Claimed by the Fallen: A Fallen Angel Reverse Harem Novel (The Fallen Harem Book 1)

by Samantha Britt

  Claimed by the Fallen

  The Fallen Harem Book One

  Samantha Britt

  Claimed by the Fallen

  Copyright © 2018 by Samantha Britt

  Cover by Atlantis Book Design

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance between actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental or used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Hunted by the Fallen: The Fallen Harem Book Two

  About the Author

  Also by Samantha Britt

  One

  Hot sunlight beams down through the break in the cumulus clouds. I peer up and squint, hoping the rays will disappear soon. I can already feel beads of sweat forming on the back of my neck. My graduation gown might be thin, but the polyester material does not breathe well. Whoever thought it was a good idea to host a high school graduation outside must’ve never sat in the ninety-plus degree weather in Texas.

  I turn around and glance at the audience filling my school’s football stadium. Parents, siblings, friends, and other loved ones sit in the shade cast down from the press box at the top of the bleachers. Envious of their good fortune, I pick up the program in my lap and fan my face. My best friend, Annie, convinced me to wear makeup for the occasion. I never bother with the expensive powders or foundation, but I find it’s easier to agree than argue with Annie. She’s nothing if not stubborn.

  I continue to wave the glossy paper, wondering if any of the makeup will survive the humid summer heat, when one of my teachers moves to the end of my row. Ms. Stevens lifts her arms, motioning for us to stand and join the line of graduates next to the stage.

  I rise and cringe as I feel the dampness on the back of my skirt. I glance at my seat and give a silent prayer of thanks that I didn’t leave a wet mark on the metal chair. I move the edges of my bright blue graduation gown to cool off.

  Following the student in front of me, I’m careful to not lose my balance in the wedges my mom insisted I wear. Normally, I wouldn’t be caught dead in the dangerous contraptions. I am not graceful by any means, but Mom purchased the designer shoes specifically for the occasion. After seeing her hopeful and excited expression, I couldn’t tell her no. Mom and Annie had been determined to break me out of all of my comfort zones today.

  Watching the turf field beneath me, I make my way to the right of the pop-up stage positioned on the fifty-yard line.

  “Frederick Hutchins,” Principal Navarro calls out.

  The guy and girl ahead of me turn to each other and snicker at the use of the boy’s name. Valley Lake High School is a small school. My graduating class only boasts two-hundred and thirty-one students. Even if I’m not friends with all of my classmates, I know everyone. And I know Freddy hates to be called Frederick. I bet his mother insisted he go by the full name.

  Mrs. Hutchins is the president of the parent-teacher association at the school, and she is the epitome of a stunning housewife. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear anything I could describe as “casual”. She is obsessed with image, and I suspect she considers her son’s nickname too informal for the event.

  I watch Freddy climb the rickety stairs and walk across the stage. He shakes our vice principal’s hand and takes his diploma. He walks the line of teachers near the end of the stage, also shaking their hands. Then, Freddy faces the crowd of students and lifts his arms in the air, yelling, “WOOO!”

  Several students clap and cheer back at him. I smile and shake my head. Freddy has always been a clown, and I’m sure his mother will resent her son’s antics. No doubt, they ruined the professional video she commissioned for the graduation. Maybe the videographer can perform editing magic and erase the evidence of her son’s goofy behavior.

  “This is it, Ronnie,” a familiar voice says in my ear. I turn around and smile as my best guy friend, Joey, appears behind me. I’m happy to see him. We’d been disappointed when the seating arrangement made it where he and I were separated into different rows.

  Since the fourth grade, Joey and I had sat beside each other at every event which arranged students in alphabetical order. It is rare for a name to come between Messenger and Mestas, especially in our small community, but there were four months in eighth grade where a new student with the last name Messer came into our class. Thankfully, the family left Valley Lake to move closer to the city, and my best friend and I were able to sit next to each other again.

  “This is it,” I repeat.

  Joey reaches out and taps my graduation cap. “My little Ronnie, all grown up.”

  I roll my eyes and straighten the square hat. “Please. You’re barely older than me.”

  His green eyes gleam. “Six months is a long time. Annie and I have been waiting for you to grow up so we can hit up college concerts. Happy Birthday, by the way.”

  I blush. “It’s not until tomorrow,” I mutter. I’ve never been a big birthday person. I hate being the center of attention.

  Joey waves away my correction. “Has Annie told you about the Young and Heart concert tomorrow night?”

  “She mentioned it.” I turn back around and step forward as the line shortens.

  The microphone scratches as our principal clears his throat. “Annette Lee.”

  Speak of the devil.

