Fallen Embers (Fallen Guardians #9)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Snowflakes drifted down like feathers of a Fallen, blanketing the ground in white. As if there were any plumages left after falling.

Lore rolled his taut shoulders, ignoring the urge to release his wings that had been caged too long, as he stared through the window of Michael’s minuscule study?—

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…” The melody drifted to him from somewhere in the castle.

Humans. He didn’t understand them or their joy for this time of year.

The door opened, and he turned. Kira stumbled to a halt at seeing him, a small tree covered in gleaming tinsel and baubles clutched to her chest.

“Lore.” A grin appeared, two indents marring her cheeks. “Why are you in here all alone? Join us. We’ll teach you some carols.”

With a little hum, she set the tiny tree in the middle of Michael’s desk and clicked a switch. Lights within the branches blinked in a rainbow of colors. She angled her head and studied the odd little plant. “This does cheer up the Arc’s study, don’t ya think?”

He had no opinion at all.

“See ya.” With a little wave, she glided off.

His gaze shifted to the garden and the darkening evening, hoping Michael would get there soon. He had a new job that needed his attention?—

“Darn it, Aethan, I said I’m fine. Let it go, please.”

Lore frowned at hearing his student’s frustrated voice and glanced at the shut door.

“That’s because every time I try to talk to you, you shut me out,” the warrior growled. “What’s going on, Echo?”

“I’m just a little tired, okay? I’ve been studying most of the day.” Lore lifted an eyebrow at that. He hadn’t given her much work recently, just to go through the scrolls with the runes. “Everyone’s waiting for us.”

Another low growl drifted as their footfalls faded.

Putting them out of his mind, his gaze fell on the decked-out tree, winking happily on the desk with its merry colors. Laughter erupted, the song growing louder. He glanced back at the door. What was it about this celebration that caused so much excitement among the females?

Lore found himself following the singing and laughter down the long corridor to the back of the vast castle. As he approached the huge double doors, he opened them with a thought?—

And stepped into chaos.

Shiny streams of paper littered the floor. Several boxes lay open, displaying colorful, glimmering balls. A massive tree took up space in the corner with similar globes hanging from its branches.

“Lore!” Kira beamed. “You came!” She flipped back the dangling, fluffy white ball on the pointy red hat she wore and waved him over to where she and Echo, along with Blaéz’s mate, the librarian, were seated on the floor, rifling through several boxes.

Nothing dimmed the bubbling female.

“Don’t you know he doesn’t celebrate Christmas?” Echo taunted, seeming to have gotten over her earlier upset. No sign of her mate. Her bicolored eyes glittered as brightly as the baubles on the tree. “Loosen up, Lore. No need to be a hardass all the time. It’s the season to rejoice. Come. Have fun!”

Indeed. His student was prone to daydreaming, which made teaching her about her ancestors a challenge.

However, it wasn’t his job to question the Powers That Be about why this former human would possess the powerful gift of a Curantii. Not when she had the most potent of all bloodlines flowing through her veins—that of the long-annihilated Watchers.

Lore strolled to the window, away from the chaos, the wide openness outside calling to him?—

“Nate!” Echo shrieked, the high-pitched tone hurting Lore’s sharp hearing. She darted across the enormous living room, and her already messy black hair, which appeared as if chopped with an axe, jumped like a live mop.

“You’re here!” She threw her arms around her brother. The tall, dark-haired male had started life as a human, then morphed into a demon only to be reborn as an angel.

Long lost siblings finally reunited.

Nate laughed and hugged her. “I said I would come.”

His mate, Ely, and the first female Guardian, sat on the couch and cast the male an adoring look. Lore could almost see the stars in her eyes.

He didn’t understand this excessive need to form an attachment with another. This group of intractable Guardians, who lived millennia on Earth in solitude, eventually caved to that urge, too.

Even the powerful Watchers had succumbed…

Lore frowned, switching his attention back to the window. Night had deepened. Snow fell, covering the grounds and shrubs in a pristine white layer.

He’d been there during the annihilation of the Watchers, who had broken a fundamental Heavenly decree by surrendering to mortal urges and mating with humans. They’d made their choice, refused to return to the Celestial Realm, and died for it. Now, their descendants were emerging, some displaying immense powers that only affected human females, as per Zarias’ curse?—

“Yo, Lore?”

He recognized the voice and glanced back as Tyr strolled into the room with Blaéz, who cast him a contemplative smirk. These Guardians had to be the most stubborn, obnoxious immortals he’d ever had the misfortune to meet.

“Want a drink?” The warrior cocked a brow as he grabbed a slender glass with golden, bubbling liquid from the tray on the sideboard and lifted it.

Instead of reminding him that he was an angel and in service to God, Lore merely cast him a cool stare. Tyr snorted, swallowed his drink, and stalked over to a singing Kira. His arm snuck around her waist, and their mouths connected.

Lore watched them for a second before refocusing on the snow-covered gardens. His shoulder blades itched, his wings demanding release. Whatever Michael wanted to talk to him about, he hoped it didn’t take long. He had a job to do for the Supreme Seraph, Chamuel.

