Jude; The Fallen (The Fallen Series, Book 2) (2 page)

The sound of trickling water drifted out as the hole widened, a shaft of dappled sunlight filtering down below.

She never showed her face as she, like the archeologist, slipped through the crack.
The hole in the temple wall was just large enough for her to climb through. Her sandaled foot sank into the heavy grass on the other side. She could never forget this place, this holy, sacred place…she had been born here.

The cellphone her goddess had blessed had been a lifesaver more than once. Challa pulled her veils off her head and gave a soft shake of her hair.
An intricate cap of golden chain sat perfectly on top of her head as she flipped her phone open and dialed. The phone rang long enough for Challa to finish pulling off the oppressive, stifling burka. The language that was used was more ancient than the temple’s heart, where Challa stood, leaning on a sculpture of Ba’al and his wife Khemyrhia in a heated embrace.

“Are you there?” her mother, Sanjeev, asked on the other end of the line.

“Of course I am. It’s still as pure as it should be. What do you want me to do?” Challa bit her lip at her impertinence and waited, her foot tapping a staccato.

Her mother sighed a gentle, yet irritated sigh. “Mistress says to raze the temple.
Bring it….bring it down, Challa.”

“But, Mother!
It will –”

“I know, Challa. Just destroy the building! Do as your mother says,” Sanjeev snapped. “Go ahead. Destroy the Mistress’s power. Per her command.
We must follow.
” The line went dead and Challa cursed. She bit back a sob as she pulled out a wad of C4, a detonator, and a small timer. She looked up at the sculpture and stroked Ba’al’s well-muscled arm, remembering. Amidst the clearing, another sculpture hid between several trees, his eyes closed with an expression of heartache on his face.

Challa gently placed the explosives between the lovers, then pulled it back, deciding to defy her goddess. As she turned to go, a voice, rich and smoky, drifted into the clearing.

“BRING IT DOWN, CHALLA. YOU SHALL INVOKE MY WRATH, AND I SHALL COLLECT UPON YOUR MOTHER’S DEBT, SHOULD YOU DEFY ME. DO. IT. NOW.”

Challa shuddered and quickly stuck the package on the statues, setting the timer.
With tears in her eyes, she slipped back out to join the other workers. She knew better than to defy the goddess.

It had once been known as the Lover’s Pool.
But that was thousands of years past. In the moonlight that shone down upon the glen, the statues of Khemrhyia and Ba’al looked almost alive, their stony flesh entwining over a pool. A hand, so graceful and black-clawed, picked up the explosives package with a sigh. With his sigh, the grasses erupted in flowering growth and the pool overflowed. He could barely remember this place, but he remembered the Goddess Khemrhyia, and felt love. He hissed in pain as the emotion burned through his chest.

“I’nanna…,” he whispered as memories of the time before came back to him.
This was love, and he hungered for it. The Incubus groaned, a subtle shiver of pleasure rolling through him. He was starving. Vines twisted and writhed against his shins. He used to savor that feeling, until the fire…until he became and was born. The vines brushed his crotch, and the Incubus whimpered, rolling his hips in sexual need. It was time to feed. He looked up at the moonlight one last time and whispered, “I’nanna…where are you?”

The Incubus moaned and rolled his hips, the vines twining tight on his thighs.
He gripped the small bundle of explosives as he shuddered. It was simple to switch the timer off and deactivate the detonator. He tossed the C-4 in the pool and pulled away from the vines as his eyes faded to fuchsia from black.

It was time to feed.

Finding prey was always simple. Throughout time, he’d moved through the world, each moment, each individual lover a trophy he savored. As he slipped from the temple, the Incubus inhaled the air around the campground. Scents of men and women greeted him. He paused in minor consideration. Lamplight flickered from a nearby tent, and the smell and outline of a woman, well in season and fertile, blew to him. He smiled. This was too perfect. All he had to do was wait until she was asleep. He waited.

Challa had been doing this for years.
She’d always been on sites for the Sumerian gods. It was her obligation to keep them safe, keep them hidden away from the prying eyes of those who did not serve them. As a girl, she’d learned all about the cruel God-King En’lil and his gracious sister of all things bountiful, I’nanna. She always loved the tales of the Lord of Beasts, Enkidu and drew comfort from the Fertile One, Hammad. She had always served Khemrhyia, her Merciful Death. The camp was asleep, and it was only a couple of hours before her bomb would go off in the garden. She shuffled to the tent she shared with Yasmine. As she reached for the tent flap, Yasmine let out a throaty moan and Challa did not hesitate. The tent was dark, yet a soft light shone from Yasmine’s bed.

She was fucking someone.
His lean frame was hunched over her, rocking in a rhythm that she knew from Apollo’s visits to her mistress. Her friend’s squeals of pleasure made heat rise in her cheeks. The man’s dark head swiveled in her direction.