  Joey puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. I clap and hoot. We cheer for our friend as she glides across the stage in her nude stilettos, waving at us in the line. Annie is five-foot ten and a whopping one-hundred and thirty-five pounds. Though, she is far from a skeleton. Annie boasts an athletic figure. Her skin is a flawless blend of her Filipino father and white mother. Throw in her lush, chestnut hair and it isn’t hard to believe my friend could have a career as a fashion model. At the very least, she could have joined the “cool crowd” at Valley Lake High. Instead, Annie chose to be friends with my awkward self the day we met in elementary school. She’d taken pity on the quiet, shy kid in the corner, and we’ve been friends ever since.

  Annie takes her diploma and continues walking until she reaches the end of the stage. Then, Principal Navarro pulls my attention from my friend as he says, “Preston McKenna.”

  My stomach flutters. My eyes follow Preston as he steps onto the stage. Even under the shapeless polyester gown, it is easy to see his broad shoulders. Shaggy brown hair peeks out underneath his cap, curling over his ears. He receives his diploma and smiles charmingly at each of the teachers as he shakes their hands.

  I pull my eyes away from my cr
ush. I’ve known Preston since first grade, and he’s always been cute. As we got older, his looks changed from boyish charm to rugged handsomeness. I wish I could say puberty had been just as kind to me. I’m only two inches shorter than Annie, but I don’t have any of her curves or grace. I doubt I will ever outgrow my boyish, stick figure.

  The principal calls another name, and Preston disappears into the crowd of students on the field.

  “Do you have to be so obvious?”

  I wobble on my wedges as I turn to face Joey. I raise a brow. “What?”

  Joey is frowning. “Please, I can smell the pheromones rolling off of you and every teenage girl in this place.”

  “Ew, Joey.” I grimace, hoping no one actually tries to smell me. The humid heat doesn’t exactly make me smell like roses. “That’s gross.”

  “Well, stop drooling over Preston and I won’t make those jokes. He is not that good looking.”

  I face forward, unwilling to have the same discussion with my friend. Joey hates when Annie and I talk about boys, but that is the risk he runs by only being friends with two girls.

  Though, I had noticed Joey started hanging out with some other guys on the soccer team lately. Joey’s played the sport our entire high school career, but he rarely spent time with his teammates in the past. Other than hanging out with his big brother and us, Joey prefers to be alone. I wonder what’s changed.

  We approach the stage. I hold my breath when I reach the bottom of the stairs.

  “Veronica Messenger.”

  My ears roar and my hand trembles as I grab onto the railing. I can barely hear Joey yelling behind me. I focus on not tripping and making a fool of myself.

  The stairs shift as I walk up. I reach the landing and force my back straight, exhaling as I prepare to cross the stage. Putting one foot in front of the other, I close the distance between me and Principal Navarro. He is smiling. Behind him, several of my teachers also smile. One, in particular, catches my attention.

  Mr. Cohen, my honors physics teacher, notices my attention. He dips his head and gives me an encouraging smile. I can practically hear him saying, “You can do this”.

  I reach the podium. Vice Principal Yates steps forward and hands me my leather-encased diploma. My clammy hands almost drop the item, but I swiftly adjust my hold.

  I give her a wobbly smile. “Thank you.”

  The corner of Vice Principal Yate’s eyes crinkle. “Congratulations, Veronica.” Her sentiments are genuine. She’s known me, as well as many other students, the majority of our lives.

  I move toward the line of teachers.

  All of my core teachers from my senior year shake my hand, murmuring their own congratulations. I smile and bob my head, thanking them. Then, I reach Mr. Cohen.

  My mouth dries out, and I will myself to remain calm, fighting the urge to wipe my hand on my gown. Mr. Cohen smiles broadly and stretches out a hand. “Congratulations, Messenger.” He always calls students by their last names.

  Behind me, I hear Principal Navarro call Joey’s name, but I barely register it.

  I place my hand in his, and my skin tingles.

  “Thanks, Mr. Cohen.” I sound breathless. I pray he doesn’t notice.

  Mr. Cohen joined the staff of Valley Lake High School at the beginning of my senior year. Our small lakeside town was over an hour from any decently-sized city, and we rarely got new teachers. Right away, all of the girls gushed over him. Not only was he a new teacher, he was an attractive new teacher. Mr. Cohen can’t be older than twenty-five, and his stunning black hair and crystal blue eyes almost always take my breath away.

  So many girls switched into physics for the chance to ogle Mr. Cohen on a daily basis. Unfortunately for them, they were forced to drop out of the class or ruin their GPA. Needless to say, the class wasn’t easy.

  Only me, Annie, and another semi-nerdy student named Laura managed to stick it out. The other nine students in the class were guys. I held the opinion the school should try to recruit more girls to the science programs, but I was secretly happy so many had dropped. It allowed me to interact with Mr. Cohen more frequently.

  I realize I’m staring at Mr. Cohen, lost in my thoughts and his stunning eyes. I blush and pump his hand firmly before quickly pulling it back. I hurry to the end of the stage and walk down the stairs. I’d become less tongue tied around Mr. Cohen as the school year progressed, but he could still unravel my composure with one look.

