Destiny Strikes (2 page)

CHAPTER 1

Present Day

July 31, 2014

Cascade, Seattle Washington

Screw dreams!

Fallon Strikes had waited a thousand years for the impossible only to be awakened in the wee hours of the morning extremely horny and aching for a release long denied.

With dawn arriving just beyond her kitchen window, Raven struggled to recall every detail of the distant dream. Fallon sucked in a harsh breath as she opened her mind awash with every sensation along for the ride. Hands curled over the edge of the countertop and a shiver ran the length of her spine. The sharpest stab of need ever warranted from a longing that went deeper than mere human connection crashed through her lower abdomen.

She exhaled a keen moan, reliving her kiss-swollen lips being inches from the man in her dreams.

Funny. Within seconds of waking, everything but what his face looked like was vividly clear.

Fallon even remembered the sensations of her hands clenching beside two powerful biceps, and her finger sinking further into cottony wisps of moisture, the lightest touch of fluff caressing her palms. She’d fisted her fingers around the surprisingly sturdy puffs of air then turned one hand over. A faint sheen of moisture clinging to the surface. Odd.

She frowned as her palm tingled, sizzled, and popped as it had in the dream. Similar, but on a much smaller scale, to how a steady current of electricity danced on water.

Another interesting facet of her late-night fantasy was the endless obsidian backdrop streaked with intense flashes of webbed lightning, but that paled in comparison to the hedonistic feel of the male reaching up past her shoulder and claiming the nape of her neck. The mystifying milieu became forgotten as his tongue traced the seam of her compressed lips. His other hand engulfed her breast.

Her spine arched to feed him more.

Sensation so real, moisture gathered at the thought of her sheath rocking against solid abs and her thighs clenched and shuddered as they pressed into the flesh of his upper body. Then there was the feel of his masculine hands locked on her hips. Strong fingers flexing at her hips.

The pain from her granite kitchen countertop cutting into her palm and several deep breaths later, she forcibly pushed the image from her thoughts. Fallon groaned for different reasons at what had come next.

Thunder boomed and lightning cracked in rippling waves inside her dream world. Words, not her own, had emerged from the storm around them.

“Kill him.”

“No!”

Minutes had passed without reply after her denial.

Encouraged that her imagination had an imagination she’d continued to adore the body beneath her when the hardened member wedged against her nether lips, bucked.

Caught up in the moment, she’d pushed the strange voice, weird setting, and violence of the storm overhead from her mind.

She’d lifted her hips and aligned the bulbous mushroomed cockhead with her dripping entrance. Inch by delicious inch, he’d penetrated walls never breached.

“
Destroy,”
whispered out of the turbulent depths again.

Unlike before, the request hadn’t been easily dismissed the second time around. A malicious and oily-like darkness had suffocated any thoughts to resist again. With a will of its own, her hand withdrew from the steely flesh of the man who’d complete her and reached for something above her. Metaphorically poised at the brink of heaven and hell, another sizzling
Crack
delivered a bolt of lightning right into her hand. She’d captured pure electricity as it snapped and popped within her grasp.

Riveted by the fact she’d actually held a lightning strike, instead of wielding it, she’d grinned with silly glee into his unblinking violet gaze. Other than the weird eye color, she now remembered. The odd smile that spread across her dream lover’s firm lips never disappeared, even as she’d driven the elemental spear into his chest.

“Damn it to Hell and back,” Fallon shrieked, smelling smoke. “Fucking dreams.”

She shook out her hand, more from habit than actual pain, swiping the destroyed toaster off the kitchen counter and into the sink.

She despised everything about ungoverned electricity. Even if she was the one supposed to govern it.

What a waste. Looking over burnt toast, toaster, and power socket. Triple damn.

Fallon released a huge sigh. Her nose scrunched and flared over the scorched stench. The water she doused the toaster in helped clear some of the smoke.

Hands palm down and gripping and the counter, she surveyed the damage, then hung her head in defeat.

For the past month, she’d been haunted by the same damn dream. Incredible sex. Mystery man. Dark, overwhelming desire to kill him.

Wallowing in self-pity, she wondered what it’d be like to possess one of her brothers’ gifts.

Rafael, Michael, Avedon, and Wallace, competently manipulated Earth’s most basic elements: Water, Air, Fire, and Earth . . . But, joke on her, the Creator chose her to be the freak of the family.

Heart hardened, she snorted with disgust over the legacy that tainted and cursed her family. The once-proud Nephilim race. The darling other half of the family tree she also blamed for her troubles.

Destroyed in one fell swoop for touching forbidden fruit . . . Humans. The big no-no.

Why?

Because Halfling beings like her and her brothers were not fit for Heaven or Earth.

Since learning of their existence, the Angelic Hierarchy had deemed Halflings no better than the offensive demons Lucifer harbored in Hell.

Nephilim-borne hybrids were even outcasts to the underworld.

Instead of destroying the so-called abominations, and pariah to all, most went into hiding from fear of more of heavens wrath.

Squeezing her lids shut, she pinched the bridge of her nose. To this day, she couldn’t understand the warped contingency plan for surviving strays who refused to melt into obscurity.

Strays like her and her brothers.

Somehow, through upper management, Fallon’s family members were delegated the responsibility of policing other Halflings from further fuck-ups.

A cold chill slithered up her spine. What would happen if the Angel Hierarch learned of her instability?

She pushed away from the sink.

Her standing around would not change what’d happened. Or what was happening. A quick glance at the clock told her it was seven after seven. “Crap.” Michael would probably bitch at her for being late. Each of her siblings met at his house every morning whether there was a case or not.

After she’d made sure there were no further fire hazards, went to gather knee-high boots and headgear. Before leaving, snatched her leather jacket off the hook, heading out the door.

