Fallen Angel: Mythic Series, Book 2 Read online

  Fallen Angel

  Mythic, Volume 2

  Abbie Zanders

  Published by Abbie Zanders, 2016.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  FALLEN ANGEL

  First edition. August 15, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Abbie Zanders.

  Written by Abbie Zanders.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Fallen Angel (Mythic, #2)

  Acknowledgements

  Before You Begin

  Chapter 1 – Angels and Assets

  Chapter 2 – You Rang?

  Chapter 3 – Suck It Up, Cupcake

  Chapter 4 – A Man’s Gotta Do...

  Chapter 5 – The Times, They Are A-Changing

  Chapter 6 – Always Darkest

  Chapter 7 – Better Than A Text

  Chapter 8 – Angels and Demons and Vampires, Oh My

  Chapter 9 – Welcome to the Rabbit Hole

  Chapter 10 – It Will Only Hurt For a Minute

  Chapter 11 – Day of Reckoning

  Chapter 12 – The Truth Is Out There

  Chapter 13 – Sharing is Caring

  Chapter 14 – Cue the Fat Lady

  Thanks for reading David and Ryssa’s story

  If you liked this book...

  About the Author

  Also by Abbie Zanders

  Fallen Angel

  (Mythic Series #2)

  Acknowledgements

  Amazing cover and series design by Marisa @ www.covermedarling.com

  Stock photos from www.depositphotos.com and www.pixabay.com

  Professional editing by M. E. Weglarz of megedits.com, a woman with a true gift for spotting plot holes, character anomalies, black holes, and other potential WTFs. Thank you, Meg, from the bottom of my heart.

  And special thanks to some very special ladies for agreeing to beta read this book and providing such wonderful feedback. This is a better story because of them!

  ... and THANK YOU to all of you for selecting this book. You didn’t have to, but you did.

  Before You Begin

  Fallen Angel is the second book in my Mythic series. Each story is a full book in and of itself, a standalone story of paranormal romance with plenty of humor and emotion.

  Within the pages, you will encounter vampires, shifters, angels, demons, fae, witches, mages, goddesses... just to name a few. It is only recently that these Extraordinaries, as they call themselves, coexist peacefully in the idyllic community of Mythic. Very few know of their existence; understandably, they prefer to keep to themselves. However, you’ve been granted a special look into the world of these amazing beings. But be warned -—once you visit Mythic, you might not want to leave.

  WARNING: This book contains some adult language and situations, and is intended for mature (18+) readers only.

  Chapter 1 – Angels and Assets

  “It’s almost time, Claire,” Ryssa whispered softly, her voice as smooth as crushed velvet over silk. “He’s here.”

  The older woman breathed in wonder, her thin fingers gripping Ryssa’s with surprising strength. She blinked her cornflower blue eyes, now glazed with milky white, once, twice, focusing in the same direction as Ryssa. Slowly, the far wall of her small bedroom faded away. In its place appeared a celestial landscape, blurry around the edges, with a backdrop of the Northern Lights. Out of the swirling mist walked a tall male figure.

  “He’s so handsome,” Claire managed, forcing the air up through collapsing lungs to form the words.

  “Of course he is,” Ryssa said, relieved to see that it was Zach who had come. “He is an angel.”

  Ryssa didn’t really think someone from the other place would come for the kindly great-grandmother, but she had been surprised before. No one really knew what secrets might lie beneath a gentle smile and laughing eyes. It was why judgment was best left to those with the ability to see past the surface, who could look beyond the cover and know how the story ended without ever having to open the book.

  Radiant golden hair surrounded a face truly sculpted by the hand of God as the angel stepped into the room. It was a face Ryssa knew well. No matter how many times she saw it, it never got old. Her heart pumped hard against the inner walls of her chest as she felt the tickling tingle of the angel’s inner light against her skin. She caught a flash of white – white silk shirt, white silk pants, white wings tipped in gold – before she dropped her eyes. He was so beautiful, it physically hurt to look at him, unless you were heaven-bound, like Claire.