It was his eyes, so frighteningly familiar, that made Challa’s breath catch:
They burned a fiery pink, almost the color of blood. A demon. Her mother had always warned against encounters with them. Carefully, she began to draw power to her. He hissed and his eyes widened. He blinked, and instantly his eyes were a soft brown as he whispered a questioning, “Sanjeev?”

His eyes, so full of sadness, were the deep, loamy color of turned soil.
Challa blinked and he was gone. Memories, faded like the Sanskrit that wasn’t carved into stone, flooded her mind: A man smiling down at her, holding her close in the warmth of his sun-kissed arms as he kissed her mother in love. Challa shook her head. No memories ever had the effect of making her weep as she curled onto her cot, missing home and her mother.

Lucius smiled into the darkness of the alley. The air was thick with the smell of blood, and heavy with the sound of labored breathing. It took him a second to register the origin of the noise. It was Domniel, breathing heavily from the rear.

“Dom? You alright back there, brother? You sound winded.”

The response was a snort and a garbled grunt.

“I got my eyes on him, he’s fine. Twitchy, but fine,” came Jude’s reply. “I think he’s in the zone.”

Lucius paused and turned to face his brothers. “Alright. Like always. And no hero shit. I’m not spending another night feeling one of you up to make sure your bones knit properly.” He frowned. “I’m looking at you, Cai.”

Mordecai grinned. “If it helps, you made the ugliest night nurse ever.”

“I mean it,” Lucius said. The deaf angel gave him a thumbs up. “Fine. Let’s see what’s waiting for us.”

He was two steps in when the ambush came from behind, from the open air of the deserted street. Domniel shouted, and he heard the sound of gunfire before he could wheel around to get perspective. Bright flashes blinked against the dark of night as Domniel popped off two more rounds into the pack of demons that rushed them.

Lucius lost sight of the others as he connected with a demon, the force of the tackle shoving him into the alley. He landed on his back with a grunt, dropping his .45, and his head hit the concrete with enough force to make his teeth rattle. Something warm and wet seeped through the fabric of his shirt. Blood.

The demon hissed above him, baring jagged yellow teeth, its breath reeking of brimstone. His hands came up to catch the demon at its sides, and he grabbed hold, yanking backwards over his head to send it flying into a dumpster with a metallic clang. Lucius scrambled to his feet and back out to the fray, snatching up his piece. His brothers needed him.

Mordecai and Elijah stood back to back, anchoring each other as they grappled with a demon each. Neither angel had the upper hand, and Lucius’ eyes flicked between them as he raised his weapon.

“Lige! Hit the deck!” he shouted.

The silent angel’s head jerked to look at his leader, narrowly missing a bite to the face. His grip on the demon in front of him faltered and he reached back with both hands to grab onto Mordecai. Elijah’s left leg curled back to hook around Mordecai’s right. He yanked with a hard, downward pull at the same time he swept Mordecai’s leg, and both angels crumpled to the concrete, leaving the two demons wide open. The muzzle on his .45 flashed twice in succession, and both headshots were true, sending blood and brain matter spraying out into the air.

“You alright?” Lucius called in Elijah’s direction. Elijah grabbed Mordecai’s hand and raised them together in solidarity. They were fine. His eyes searched for Jude and Domniel, missing the hissing sound coming from the rear.

“Boss!” Jude called, putting three slugs in a downed demon. The big angel perked up and ran, but Domniel cut past him like he was out for a Sunday stroll, pushing Lucius to the ground and vaulting over him to catch the newly-appeared demon by the throat, disappearing into the inky blackness of the alley.

Lucius pushed up from the ground, moving to follow the blind angel into the fight. Jude’s hand on his arm stopped him cold. Jude never initiated touch. The big angel jerked his arm back with a wince. “I wouldn’t go in there. He’s on another plane, boss. Look.” Jude gestured to the pile of remains behind him. Pile was the operative word. The corpse had been ripped limb from limb, ragged, putrid flesh hanging from the joints. Arms and legs were in a jumble on top of the torso, lying where they had been thrown. Even in the darkness, he could see the distinct outline of Domniel’s boot print in the middle of the chest. He’d stomped on the torso to hold it down while he ripped the head off with his bare hands.

“Fuck,” Lucius muttered.

“Yeah,” Jude huffed. “As in ‘what the actual’. Like I said, don’t follow. If he needs us, we’ll know.” Jude moved aside to check on Elijah and Mordecai.

All they heard from the darkness was a series of screams and cracking sounds, punctuated by Domniel growling, “Do. Not. Stab. Me. Demonic. Asshole.”

A few more screams, then the wet, sucking sound of steel on flesh and the stench of brimstone. The solo move would not go unmentioned, but Lucius had to admit that Domniel was frustrated. He carefully watched as Domniel emerged from the shadows and flung a knife at a rat sneaking by. The rat gave a final squeak before Lucius said, “Jesus, Dom. You killed it. Now put the blades down.”

The blind angel blinked, flecks of blood spraying from his eyelashes like tiny rubies. Domniel shook his head and said, “No. There’s another one. Where did it go?”