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

by Samantha Britt

  “Thanks, Mom.” I lift the spoon and stir the soup, accelerating the process of melting the cheese on top.

  “Still feeling better?” She sits on the edge of my bed, watching as I put a spoonful of soup into my mouth. Peri, also, watches. She licks her chops, eager for me to spill some soup on the floor. She knows that’s the only way she will get any human food without stealing it.

  “Yes,” I reply after swallowing. This time, I’m being one-hundred percent honest, and I have no ulterior motive. I almost feel normal, aside from the lingering chill and sporadic muscle contractions in my chest.

  “That’s great, honey.” Mom runs her hands over my quilt, smoothing the fabric. “Your dad and I are going to run to the grocery store really quick. Is there anything you want us to get for you while we’re out?”

  I chew my lip as I think. “Chips and salsa for a snack this week? The hot flavor if they have it.” I love spicy food.

  “Will do.” She pats my leg and stands. “Want me to leave the door open for Peri?”

  “Yes, please. Thanks.”

  Mom leaves and I resume eating the soup. Dad pops his head in to check on me, too. Minutes later, I hear the front door close when they leave for the store.

  Finished eating, I put the bowl on my nightstand. I reach for the television remote to switch channels.

  Right as I click the button and the volume goes silent, I hear a thump that sounds like it comes from downstairs. I stiffen. My first thought is Peri must’ve knocked something over, but one glance confirms she is laying on the ground beside my bed.

  Fear threatens to take hold, but I attempt to reason with myself. The noise probably came from the icemaker or some other innocuous household item. Still, I mute the T.V. and hold my breath, straining to hear anything else.

  I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear another thump, followed by a muffled curse, “Damn”.

  My hands fly over my mouth to smother my gasp. Someone is in my house!

  Peri lifts her head and growls toward the open door. I shush her, holding out the hand signal which supports my verbal command. I scurry out of bed, and I have to balance myself against the nightstand before feeling returns to my immovable legs.

  My breath comes in short spurts. I continue to listen for movement as I creep into the hallway. I am almost out of my room when I reach back to grab the softball bat standing against my dresser. I’m glad I didn’t throw the aluminum bat away when I quit the sport more than five years ago.

  I adjust my grip and keep my back against the wall, moving towards the staircase. I peer over the wooden banister and lean forward when I don’t see anything right away.

  There.

  A shadow moves across the living room wall, but I manage to keep the surprised cry from passing my lips. I bite my cheek as my chest tightens.

  No! This is not the time for my stupid muscles to contract and cause pain.

  I hear a door close and someone murmurs, “There aren’t bedrooms down here. She must be upstairs.”

  Oh, crap. Oh, crap. Oh, crap.

  Are they talking about me?

  I hear a different voice reply, “Shut up, Gabe.”

  I lift the bat behind my shoulder and readjust my hold. I inch away from the bannister to make sure no one can see me if they look up.

  I know at least two men are in my home, but there could be more. I’m already outnumbered. I need to hide. There is no way I can defend myself against the intruders. I curse the fact I didn’t think to grab my cellphone before I went searching for who was in my house. I blame the medicine and my still-weak body and mind for my poor decision.

  My bedroom is farther down the hall. I decide to slip into the bathroom instead, but I leave the door open to hopefully throw off suspicion. Careful to keep quiet, I slip behind the navy-blue shower curtain. I raise the bat again, ready to swing if anyone should look behind the curtain.

  I hear the familiar squeak of the third step from the top landing. My pulse spikes. I hadn’t heard any footsteps before that one. I’m thankful Dad hadn’t gotten around to fixing the stairstep. I tighten my hold on the bat, waiting for the intruder to enter the bathroom and find my hiding place.

  The seconds pass at a painfully slow pace.

  I realize the intruder has passed the bathroom, but the only signs I have of his progress are the occasional squeal of hinges or the strike of the latch as he opens doors.

  Periwinkle barks, and I know the intruder has reached my room.