  Ryssa wasn’t.

  “Hello, Claire,” the angel said with a smile, his voice deep and symphonic, filled with music and hope and everything good. “Are you ready to continue your journey?”

  Claire squeezed Ryssa’s hand harder, making her wince. Death was rarely easy, even for the blessed.

  “Zach will take good care of you, Claire,” Ryssa assured her. She lifted the old woman’s hand and placed it in the angel’s without meeting his assessing gaze, choosing instead to stare at his feet. They were bare, visible beneath the hem of his silken pants, and every bit as beautiful as the rest of him. Ryssa fought the urge to go to her knees and kiss them.

  “Will you not look at me, Ryssariel?” Zach asked in his melodic tones. It was everything an angel’s voice should be, filling her with love and warmth and light even as tears pooled behind her eyes.

  “No,” she whispered. To look would remind her of everything she had lost, everything she could never have. Heaven was for good people like Claire who spent their lives doing good things and loving people. Not those like Ryssa.

  Zach sighed. Before he could say another word, Ryssa stood and leaned over Claire. Peace had already begun to settle into the older woman’s features as her physical form shut down, system by system. Ryssa smiled, her eyes filled with moisture though she hadn’t known Claire for long at all.

  “Go on now. It’s not good to keep an angel waiting.”

  “Bless you, child,” Claire said on her final exhale.

  Claire had no idea how much those words hurt, though Ryssa appreciated the thought behind them. She turned away as the old woman’s immortal soul lifted from her withered human shell and floated toward Zach. Ryssa didn’t need to see that.

  * * *

  “Ryssa said you would take good care of me,” Claire said to Zach. No longer confined by her body, her soul took on the form of a woman in the prime of her life. Young and beautiful once again, she held on to Zach’s arm as he escorted her out of the stuffy room and into the cool, tunnel-like walkway leading to the next phase.

  Zach glanced over the woman’s shoulder, saw the petite brunette slipping out of the window and disappearing from sight into the night.

  “Ryssa is right,” he said with a tender smile.

  “But who will take care of her?”

  Surprised by the woman’s perceptiveness, he turned to her. “I am still working on that part,” Zach murmured quietly.

  Claire’s bright blue eyes lit up. “Can I help?”

  * * *

  It was child’s play to slip out from Claire’s first-floor home infirmary without notice, especially for someone with Ryssa’s skills. Petite and lithe, she slipped across the neatly trimmed lawn without making a sound, just another shadow of black and gray in the pre-dawn hours.

  It didn’t mean she could dawdle, though. The sun would be up in less than an hour, and it wouldn’t do to be caught skulking around the middle-class section of town. Sheriff Ben Davis would love another excuse to haul her ass in to the station and throw his excessive weight around.

 
; As if a blowhard like him could hope to intimidate her.

  The odious man was a pain in her behind. Like a clichéd caricature, he sported a beer belly, bulldog jowls, and half-bald head. He got off on asserting his authority on anyone he deemed weaker than him. He, like so many of the small town’s so-called “finest”, were nothing but overgrown bullies who weren’t really cut out to do anything else.

  She moved from shadow to shadow, cursing silently when she inadvertently tripped a motion sensor and flood lights blazed over a professionally manicured lawn. She stilled for several minutes before taking off again, careful to keep her mind on the task at hand. She could mentally smack down Ben Davis and his posse of wannabes when she crossed over into her own section of town – the bad part known as Southtown. No puffed-up local badge had the balls to venture there, where the real bad-asses were.

  “Rough night?” Jax asked when she slipped into her abysmal little hole-in-the-wall apartment, sending her heart into immediate spasms. Thick black shades covered each window, making the interior of the tiny apartment darker than the predawn skies. It was just as well; the place was even more depressing in the daylight.

  “Shit, Jax!” she breathed when her brain recognized the source of the smooth voice. “Don’t do that!”