Even the brush of Seattle’s cool breeze across her face could not alleviate the tense set of her shoulders.

Once outside, it took some effort for her cramped fingers to release the doorknob. Motorcycle helmet tucked beneath her arm, her eyelids lowered and her nose flared. She took deep breaths of crisp, mountainous air, so different from the heart of Seattle’s Bay area, as her gaze roamed an overcast sky. Mist, brought in by yesterday’s storms, popped and sizzled against her face.

The sight of her beloved motorcycle, SAM, parked in front of the vast and secluded estate helped mellow the ominous beginning to her morning.

Stiletto heel lifting the kickstand, she righted the motorcycle, planted her feet, and using thigh muscles held the bike steady. Raising the helmet over her head, she heard the Bluetooth headset emit a short beep in her left ear. The earpiece wrapped in a special polymer ensured its survival no matter her temperament, especially now.

Sister intuition kicking in, Fallon knew who’d be on the other end, she pressed the small button behind her ear. “What’s up?” Then, thinking better of it, she didn’t give her brother a chance to answer. Instead saying, “I’m heading over now.”

She started the Harley’s black and chrome engine, its screaming-eagle exhaust she’d wearily hoped would deter further discussion. When her eardrum started to throb, it was clear she was in for it. Her brother Michael was the one with a voice that penetrated far enough inside a person’s inner ear to burst soft tissue.

“That won’t be necessary because you’re not needed today. If you’re en route, turn around. We’ve already headed out.”

Blasted. Would nothing go right for her? She knew what was up and apprehension stirred as she turned the key to ‘Off,’ and put the kickstand down. She then rocked back on the seat and folded her hands atop the helmet she’d placed on the seat.

They’d left without her. So what?

Michael continued. “The News and medical report on the body that turned up near El Paso, Texas, are labeled baffling. After so many years, we know it’s not how the victims die, but what happens afterward. I have a hunch about this one. Because if history hold true, the Sortaneph responsible for the latest murderous rampage will probably try to make a break for the Arizona border. Wallace, Avedon, and I are on our way to check things out.”

Fallon bristled at Michael’s mention of the mutinous filth that sprang up from time to time. Sortaneph were gutter trash in Nephilim heritage. Not all were bad, but some caves, holes, and even hell itself couldn’t spawn their brand of evil.

Killing their own kind and innocent people would never bring a change to their status, only a death sentence.

“And you couldn’t inform me of this little setback any sooner?”

“Time isn’t a luxury when we deal with a Sortaneph disappearing into heavily populated areas. If things turn bad, I don’t need you there.” She winced against the vibration and machine gun cadence of his voice as it bounced against her eardrum.

She rolled her head, attempting to relax the tight muscles of her neck, and waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Look, Fallon, the biggest mistake I could make is denying something’s not right with you. I realize some of what I’ve seen could be attributed to a notable increase in your powers, but failure to rein in your temper . . . it worries me.”

“Could you just spit it out already?” Michael’s preaching session wasn’t over or he’d have hung up by now.

“Emotions in battle are useless. That’s the only thing I can come up with to explain your ‘fuck everybody else and kill them all’ mentality. We just can’t take that chance anymore."

Fallon gritted her teeth. Thunder rumbled above as she searched for anything to ground the electrical charge building within her. She threw one leg over the back of the bike as she got off and began to pace.

Clothing felt constricting when she was distressed. Due to her limited attire and reduced to wearing nothing but fire-retardant material, the stuff clung to her body as it absorbed the electrical charges released from her. The materials’ diffusion process was similar to clingy articles of clothing taken out of a dryer. When a wire hanger’s introduction into the mix rubbed over the material. The thin wire gathers the electrical emissions and renders them harmless.

Therefore, someone could wear items without fear of looking like a complete jackass in public.

As long as she kept her cool, the kinetic energy she expelled would remain contained.

Fallon’s stomach dropped. “What the hell happened yesterday?” He had to go there.

Michael’s next statement cut through her mocking indifference like butter. “Control has never been your strong suit, but you could’ve killed a lot of people.”

Images flashed of last evening’s screw-up. Didn’t any of her family members understand? If she had a clue, there wouldn’t be a need for explanation. She could still see it all: screams, running, lightning flashing brighter than any manmade camera, and electricity flowing sensuously through every vein.

Yes, it’d ended badly, but when humans were involved, they were just as unpredictable as she was.

Blinking unwelcome moisture away, she said, “Let me know how things turn out.” She hung up before Michael could rake her odd behavior over the coals more.

With nowhere to be after Michael’s assertion she was unfit be near anyone, she picked up her helmet, hurling it several feet and screamed in fury over a power that ruined her life. A power that damned a man she’d never meet.

“Have you ever sensed that something bad was coming?”

Travis Orion glanced over at the man who’d come up beside him. Like many attending the town of Seagrove’s Gun & Ammo Expo, most hardworking farmers cultivated their livelihood during the spring and summer months, and in winter chose hunting as a way to relax.

Skimming the crowd, Travis wondered what had brought the sudden dire mood about.

Nothing but smiles and game faces that spoke of hope for a better deal filled the old Green Bean Plant, packed to capacity,

“Is there a particular reason you feel this way?” Travis asked, without turning as he continued to scan aisles and booths for possible threats.

Something was on the man’s mind and staring him in the face wasn’t going to help get it out any faster.

Years of sunburned skin, deep age lines, and a long beard disappeared behind a large brim hat. After a stretch of silence and fiddling with an ivory handled pocketknife, he voiced his concern.

“My aching bones are tellin’ me a storm’s going to blow into the town of Seagrove and we’ll never be the same afterward. I know I sound foolish, but I ain’t been able to shake the darn feelin’ loose.” The lip of his hat lifted. He peeked over at Travis, before ducking his head again.