Fallen Read online

  Fallen

  ML Guida

  Copyright © 2020 by Mary Guida

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book was originally Punishment.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  About the Author

  Also by ML Guida

  Chapter 1

  The Archangel Raphael raised his arms, his glowing white wings shimmering. A cool breeze blew his long blond hair behind him. “You must repent, Blade.” His soft voice echoed across the mountain clearing like a grumbling thunder.

  Anger pumped through Blade’s veins. He’d never repent. He was a demon––not an angel.

  Not anymore.

  The aspens and pines rustled. The hair on the back of Blade’s neck quivered. He had to get out of here––now.

  He ran as fast as he could, his arms and legs pumping, but as if by magic, tree roots grabbed his ankles, stopping him dead in his tracks. Moonlight flashed onto Raphael. With his denim jacket and tight jeans, he looked like a college student out hiking in the dark, but he commanded a power that made Blade break out in goose bumps.

  Blade’s brother, Scythe, was only a few feet away from him, but he didn’t even raise a hand to help him. He stood at attention next to Raphael like a good little soldier. Pity formed in Scythe’s golden eyes. He lowered his gaze and slumped his shoulders. His long dark hair hid his face. What did Blade expect? Once a traitor––always a traitor.

  Raphael lowered his arms. “Will you repent, Blade?”

  Blade lifted his chin. “Never.” His voice sounded stronger than the fear crawling up his throat.

  Raphael flicked his hand. “So, be it.”

  “You fool,” Scythe mumbled underneath his breath.

  A gust of wind swirled around Blade, churning faster and faster. Dirt and leaves sprayed into his face, stinging his eyes, slapping his cheeks, slipping into his mouth. He gagged and raised his arm, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. Cold penetrated his skin and frosted his bones. He jumped into the air, but his wings failed to open. The wind lifted him, spinning him around and around, his arms and legs flailing, his stomach churning.

  “Balthazar,” he screamed. “Help me.”

  But his former boss, the demon Balthazar, refused to answer. Only the wind answered, taunting and hissing his name.

  Blade tossed and turned like a helpless leaf. Black, white, and green colors blinded his vision. Suddenly, he slammed onto the rocky ground and rolled and rolled until he banged into something hard. He spat out dirt and leaves. He gasped to breathe, inhaling sweet mountain air, but when he exhaled, pain stabbed his ribs.

  He groaned and put his hand on his forehead. Pine branches blew over his head. Between the branches and clouds, the moon played peek-a-boo. God, how long had he been falling?

  Ignoring the pulsing pain, he hissed between his clenched teeth and slowly sat up, holding his side. Beads of sweat broke out across his forehead. He frowned. “Why the hell am I in pain? I'm a bloody demon.”

  Pine needles and twigs stuck through his long-sleeved tee-shirt, pricking and scratching his skin. He brushed the debris. He scanned the thick trees, rugged mountains, and boulders, but he didn’t recognize this place. Both his brother and Raphael were gone. Where the devil had the Archangel sent him?

  A white ball of light formed a few feet in front of him, then took on the form of a young man.

  “Speak of the devil,” he murmured.

  Raphael shimmered in front of him, his white wings spread out wide, and stared at him with those large silver eyes that always made him squirm. He cocked his eyebrow. “Balthazar? Really, Blade?”

  Blade gritted his teeth. “You didn’t think I’d ask for you.”

  The full moon rose high into a cloudless sky littered with a million stars. A cool breeze blew the tall pine and aspen trees. He shivered. “Where the hell am I?”

  “Frisco, Colorado.”

  “Why am I here?”

  Raphael shrugged. “For your penance.”

  Blade put his hand down and pushed himself up. “My what?” He grimaced. His body ached, but his right side screamed with agony.

  “You heard me. Peddling the Hell drug, Xanadu, is a serious offense. You killed innocent people to satisfy your lust for revenge.”

  Blade clenched his fists. “If you would have healed Samantha, I wouldn’t have fallen.”

  Raphael shook his head; strands fell from his loose queue. “I keep telling you, she wasn’t your angel-mate. You never spoke the binding words.”

  “I would have if Samantha hadn’t been murdered.”

  “Samantha’s death was not Heather’s fault. Heather couldn't control her client. The man was an addict and refused to accept Heather’s treatment.”

  Bitterness swirled in Blade’s mouth. “The bitch shouldn’t have released someone from her rehab center unless he was fully cured.”

  Raphael’s eyes glowed. “There’s…somebody else for you.”

  “Like hell there is. I have no intention of repenting. Forget it.” He rubbed his side and winced. “Why the devil am I in pain?”

  “You’re human and will remain human unless you repent.”

  Raphael folded his wings into his back and walked over to a large white boulder, his black boots crunching the twigs. He sat, folded his arms across his chest, and stretched out his long jean-clad legs. He shifted to the side so his sheathed sword Magic lay comfortably next to his thigh.

  “You stripped my powers?” Blade stared at Magic. With just one touch, Raphael's blade could heal or kill.