A slight vibration of power surrounded the castle, and he pivoted.

The warriors grunted, sensing the sway. Tyr snorted and dropped to his seat, dragging his half-giggling, half-protesting mate onto his lap.

“Honey, we’re decorating the tree.”

“No, you’re singing. Sit on my lap and sing.”

She burst out laughing.

Lore dematerialized from the room and reappeared at the study door. He entered to find Michael searching through the scrolls and papers on his desk, the tree pushed to the corner, lights blinking.

“I have a request,” the archangel said as the door shut behind Lore.

“I’m still working on the last one for you,” he reminded him.

Michael looked up from the clutter. His shattered blue irises, as if something horrific had occurred to cause them to fracture, emitted a silvery glow. “It’s been nearly two years. Eshana still needs more time?”

Lore folded his arms over his chest. “Echo,” he replied, using her preferred name. “Is as ready as one of her caliber can be.”

An amused smile quirked Michael’s mouth. His red-rimmed eyes appeared like those of a human in need of slumber, but angels didn’t require sleep.

“She still gives you a hard time?” he asked. “I overheard it mentioned a time or two among the females here.” Michael straightened from his desk, a scroll in his hand. “There’s something about humans you should know. Even if the women here are no longer mortal, emotions rule them. And yes, they still retain free will, so we have to make allowances. Now, about the job. It will necessitate some…er, fortitude.”

“What is it?”

“Protection of a human?—”

“No.”

Michael’s brows drew together, a look that would make most angels cower. But Lore wasn’t most angels.

“I’m no guardian angel, Michael. I am a Power. I have taught Echo at your behest.”

“It is because you’re a Power I ask this of you once more. Your kind of protection is imperative for this particular human.”

Lore studied the formidable angel, dressed like a mortal in worn jeans and a faded black t-shirt with more holes than a net, trying to read him…and got nothing.

“Is the human a threat to the Celestial Realm?”

His job was to maintain balance and eliminate any peril to the divine world, not to deal with more humans.

Michael’s jaw hardened. “No.”

“Then it isn’t a task for me. Get a Throne. They are warriors. Even a guardian angel will help. I have other work to attend to and must speak with an angel who has chosen to fall from grace.”

Michael quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve taken on that, too?”

“It’s always been a part of my job.”

“Right.” Michael dropped the scroll and rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger before he looked up. “I need you, just this once, Loráed. It’s all I ask.”

Lore crossed to the French doors, and with a thought, they opened. A gust of icy air hit him. He barely felt it as he faced the archangel to refuse, then stalled.

After what Michael had done for him, he supposed he could watch out for the mortal while fulfilling his latest task. “Very well.”

“I will send all the info you require to the cell phone you use while here.” He removed the device from his desk drawer and handed it to Lore.

“How long will I be this…this protector?”

“Until the threat to her is eliminated.”

“Her?”

The archangel raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“Makes little difference.”

“Good.” Michael’s gaze skimmed over him. “I’d suggest a more human apparel.”

Lore glanced down at himself. He’d never given much thought about clothes. His glaringly white tunic and pants were serviceable, his shirt possessing long slits on his back for when his wings emerged, but he supposed it wouldn’t do if he were to be among humans. With a thought, he switched to black pants, a button-down shirt, and shiny dress shoes.

He slipped the cell into his pants pocket and undid the choking top buttons on the shirt.

Michael snorted. “If I hadn’t seen this, I would have thought you raided Blaéz’s closet.”

“Then he’s the only one with any dress sense.”

Amusement glinted in the archangel’s swirling blue eyes. “What’s wrong with jeans?” He waved a hand at his legs. “They work well.”

“You’ve spent too much time in the human world, Michael. Where is she?”

“The French Quarter, New Orleans.”

Lore stepped out onto the terrace, the door shutting behind him.

While he awaited the Supreme Seraph to send him the location of his next job, he might as well find this female who needed protection, likely from some powerful demon. Which would be the reason Michael required his aid.

He released his wings, and a rip echoed as they tore through the back of his shirt in a rustle of feathers. Lore shot into the air, instantly concealing himself from human eyes, and flashed across the land to the French Quarter. Seconds later, he coasted and settled on a roof in the busy part of the neighborhood.

Dissonance reverberated from the street below, drunken revelry crowding his heightened hearing. The stench of sewage and decaying waste attacked his sensitive nose. He kept his breathing shallow as he retracted his wings.

Babysitting.

A Power babysitting ?

Michael owed him for this.

His cell dinged. Before he could check Michael’s message, a low-level angel took form near him, handed him a missive, and vaporized.

Lore unsealed the note from Chamuel.

Rania Deveraux.

Powers unfolding, keep an eye on her. Notify if the subject’s sway increases.

He touched the name, and an image of a dark-haired woman with honey-gold skin settled in his mind.

Not much to do. Just observe. So, why assign a Power?

His job was to assess and eliminate any threats. Was she one?

He removed the cell from his pants pocket and scrolled to the messaging app and the single contact.

A tap opened Michael’s message with a name and address.

