them.” She gave her a fifty dollar tip and sent her on her way.

  Unable to concentrate, she decided that she would go out for coffee, and then work from home. She was too distracted to get anything done anyway. She rose to get her jacket, glancing at herself in the mirror hanging on the back of her office door. She looked okay, she supposed, in her slim dark jeans, long sleeved black and grey striped V-neck sweater which exposed just enough cleavage. Her hair was pulled into a loose side ponytail and on her feet, a pair of bright pink low top Converse sneakers. She slipped on a pink blazer and newsboy cap, before charging out the door.

  She waved at Bianca as she exited the building. Bianca, of the tottering heels, heavy perfume and bright red lipstick, sat behind the reception desk, chatting on the phone and spinning in her seat. “Where you going, Doc?” She called after her.

  “Home,” she mumbled and was out the door. She knew that Bianca would be in the lab before she was out of the parking lot.

  ***

  Her favorite coffee shop, The Monkee Bean, was uptown on Magazine Street. She had to drive past her apartment to get to it, but they had the best lattes and the biggest chocolate chip cookies she’d ever seen. They always calmed her down and helped her focus. She opened the door and smelled the robust aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sweetness of the pastries. As she waited for her turn in line, she felt something strange, electricity in the air and the smell of something familiar as she placed her order. Instinctively, she scanned the room, as the girl behind the counter prepared her order. He was here.

  For a moment she thought she’d imagined him, but there he was sitting near a window, looking delicious in a dark blue t-shirt, a gray hoodie with a spiraling navy design running up one arm and bursting into an eagle across his chest. He wore dark denim jeans that wrapped around his muscular thighs and white sneakers. He was reading the sports section of the paper, sipping a cappuccino. When she received and paid for her coffee and cookie, she walked over, making sure he was alone before she approached.

  “Are you stalking me, Dr. Kent?” He asked as she approached, his eyes still on the paper. She took off her hat and tossed it on the table, a sly grin on her lips.

  “I’m not interrupting anything am I? I don’t want to impose.” He shook his head, folding the paper and putting it aside.

  “Not at all. Please.” He motioned for her to take the seat across from him. She sat and suddenly became nervous.

  “So,” she started, “I guess the whole missing body case has been closed,” she said in a nervous rush.

  “Yeah, I guess the higher ups thought it would look bad to have the police force lose a body. Either that or some big muckity-muck used his pull to avoid media frenzy. You wouldn’t know about that would you?” He was looking at her so intently, that she found it hard to concentrate on anything other than his steady gaze on her face. He was watching her every move as if he half expected her to disappear in a puff of smoke.

  “I’m surprised to see you here. I come here a lot. I would have remembered seeing you.” She offered him a piece of her cookie, he politely declined.

  “It’s my first time here.” He admitted. “It’s my day off. Riley and his boyfriend invited a bunch of us over for brunch. I just didn’t feel like heading home yet.”


  “Boyfriend?” She raised an eyebrow. It was rare to come across a man like Elijah Cain, handsome, smart, overtly male and obviously enlightened.

  “Yeah, Adam. He’s a uniformed patrolman. Nice guy, makes a terrific Belgian waffle. He’s a step up from some of Riley’s other boyfriends.” She nodded, a slow smile forming on her lips, and looked down at her cookie.

  “I’m not gay,” he said before the question arose.

  “Oh, there was never a question.” She briefly met his gaze, her cheeks flushed hotly. His phone buzzed to life on the table. He looked at it and rolled his eyes, but didn’t answer.

  “Problem?” She asked, taking a sip of her drink, her eyes on him.

  “Just someone I would rather not talk to right now,” he sighed.

  “Ahh, Ms. Deadwood, I presume,” she deduced and he chuckled.

  “Yes. She’s been calling me non-stop. I tried to let her down easy, but she’s persistent and doesn’t seem to understand subtlety.”