  “Of course. You’re lucky I healed you. Michael wanted your guts for garters.” Raphael shook his head. “You really shouldn’t have gotten on his bad side, Blade. He’s called out the assassins.”

  “Shit, I am so screwed. So, you took away my powers? Why thank you. Now it will be a fair fight.” He couldn’t hide the sarcasm in his voice, but he knew he was walking a narrow tightrope. Any minute, Raphael could unleash Magic and then he was a dead man.

  He held his breath, waiting for Raphael to strike him down.

  Luckily, Raphael rubbed his chin and didn’t make a move to unsheathe his sword. “They have to find you first.”

  Blade exhaled a shaky breath. He staggered to his feet, his left hand rubbing his throbbing right side. “That shouldn’t be hard, since I’m a bloody human.”

  “Actually, it will be difficult.” Raphael waved his hand. “Frisco now has a barrier.”

  Blade scanned the forest and only saw trees, fallen logs, and boulders. He glanced up at the clear night sky but didn’t detect anything unusual. No angelic fortification. No force field. No silver aura. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’re human and unable to see it.”

  Blade snorted.

  Raphael picked a wildflower and t
wirled it between his fingers. “No angel or demon will be able to contact you, nor will you be able to contact them. The barrier exists.”

  Blade’s heart pounded. He refused to stay. “Stuff it.” Blade scanned the sky. “Balthazar, answer me.”

  Raphael smiled. “You can scream all you want, but Balthazar can’t hear you. Count yourself lucky. If he could hear you, then so could Michael.”

  Blade swayed on his feet. “Why do you want me to repent?”

  Raphael held his gaze. “There’s still good in you Blade.”

  Blade met Raphael’s stare with hatred. “The hell there is. Remember, I’m a demon?”

  “No, you’re not. You’ve fallen, but haven’t completely turned.”

  Blade put his left hand on the tree and caught his breath. “So, if I repent, I get my powers back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry.” Blade spat onto the ground. “Now, give me back my powers.”

  Raphael shook his head. “Blade, Blade, Blade.” He braced his hands on the boulder. “You know it doesn’t work that way.”

  “Raphael, I’m not capable of repenting. I switched to the other team. I detest all of you.”

  Raphael sighed. He glanced up at the moon. “Your brother has faith in you and so do I.”

  Blade glared. “Get used to disappointment.”

  “Blade, you will remain human with all the frailties. When you truly repent for distributing the Hell drug Xanadu and make amends…”

  “Make amends? What the fuck do you mean make amends?”

  “You’ll know when the time comes.”

  Blade dropped his hand and limped down the mountain. “More riddles. God, I get so tired of the archangel games of hidden messages, mysteries, half-truths. At least, demons are forthright.”

  “Ah, right.” Raphael flashed in front of Blade, blocking his path. “Demons never lie.”

  He touched Blade’s right side. Warmth spread through him, diminishing the agony throbbing in his ribs. Broken bones mended. Watching the archangel warily, he stretched out his arms wide and inhaled and exhaled deeply. The sharp pain was gone. He should thank Raphael, but archangels never gave any gift away for free. There was always a hidden thorn. “Why are you healing me?”

  Raphael dropped his hand. “This will be the last time I heal you until you repent.”

  “Good. I don’t want your help.”

  “You have no way to support yourself, Blade. You’re human, remember? You need food, clothing, shelter.”

  “I’ll figure it out.” He stepped around him.

  “Part of your penance will be working in an adolescent drug and treatment center, called Buffalo Mountain.”

  Blade rolled his eyes. “I’d rather starve to death.”

  “You have no idea what hunger is, boy.”

  “How bad can it be? I'm a demon.”

  “Not anymore you’re not.” Raphael snapped his fingers. “Starve.”

  Blade doubled over and fell to the ground. His stomach growled; his mouth watered. Acid sloshed in his gut. An incredible hunger shot through him as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks. His skin hung off his bones. He tried to roll to his side, but he was too weak. He couldn’t even move a finger. He labored to breathe. Unbearable agony bore into him. It felt as if he was slowly digesting his organs. “What did you do?” He could barely get the words out of his dry throat.

  “This is what it feels like to be in a concentration camp.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Really? You’ll be a tasty snack for coyotes, bears, or mountain lions.”

  “You bastard,” Blade spat. He held his rumbling stomach as it slowly expanded, bloated with air. Each time, he took a breath, his gut clenched. Pain immobilized him.

  “You did say you’d rather starve to death than work in a treatment center.” Raphael sniffed the wildflower still in his hand. “Or was I mistaken?”

  Blade wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but his gut not only expanded, it twisted. A mournful howl echoed through the trees, sending shudders down Blade’s back. A coyote? A little over the top, even for Raphael, but then when did archangels ever play fair?

  “Fine,” he panted. “You win.”

  Raphael snapped his fingers. Blade’s gut stopped expanding; the acid disappeared. He could breathe without pain. He stood on his wobbly legs and glared at Raphael. “Well, gee thanks, for not letting me be eaten by coyotes.”