  He laughed, the sound like pure sin. In a heartbeat he was there, crowding her personal space, close enough that she should be able to feel his body heat acutely. She didn’t, because he had none. Jax, like most vampires, was cool to the touch, unless he’d just fed. He hadn’t.

  Jax was of average height – about five-ten or so – but still taller than her by about six inches. Even in the darkness, Ryssa knew that if she moved forward just an inch, her face would fit perfectly in the curve of his neck; his jaw would rest just at her forehead, and his artfully-messy, surfer blonde locks would tickle her nose.

  “Come here, Angel,” he crooned, pulling her close.

  “I hate when you call me that,” she mumbled against his skin, but she was too tired and he felt too good for her to put much bite in her tone.

  “I know. Why else would I do it?” he chuckled. She knew why he did it. Because he liked to torment her. But it was done in such an affectionate way she couldn’t summon the energy to be truly upset with him.

  Ryssa let her arms wrap around his lean, muscular body, accepting the comfort he offered. His skin was cool against the heat of her face; his arms, so much stronger than a human’s, protective around her back. He was her best friend, her only friend in this realm. Had been for the past seventy-five years, ever since she’d stumbled across him in the dark forests of Bavaria, weak and hungry. Turned against his will by a rogue vampire, Jax had fled into the wilderness after waking up in a nest of blood and carnage. Sickened and unable to recall if he had actively partaken, he had vowed never to prey upon innocent humans.

  Thanks to Ryssa, he’d been able to keep that vow, and they’d been together ever since.

  “You’re hungry,” she murmured into his neck.

  “Yes.” He pulled her close, soaking in her warmth, knowing how much she needed this. “I was waiting for you.”

  “I’m sorry. It took a little longer than I expected.”

  “You’re worth the wait.”

  “Yeah,” she breathed, snuggling into his neck as he rubbed his hands up and down her back. She soaked in the attention like a dry sponge. Jax was the only one she would allow to touch her this way. The only one she trusted with her life. “I’m awesome.”

  “You are,” he agreed, nuzzling her hair.

  “Come on,” she yawned, breaking away. “Count Chocula for me. Me for you. Then I need to crash. I’m beat.”

  Jax groaned. She bought the cereal just to taunt him with the cartoon vamp on the box. Just like she’d bought a bottle of body glitter and sprinkled him with it while he was sleeping so he could look like one of the vampires immortalized in the Twilight series. It more than justified the occasional angel comment.

  “Count Chocula again? I swear to God, Ryss, I’m going to be the first vampire with diabetes in history.”

  “I need the sugar,” she said, ignoring him. “And I’m too tired to make anything.”

  “I would have made something for you if I knew when you were coming home,” he grumbled.

  “Death comes at its own pace,” she reminded him. “It’s not like they punch a time card.”

  “I bet they do,” he countered, trailing along behind her. “I bet there is a master schedule – every birth, every death; every event, damned and divine. How else would the Reapers know when and where to be?”

  Ryssa didn’t answer him. She was far too weary to think of anything beyond replenishing her sugar levels (the only nutrition she required) and a few hours of sleep. But she knew the Reapers – angels and demons who came to claim mortal souls and escort them into the afterlife - operated a lot like she did. They came when it was time for them to do so, not a moment earlier or later.

  “Speaking of, heads or tails tonight?”

  It was Jax’s way of asking where the soul had gone. He, like so many immortals, was absolutely fascinated by the process of moving on; it was not an option generally available to those who were tied to this realm indefinitely. “Heads” was Heaven; “tails” was Hell.

  “Heads.”

  “Good for her,” he nodded sincerely, pulling a three-legged chair away from the tiny table, rotating it, then straddling it backwards to wait patiently for his roommate to carb-load. “Who’d she get?”

  Ryssa poured the last of the Count Chocula into the bowl and plopped down, not bothering with milk. Jax was lactose intolerant. Funny, but true. Some things survived even death.

  “Zachariel.”

  She avoided his eyes, knowing what she would see in them, willing him not to speak. It made no difference. Vampires rarely did what anyone wanted them to. They were a lot like cats that way – standoffish, haughty, and generally considered themselves superior to everyone else.