  “She understands. You’re just a hard man to forget.” She met his eyes and he paused, his cup half way to his lips. Silently, he placed the cup back on the table, his eyes smoldered and she could feel the room warm as the electricity in the air rose. The lights dimmed slightly and flickered. The other patrons glanced up and a few groaned but no one paid a great deal of attention to the change.

  “Really?” He asked, a twinkle in his eyes. In this light, they seemed more of an aquamarine than turquoise. He leaned back in his seat, openly observing her. She waved a hand at him.

  “Please,” she snorted, trying to rein in the growing warmth of her body. “You know you’re gorgeous,” she said, her voice low. “Just look around the room. The women are eating you up.” He glanced around the room and found that a few women and a couple of men were openly ogling him. Slightly embarrassed, he shook it off.

  “Once Ms. Deadwood got a taste, albeit a tiny taste, she realized that you are something special.”

  “What about you?” He absently reached for her hand; his thumb stroked the delicate skin of her inner wrist, and her mouth went dry. She looked down, loving the feel of his thumb against her skin. Just a few years ago, she would have pulled away. She had always been sensitive to anyone holding her like that, touching the delicate skin of her wrists, but with Eli it was okay, it was actually arousing. His voice deepened and he leaned closer, his eyes darkening to a deep navy.

  “Would you like a taste?” Her cheeks grew hot and she crossed her ankles squeezing her thighs closed as a new heat began to grow. He gave her a wicked smile and in one swift movement, he pulled her chair closer until her thighs were trapped between his legs, holding her still just in case she’d planned on running again. His smile widened and those dimples made an appearance. Damn those dimples.

  “Are you flirting with me, Detective?” She finally managed once she found her voice. She’d meant for it to sound light and fun, instead it came out low and throaty. She couldn’t help but focus on his lips; they were full and soft, tilted up in the most delicious smile. She wanted to nip his bottom lip with her teeth.

  “Well, I’m trying my damnedest.” Her stomach fluttered at his intimate tone. “How am I doing?” He had her hands again, his fingers stroking her palms so he could pull her closer still. The feel of his skin against hers made her pulse jump. She glanced down briefly and noticed that he was hard, his bulge straining painfully against the zipper of his jeans. She wanted to slide her hands into the waistband of his jeans and touch him, stroke his hard shaft until he moaned. At the thought, her pulse raced and he chuckled.

  “I’d say we’re moving in the right direction,” he whispered, shocking her back into the here and now. She avoided staring directly into his eyes, but studied him for a moment.

  “That’s a neat little trick. How long have you been a telepath?” She asked her voice low.

  “How long have you?” He retorted. “I’ve never come across someone I could read like you. Like we share-”

  “A connection,” she finished and he nodded. “What else can you do?” She asked eagerly.

  “You’re not freaked out?” He sat back a bit thunderstruck. Only a select few had been comfortable with his abilities and only Riley had ever asked exactly what they were. She shook her head.

  “Not in the least. I’m smart enough to know that there are things in this world that defy rational explanation. They just are. I’m a scientist, Detective. We still don’t know the full capacity of the human brain.” She sipped her latte, hoping he didn’t notice her shaking hand, and waited for him to speak. He smiled and told her of what he could do, of the precognition, his ability to recall other people’s memories, the immunity to illness and his strength. She sat transfixed.

  “It comes and goes. Sometimes I can control it, other times it just slips in and out. If I concentrate I can read anyone. Sometimes, it’s just a whisper or humming at the back of my head, other times it’s as clear as if I thought or said it myself. I can’t always read you though, not like I have to. I know what you’re thinking.” She nodded and looked down at their linked fingers. When had that happened, she wondered. She licked the foam from her lips and he watched intently. She looked at him, again wishing that she could leave, but there was something about this man that held her in her seat.