  To my shock, the barking stops. And I hear a male voice speaking softly to my dog, “That’s it. Good girl. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I envision Peri’s wagging tail.

  Normally, I brag about my dog’s friendly disposition. But for the first time in my life, I wish she was a fearful German Shephard or Doberman Pinscher.

  Two voices begin to speak. I think they are the same voices from downstairs, so I assume there are only two intruders in my house. I consider my options and decide my first goal should be to get out of the house.

  I try to pluck up my courage to leave the bathroom and make my escape. If the intruders are near, or inside, my room, I might be fast enough to run down the stairs and out the door before they can reach me. If I’m quiet, they might not even notice where I am until I’m already at the front door.

  I inhale, ready to move, when I hear a familiar whine close to the shower curtain.

  Crap!

  I see Peri’s shadow as she nudges the curtain. Her whimpers increase; she wants to get to me.

  The voices have stopped speaking.

  I know what’s about to happen.

  I say a quick prayer, asking God to protect me, as a human-shaped shadow is cast on the curtain.

  My heart is nearly in my throat as the shadow reaches forward. I see four fingers curl around the edge of the curtain.

  I don’t wait.

  The moment the intruder pulls the curtain, I close my eyes and call on all of my strength right before I swing the bat towards the man’s skull.

  Nine

  Thwack.

  The bat halts mid-swing.

  My eyes fly open and I’m staring into the intruder’s sea-blue eyes. The hue of his long, tied-back, black hair looks familiar, but my attention is dragged away from his looks as I take in the fact he is holding the softball bat in his palm.

  “It’s you,” the intruder says with a hint of awe. His voice snaps me out of my stupor.

  I scream and yank the bat away. The man lets go, and the aluminum smacks into the tile beside my head. I hear the delicate material crack.

  On the other side of the shower, Peri begins to bark. Only, she isn’t barking at the man. She’s barking at me!

  Traitor.

  I stop screaming, but I swing the bat in front of me like I’m watering the backyard. “Stay back!”

  The man rears back to avoid being hit. He holds his hands up by his shoulders. I see he’s dressed casually in a pair of blue jeans and a sports t-shirt. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Does he expect me to believe him?

  “What are you doing in my house?” I shout, continuing to swing my meager weapon to keep distance between us. My arms grow tired, and I curse my illness for leaving me weaker than normal.

  “I’m here to help you.”

  “By breaking into my house?” I put more effort behind my swings.

  “Yes. No…” He shakes his head, and a few loose strands sway with the movement. “It’s not what it looks like. I promise, I’m here to help you. I know you’re sick.”

  I don’t even bother to try and figure out how he knows that. “I’ve called the police. They’re on the way.”

  The intruder doesn’t react. I don’t think he believes me. “I swear, Veronica. I only want to help—"

  “I don’t want your help. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” I shriek, my adrenaline and fear making me lose it. This creep knows my name, and I know that isn’t a good thing. It would mark him as a stalker in
an episode of my favorite television drama.

  Suddenly, Peri switches to my side. She bites the man’s calf. He stumbles back, releasing a string of expletives. I use the opportunity to jump out of the shower and shove him out of the bathroom so I can escape. He grabs onto the bat and pulls. I release the handle and continue running into the hallway.

  My feet fly down the stairs, and I run my hand along the railing to keep balance. I jump over the last two steps and land on the first-floor hard.

  Pain shoots up my ankles, but I don’t dare stop. I can only hope Peri distracted the intruder long enough to give me time to escape and get help. I can only hope nothing happens to my dog in the meantime.

  I make a break for the front door. I’m reaching for the handle when a body blocks my way.

  CRAP!

  I’d forgotten there was another intruder. I don’t waste a second. My gaze zeros in on his chest, marking my biggest target. I center my weight and release a sweeping kick with my right leg. The man sidesteps out of the way easily. I blame my weakened state. Normally, the surprise attack would have laid out my kickboxing instructor. After four years, I’ve moved up to the advanced classes.