Nia Deveraux.

Keep her safe.

Same female?

While he owed Michael a lot, the first job for Chamuel took precedence. If she were a threat, he would notify the Supreme Seraph.

And eliminate her.

Lore leaped down into the alley and headed off in search of the female who could be a hazard to his angelic world.

She should have known tonight’s dinner would suck worse than usual. Not only was she burning from the inside out, but she was stuck in this stifling mausoleum because she owed her grandmother. And her demon stalker was still out there somewhere!

Biting back a weary sigh, Nia Deveraux pushed the two tiny pieces of eggs around on her plate.

Soft voices and clinking cutlery filled the elegant dining room, currently adorned with tall conical floral arrangements in red and white, with tiny glittering baubles. Smaller versions of them graced the white damask tablecloth of the sixteen-seater table.

The scar on her left palm itched, and she rubbed her hand on her thigh as she cast a quick glance over the guests. Thank God, there were no red eyes among them.

If she saw another demon again after Kas, her one-time date-turned-stalker, she would probably stake him with her butter knife!

“It’s a lovely dinner, no, chère ?” a heavily accented voice rasped.

Nia looked up, and Leo Boucher’s beady brown eyes locked with hers across the table.

It barely started! But she choked back the words, kept her tone civil. “Yes, it is.”

Why did this sycophant have to be seated opposite her when she’d avoided him during the pre-dinner drinks?

He licked his thick lips, a smarmy smile creasing his jowled face.

Ugh! Revolting man!

If he kept that up, she would smash her amuse-bouche on his oiled-back hair and forget she was supposed to be on her best behavior tonight. It also meant she had to lock down her runaway mouth, or she would pay by having to hear Nan’s never-ending litany of being a thankless child.

Frustrated to her eyeballs at the endless evening ahead, Nia shoved a tiny half of food into her mouth and nearly gagged at the god-awful taste of the deviled quail’s eggs. She grabbed her crystal and gulped down some water then looked up to find the ass still watching her.

He slowly licked his spoon free of the mushy eggs.

God, why me?

Aware of the laser stare her grandmother leveled at her from the head of the table, Nia tried to keep her expression neutral as she set her glass down and picked up her napkin. Discreetly, she dabbed her damp brow, wishing she could step outside in the chilly air for a minute. With only one course down, there were six more to go…

She set down the linen and counted her breaths, trying to calm her anxiety. She didn’t do too well in crowds, especially this lot. With shaky fingers, she traced the several tiny studs marching down her left ear.

The woman and man on either side of her continued to ignore her but engaged Lecher Boucher in small talk, which suited her just fine. No, Grandmother would never see her friends as anything other than pious, God-fearing people. Yeah, right.

They were nothing but a gossiping crate of shriveled prunes.

The next course arrived: a small bowl of white bean and garlic consommé. Nia finished it in three mouthfuls. And her speed-eating wasn’t helping.

Her headache and temperature amped up. Darn. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with the flu or something, and the cloying drift of perfume from the lady next to her didn’t help either.

She only hoped she could make it through to dessert, but with the frigid stares aimed at her, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe that was her grandmother’s aim—death by social freezing. Then she’d rejoice, finally freed of her burden.

But debts had to be paid. Since Nan funded her studies, Nia couldn’t hightail it out of there like she longed to.

The Christmas Eve dinner was a thank-you to Nan’s comrades for a charity event her grandmother had spearheaded with smashing success.

“Poor Cora, still burdened with her…” At the low, sniffed murmur, Nia’s gaze arrowed in on the Botoxed dustball who’d give Madonna a run for her money, seated near Lecher. She leaned into her husband, a pale, thin, stick of a man. “Imagine being stuck with a freak for life.”

Freak? Freak ?

She’d heard it all before, but tonight, the slur hit hard. She shot to her feet, the heat within her intensifying. “I. Am. Not. A. Freak!”

“Rania, sit down.” Her grandmother’s cold order cut through the voices.

Dead silence fell.

No one said a word.

They wouldn’t dare in front of Nan, but their condescending glares sliced like knives.

Nia straightened her spine and met her grandmother’s cold stare. “Nan, thank you for dinner,” she said with all the politeness she could muster, “but I’m working the late shift at the clinic. I have to go.”

It was early still, but she didn’t care. Nia marched out, aware her grandmother wouldn’t call her back. More, she knew this wasn’t the end of the incident. Her telling-off would follow.

She rubbed her trembling hands down her pants as she made her way to the foyer. Nia was what Nan hated the most.

An anomaly.

No amount of praying over Nia’s ‘ troubled soul ’ from the local priest Nan had roped in could diminish her ability.

So what if she possessed that extra bit of awareness of the supernatural and could see demons? There was little she could do about that ability short of dying. And that brought her right back to her current problem.

A damn demon and former date that wouldn’t take no for an answer.

She called Uber and made her way along the driveway to the gate. As she stepped out onto the quiet street of Garden District, caution tightened every nerve in her body, and she cast a wary glance at the shadowy trees lining the road.

Everything remained still, yet her heart thudded with unease.

Please, don’t let him be here.