  “I want to kiss you so bad right now, it hurts.” When he spoke, it was like a growl, a low guttural vibration that seemed to come from his chest. The statement startled her and sent a warm fluid rush through her at the same time. He took her hand and guided it high on his thigh until her it rested on the hard bulge at his zipper. Slowly, he moved his hands up her arms and shoulder until they held her face and brushed his lips against hers. The room seemed to be filled with a rush of cool air, and his kiss moved deeper, his tongue sliding into her warm waiting mouth, she tasted faintly of coffee and vanilla and pure sweetness. She let one hand move up his hip, and then slowly moved up to settle on his chest. His muscles tensed at her touch, and she leaned closer, restraining herself from climbing onto his lap. When he moved away, she kept her eyes closed, exhaling. Her eyes opened slowly and she felt her bones turn to liquid under his smoldering gaze. Her lips felt kiss swollen and she wanted him to do it again.

  “That was a mistake.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Now all I can think about is kissing you all over. I need to know if you’re just as sweet everywhere.” He whispered.

  Her heart did a little giddy-up and she had to look away.

  “Je pourrais vous ai juste laissé.” She echoed his low tone but had somehow lapsed into French. He laughed and shook his head.

  “I understood that. Would you really let me?” He said and she blushed.

  “Sorry, I grew up in a small town in France, Roquebrune-Cap Martin and tend to fall into French without thinking.”

  Standing silently beside their table a waitress, all of seventeen years old, smiled brightly as she placed a large piece of chocolate cake and two forks between the two of them.

  “This is from the lady at the counter.” They turned to follow the waitress’s gaze. Bianca stood at the counter, a cup of coffee in her hand. She nodded her greeting and gave them the thumbs up, before leaving, waving as she passed the window.

  “Well, we’ll have to thank her,” he said, his eyes still on her lips. “So this small town in France, Oaken Brune- Cap-” She laughed at his butchered pronunciation.

  “Roquebrune-Cap Martin, it’s right outside of Monaco. But I haven’t been back in like forever. Jonas is from Reims, so French is commonly spoken at family dinners.” She smiled sheepishly, nervously chewing her bottom lip, and picked up her own fork, digging in to keep from speaking for a moment. She needed the butterflies in her stomach to calm down and the shaking in her knees to stop. He was staring at her mouth so intently, the heat from his gaze made her blood race through her veins and her bones feel like liquid.

  “Unless you want me to throw you across the table and do highly inappropriate things to you in f
ront of all of these people, I suggest you not do that.” Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Do what?”

  “Bite your lip like that. It has to be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice was so low it made her shiver. There was something dangerous about him, something dark that lay just beneath the surface.

  “Nervous habit,” She mumbled. She stared at him for a long time before she spoke again. “You want to get out of here? Maybe get some dinner?” She asked and he nodded.

  “I have the perfect place,” he said with a teasing smile.

  FIVE

  She followed Eli’s black SUV across the bridge in her own Range Rover, the entire time telling herself that it was a mistake, that Jonas would kill her if he found out. This man was a complication that she didn’t need in her life. Yet, here she was pulling her car onto the street in front of a very cute navy house with crisp white trim. She eased out of her car to stare at the manicured lawn surrounded by a beautiful black wrought iron fence. There were tall Grecian pillars lining the front porch and white Jamaican shutters at each window. He beckoned for her to join him on the porch. She smiled as she passed two white rockers perched on the porch, a small wooden table between them.

  He held the door open and she eased into the small foyer. The entire place smelled of Eli, she thought. She stared at the narrow staircase that led to the second floor and peered briefly into the living room. It was small but cozy with two over stuffed dark brown leather chairs that bookended a tall mahogany bookcase. The small leather sofa faced a beautiful brick fire place with a television mounted above the mantle, small black speakers on either side of the massive screen. The hardwood floors were covered with thick rugs in rich earth tones. It felt warm and masculine and smelled of wood and crisp linen.

  “Come on.” He took her hand, sending a jolt of electricity through her, and led her down the narrow hallway to the kitchen. She looked around the brightly decorated room, before taking a seat at a pub table near a bay window that over looked his patio and small backyard. The back yard was as neatly kept as the front, with a barbecue pit, lounge chairs and a hammock hidden beneath two oak trees at the far end of the yard.