  I return to my seat with no incident, relieved my clumsiness hasn’t decided to rise up and embarrass me in front of all of my classmates and their guests.

  Two rows in front of me, Annie turns around and gives me two thumbs up. “You didn’t fall,” she mouths.

  I chuckle and mouth back, “I know.”

  She shakes her head, grinning, and turns back around.

  I see Joey walking towards me to head back to his row. I reach out and squeeze his hand before he can pass. “Congrats, Joey!”

  His lips part. “Thanks, Ronnie.” He squeezes my hand before he lets go and moves down the row to reach the metal chair on the other end.

  I feel a pair of eyes on me. I look towards the stage, and I’m surprised to see Mr. Cohen watching me from the line of teachers.

  His face is twisted with an odd expression. I fail to decipher the look before he schools his features. When we lock eyes, I tell myself to turn away—to break the spell. But I can’t.

  This happens sometimes.

  I can recall at least four separate instances when I found myself caught up in my favorite teacher’s stare. Often, it happened when he was sitting at his computer, and I was supposed to be working on an assignment. I would have my head down when, like I was tied to the end of a rope Mr. Cohen tugged, my attention would be lured into the depths of his ocean blue eyes.

  Then, without fail, I’d lose myself in his inquisitive and enthralling expression.

  Most of the time, my characteristic shyness would allow me to break the entrancing stare-down. But today… I can’t explain it. I simply don’t want to turn away from him. It’s almost like I can’t look away from him. Perhaps it is because I may never see him again. Now that I’m no longer his student and will be moving to college in the fall, the chances of running into Mr. C. are slim.

  My stomach twists painfully.

  A student reaches Mr. Cohen, and the spell ends. He turns to the young man and shakes his hand. I gasp, realizing I’d been holding my breath, and look down at the field below as I catch my breath.

  Smooth, Veronica, I chastise myself. Real smooth.

  Two

  Graduation ends, and I am squished between my parents, smiling for what feels like the fiftieth photo that day. Oliver and Janet Messenger are nothing if not excited to have me, their only child, graduate from high school. Their smiles are bright, and their faces beam with pride. I don’t have the heart to tell them it isn’t that big of a deal. Lots of kids graduate high school. But telling them that won’t deter their enthusiasm, anyway.

  “Alright,” my mom says, gesturing for Annie to give her the camera. “Now, one of you and Ronnie.”

  “Mom,” I say, exasperated. “Annie needs to go take pictures with her own family.” My poor best friend had been wrangled into taking our family photos for the better part of ten minutes.

  “It’s fine, Ronnie.” Annie shuffles next to me, taking my parents’ places. “We can take a few pictures.”

  I sigh and straighten my white top. I’d unzipped the stifling gown the moment the ceremony ended. The fresh air feels heavenly, but I also want to show the short-sleeved crop top and high-waisted skirt underneath the gown for pictures. The look is modern, but also modest.

  My mom gives us instructions to raise our diplomas and snaps at least a dozen pictures.

  Finally, she lowers her camera and askes, “Now, where is Joey? I need a photo of all three of you.”

  As if summoned, Joey appears behind my dad’s shoulder. “Right here,” he says, nearly giving the m
iddle-aged man a heart attack.

  “Perfect!” Mom exclaims. “Stand right in the middle. Yes. Right there. Perfect. Now, all of you, SMILE!”

  I heed her command, but groan between clenched teeth. Joey uses the left hand situated on my waist to poke my side. His other hand holds his diploma.

  I try not to laugh and ruin the picture. Doing so would only result in my mom subjecting us to even more.

  Still clicking the camera, Mom demands Annie and I lean in toward Joey. We obey, and she captures several more photos.

  Finally, my mom lowers the digital camera and proceeds to scroll through the pictures. “These are great!”

  “Good.” I’m relieved to hear it. “Can my friends go hang out with their families now?”

  “Of course,” Mom replies, still looking through the pictures on the screen.

  Dad steps up and hugs both of my friends. “I hope to see the two of you tomorrow for Veronica’s birthday dinner.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Joey replies.

  “I’ll be there,” Annie declares at the same time.

  “Excellent.” Dad moves and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I can’t believe my little girl is all grown up!” He places an embarrassingly loud kiss on my temple.

  “Dad!” I whine, wiping the moisture off my skin. “Stop.”

  My friends and Dad laugh at my expense.

  Then, Annie clears her throat. “Actually, Mr. and Mrs. Messenger, can I steal Ronnie for a minute? I’m sure my parents will want pictures of us, too.”

  “Of course,” Mom says, finally looking up from her digital camera. She waves me toward Annie. My dad drops his arm. “Have fun, Ronnie. We’ll see you in a few.”