  Determined to make it outside, I throw a quick right punch. When it’s deflected, I quickly jab with my left. I hear a satisfying, “oomph” when my knuckles make contact.

  I don’t let up. I’m kicking and swinging in rapid succession. I will make it outside.

  But I’m unsuccessful in landing another blow. The intruder blocks every move. He’s fast, and I get the impression he is trained in martial arts too. Though, all of his moves are defensive. He doesn’t try to strike me once.

  My breathing is heavy. I’m lightheaded, but I refuse to give up. I’m so focused on the fight, I don’t hear that the intruder is speaking. Not until I hear him say, “Relax, Messenger. Stand down!”

  I stagger back, sure to keep my arms raised to defend myself. My eyes rise from the intruder’s torso, and they nearly pop out of my head as I identify the man standing before me. His beige slacks and form-fitting button down are more familiar than they should be.

  “Mr. Cohen?”

  I gape, dumbfounded, at my physics teacher. “Mr. Cohen?” I repeat, and my arms fall to my side. “What are you doing in my house?”

  Hearing my recognition, Mr. Cohen drops his defensive stance. He straightens his spine and pulls down on his long-sleeved button up. “I’m here to check on you. You weren’t at church today, and I know you aren’t feeling well.”

  That’s the first time I’ve heard Mr. Cohen attends my family’s non-denominational church. If he were any other teacher, the information wouldn’t surprise me. Valley Lake is small, and many of my teachers attend the same church. But there is no way I would’ve missed seeing Mr. Cohen on a Sunday.

  Absolutely not.

  I’m torn between trusting Mr. Cohen and viewing him as an intruder. I err on the side of caution and step back. “So you decide to break into my house after not seeing me at church?”

  What if I’m wrong about my teacher? What if Mr. Cohen is a serial killer and I’m his next victim?

  The thoughts drive my feet back another step.

  Mr. Cohen raises his hands, much like the other man in the bathroom.

  As if summoned by my thought of him, I hear the other man say, “Looks like you were wrong about her being asleep, Brother.”

  I spin around and look at the top of the stairs. The first intruder stands there with his arms crossed. Peri sits at his side, gazing up at him for attention. It seems she’s gotten over her short bout of defending me.

  The man’s address stands out. I look between him and Mr. Cohen. “You’re brothers?”

  Mr. Cohen nods.

  Well, that explains why the man’s black hair had looked familiar. After a quick glance

  at my teacher’s hair, I’d say the color is almost identical.

  “Why are you and your brother in my house?” I modify my question. “What do you want?”

  “We’ve told you,” Mr. Cohen’s brother states, “we know you’ve been sick. We are here to help you feel better.” He begins walking down the stairs, and I’m pleased to see he limps where Peri bit him.

  Periwinkle’s claws click against the wood stairs as she follows him down. My attention switches from one man to the other. In addition to their hair, the blue in their eyes nearly matches the other. Both of them watch me with wariness—like I’m some sort of skittish animal. I wish I still had my bat.

  I take another step back. I’m closer to the kitchen. If anything should go wrong, I can try to make it to the backdoor and run away. Mr. Cohen continues to block the front door.

  When I don’t say anything, my teacher says, “Just give us the chance to explain.”

  I jerk my chin towards Mr. Cohen. Despite the craziness of his presence in my house, my gut tells me my teacher isn’t there to harm me. But perhaps that’s just wishful thinking.

  “Fine. Explain. How do you know I’m sick? Did my parents tell you?”

  “No,” he replies evenly. “We sensed it. Your pain is like a signal shooting into the sky. I thought I felt it last night, but it became obvious when I woke up this morning.”

  I don’t even know what to say to that.

  I swallow the knot in my throat. “Um… what? Did you say you sensed my pain?”

  His brother reaches the last step, and I hold out a flat palm. “Stop there. Don’t come any closer.”

  To my surprise, he listens. The man crosses his arms, again, and leans to rest against the wall bordering the stairs. I notice his biceps flex with the movement. He dips his head to Mr. Cohen, encouraging his brother to continue.