  “He still trying to get you to play for the white team?” he probed, hitting her with another long-running joke between them.

  Except it was no joke, not to her. “Fuck off,” she growled.

  Jax laughed. “So tempting. But that would just make things weird.”

  Yeah, because there was nothing weird about a woman who could see dead people and had a vampire for a roommate. Ryssa snorted. “I wouldn’t taste as good if I wasn’t a virgin. You said so yourself.”

  Jax sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. Another thing about vampires: they were total drama queens.

  “True. But don’t doubt yourself, sweetheart. If I thought for one minute you’d be into it, I’d tap you like a keg, baby.” She raised an eyebrow. “With more than my fangs,” he added unnecessarily, suggestively waggling his eyebrows.

  That made her smile. Jax always knew how to cheer her up. She tossed the bowl into the sink and stood up, stretching out. “Quick shower?” she asked. The lingering scents of mortal sickness and death clung to her and her clothes. It wasn’t enough to be picked up by human senses, but vampires had an extremely good sense of smell.

  He grinned. Even revealing his sharp, white fangs, he was gorgeous. The blonde hair that looked bleached by the sun on top and a few shades darker beneath, the compelling midnight eyes. He could have any woman (or man) he wanted with one smoldering look; he wouldn’t have to use an ounce of the compulsion skills vamps were granted upon their transformation.

  Not for the first time, Ryssa wished there was some spark between them. Someday he would find his true mate and she’d be alone again. Chances were, she’d never find another like Jax, someone willing to cohabitate platonically, offering his protection for exclusive feeding rights.

  “Can I wash your back?” he teased.

  She fought the quirk of her lips. “No.”

  “Please?” He gave her the big puppy eyes, the effect ruined by the lascivious grin on his face.

  “Does that ever work?” she asked, rolli
ng her eyes.

  “On everyone else? Of course it does.”

  She waved him away. “Be gone, fang boy, lest I find my wooden hairbrush and staketh your man-whoring ass.”

  “You wound me, Ryss. Really.”

  He exhaled soulfully – a strange habit since he hadn’t needed to breathe in nearly a hundred years - dragging his tongue over one extra sharp, pearly white fang as he looked her up and down. “All right. I’ll be waiting in the bedroom. But hurry. Mrs. Cavanaugh’s cat is starting to look pretty tasty right about now.”

  Mrs. Cavanaugh was the ghoul who lived across the hall with her partially decomposed, zombie feline as her constant, pampered, companion. The thing was butt ugly and stank to high heaven. For Jax to even joke about feeding on it, he had to be starving.

  Ryssa’s lips quirked. “Duly noted.”

  Ryssa took a quick shower, letting the tepid water (it was never hot enough) wash away the clinging scents of Claire O’Malley’s sick room and the sweat and pollen from the trek back. Donning an oversized T-shirt and plain white cotton panties, she slipped into bed beside a waiting Jax.

  “Mmmmmm, vanilla,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “My favorite.”

  “I know,” she said quietly, snuggling against his smooth, cool skin and tight, hard muscles. Like all vamps, Jax’s body was amazing. Too bad she felt nothing other than the safety and comfort of those arms. There was no spark, no desire there. For as much as he teased her, she knew he felt the same way.

  “You’re too good to me, Ryssa,” he murmured.

  “Yeah, I know that, too.”

  He chuckled, then carefully slid his fangs into her neck as he cuddled her against him. Ryssa closed her eyes and let herself drift away, knowing Jax would take care of both of them, at least for a little while.

  * * *

  David Michael Corrigan stared out the large floor to ceiling windows of his home office, but there was no solace to be found in the view today. The centuries-old pines were nothing but a blur of dark green in the silvery moonlight, smudged by the sudden moisture welling in his eyes. The gently rolling slopes of the lush green expanse between the house and the forest did not assuage the sharp pain in his chest; nor did the expertly tended gardens, with their magnificent blooms and cobbled walkways, offer peace.