  “It could be worse. I could have sent a Hellhound to rip your ass apart.”

  Blade bit back a retort. Hellhounds made wolves look like miniature poodles. As a demon, he could control them, but as a human, he’d be their new chew toy. Their razor claws could rip through bone in one swipe and their long canine teeth could tear flesh from bone.

  Raphael snapped his fingers again. Blade stood in a tan painted bedroom. A large, brass, king-size bed faced the window. A thick, red quilt covered it and white, lacy pillows lay on top. Over the bed, a crucifix hung on the wall, and on the opposite wall was a quilt of three black bears walking past pine trees.

  Blade frowned. “Now, where the hell am I?”

  Raphael put the wildflower down on a nightstand. “Home.”

  “Home?” Blade strolled over to a large patio window and looked at the side of a rocky mountain where pine trees fought to grow in the rocks. Below, a bicyclist rode on a paved bike, disappearing into a grove of aspen and pine trees. Blade wished he could trade places with him and ride away to freedom.

  “Yes, this is your condominium.”

  Blade turned around and raised his eyebrow. “My what?”

  “I have supplied you with a flat screen television here and in the living room. The closet and dresser are filled with clothes, and there is a fully stocked kitchen.”

  “And the catch?”

  “As long as you go to work, there are no conditions.” He nodded at the clock radio on the nightstand. “It’s 5:00 in the morning. You’ve got to get up in three and half hours. Be at work at eight.” Raphael glowered. “Don’t disappointment me.”

  Blade stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “Fine.” This sucked. Where the hell was Balthazar? Was he even looking for him?

  “I mean it, Blade.”

  Blade gazed at the bed. After fighting with his brother, Scythe, and losing badly, the bed looked tempting. Awfully tempting. His body ached, and he wanted to sleep for a week, but first things first. He wanted out of this crappy deal. “I get it. Just leave.”

  “Oh, by the way, Blade.” Raphael took a step closer, his aura glowed silver. The air crackled around him. “If you try to doublecross me and not show up tomorrow, you’ll be sorry. There’s no place you can hide that I can’t find you. Believe me, you’ll not like my punishments.”

  Every hair of Blade’s body stood straight up. His skin tingled. He retreated. As an angel, he never noticed the Archangel’s electrifying power before, but as a human, it was like a lightning bolt threatening to fry his ass.

  He put up his shaking hands. “I get it. I get it. I’ll be at work tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  A bright flash lit up the room. Blade winced, shielding his eyes with his palm and staggered. The back of his knees hit the bed, and he toppled over. When he opened his eyes, he was alone.

  He propped himself up on his elbows. The moon peered down at him, and he shook his head. Yeah, Raphael watched him all right, from the fucking moon, his favorite perch.

  Blade collapsed onto the bed and rolled over onto his gut. He refused to look at the damn moon. The soft red quilt lured him to sleep. He dragged himself up to the head of the bed and wrapped his arms around a pillow; the lace caressing his face. His worn out muscles slowly relaxed. He took a long deep breath, inhaling fresh linen. It could be worse. He could be imprisoned in an icy Heaven cell, waiting to be tortured.

  A loud buzz rang. Blade jerked off the bed. The damn clock read 6:30 am. He slammed his hand down on the black clock radio. He rubbed the bridge on his nose and groan
ed. “Great, I get to go to work today. Fun times.”

  He dragged himself out of bed and found the bathroom, stripped, and stared at his coiled cobra tattoo on his chest. He took a deep breath and moved his hand over his chest. No scales slithered beneath his palm nor did a flickering tongue lick his skin.

  Dead.

  Or the cobra might as well be, thanks to Raphael. Blade’s cobra had been alive once—ready to terrorize or kill his victims.

  He ripped open the glass shower door and turned on the water. He jumped in, immediately jumping out as ice cold pelts hit his skin. “Christ.”

  Shit.

  He’d forgotten he had to wait for the damn shower to heat. Being human sucked.

  Steam filled the bathroom. He stuck his hand into the shower, the warm water rushed through his fingers. He stepped onto the base and closed the glass door. The hot water pulsated over him, caressing his skin, reviving his muscles. His eyes still struggled to stay open. How did humans get up every morning at this ungodly hour, take a shower, and go to work? All he wanted to do was stay in bed.

  In the closet, he found clothes—nice slacks and sweaters. But he chose none of those. Screw Raphael. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, then braided his damp hair.

  His stomach growled. He exited his bedroom into a narrow hallway, walked past a smaller bedroom, and another smaller bathroom, barely glancing at either one. He wanted food. Now.

  He entered the compact but luxurious kitchen, complete with white tile floor, black granite countertops. He opened the buzzing silver side-by-side refrigerator and found it fully stocked.

  As he made a three cheese and bacon omelet, he glanced at the living room. A black leather couch and matching love seat faced a gas-log marble fireplace. Above the fireplace, there was a flat screen television. Blade slammed the frying pan into the black granite sink, splattering bacon grease.