  With surprising reluctance, I tear my gaze from his muscles and blink as I re-focus on Mr. Cohen. If he noticed where my attention had been, he doesn’t say so. “Tell me, Messenger, your birthday was yesterday. Wasn’t it?”

  I tell myself it isn’t weird he knows that. Mr. Cohen used to be my teacher, after all. He had access to a lot of information about me through the school’s database.

  Still, I say, “Yes.”

  “And you turned eighteen?” His brother asks from my right.

  Is it my imagination, or does he sound excited?

  My confusion and fear start to morph into frustration. My head swivels towards Mr. Cohen’s brother, and I scowl. “What does my age have to do with anything?”

  “Everything,” he breathes.

  My annoyed expression falls the moment I lock eyes with the man. His irises glisten with anticipation, and a flash of some unidentifiable emotion flits over his cheekbones and rugged jawline.

  His gaze shifts and moves down. I’m suddenly aware of my short pajama bottoms and the fact I’m not wearing a bra. I resist the urge to cover my chest. Instead, I pray the top is loose enough to keep everything out of sight. Despite my best attempt, I can’t hide the crimson color rising in my cheeks. I look away.

  A fresh pang stabs my chest. I rub my sternum and see Mr. Cohen’s eyes mark the action. “Let me guess, your chest has been aching so much it feels like you can’t breathe.”

  My lips part in surprise. Quickly, I snap them closed. I drop my hand and lift an eyebrow.

  “What, are you a mind reader?” I ask sarcastically. He’d probably seen me wince while I rubbed my chest bone. I hadn’t tried to conceal the pain from my face.

  It turns out, I shouldn’t have challenged him.

  Mr. Cohen looks at my raised brow. His eyes narrow as he says, “No, I’m not a mind reader. I’m something much more.” I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen Mr. Cohen look at me with anything other than kindness.

  I give up and cross my arms, partly in defiance and partly to cover myself. “Oh? Do tell.” I don’t know where I found my attitude in this situation. Normally, only Mom and Dad see my bratty side. Again, I blame my exhaustion for my poor decision making.

  Mr. Cohen takes a step forward. Though he’s still feet away, I feel like he�
�s looming over me. “You want to know what we are?”

  I get the impression there’s a dark side to my teacher—one I’d never seen before. He’s always seemed reserved and studious in the classroom. I never once thought he would be any different outside the walls of Valley Lake High School. I lick my lips, feeling nervous. I don’t know if I want to hear what Mr. Cohen has to say, but I can’t see a way to back out now.

  So, not trusting myself to form coherent and non-antagonizing words, I simply nod.

  Mr. Cohen’s eyes flash. Then, without hesitation, he says seven words which turn my entire world upside-down, “We are angels, Messenger. Just like you.”

  Ten

  I wait for Mr. Cohen to say he’s joking. I half-expect my parents, Annie and Joey to jump out from behind the couch and yell, “Gotcha”.

  But that doesn’t happen.

  “Angels? Are you insane?”

  Briefly, I wonder if I’m dreaming. That would make more sense than believing my physics teacher actually broke into my house and was spouting some nonsense about angels.

  But my mind is clear. I know I’m awake. This is really happening.

  “I know it may seem that way, but I promise we can explain,” Mr. Cohen tells me calmly. The dark presence he’d exhibited seconds ago has disappeared. Now, he is back to acting like my approachable and likeable teacher. “Let’s sit down so we can talk. You look dead on your feet.”

  He’s not wrong; I feel like someone took a steamroller and drove it over my chest. The constricting feeling in my chest is back with a vengeance.

  “Fine.” I gesture towards the living room. “After you.” There’s no way I’m turning my back on them.

  Mr. Cohen nods and walks toward the couch. I stiffen as his brother draws near. Periwinkle trots at his heel, still trying to gain his attention. I lift my gaze and see his swift wink as he passes. A soothing wave washes over me, cooling the stinging heat in my chest.