STRICKEN - The War Scrolls: Book One
It
took only four months to bring the angels to their knees…
With a virus ravaging the fallen angels on
earth, mankind’s symbol of love and hope is at risk of extinction.
Centuries ago, a group of angelic warriors known
as The Fallen risked everything to save themselves and carve a future for their
kind. Hope slips away as The Fallen and their kin are cut down by an ancient
menace, LaMorte Nera—and no one saw it
coming.
Only one immortal can save
them, and only one mortal can stand in his way…
When Nephilim warrior Killian St. James sets out
on a quest to find a cure, he and his blade-brothers discover nineteen-year-old
Aubrey Carter—a human with a past as dark as it is mysterious—cowering in an
abandoned house in the heart of Memphis, Tennessee.
The corrupted races are
chasing her, and Killian is determined to find out why…
But neither he nor Aubrey are prepared for their
attraction to one another, or for the frightening truths lurking in the
shadows. The painful childhood memories Aubrey has buried hold precious
answers. Answers that threaten to tear Killian's world apart.
With her life hanging in the balance, Killian
must choose between the future of The Fallen, and the human girl he's pledged
to protect.
Demons are rising, and this
time they plan to win the war for dominion once and for all.
Excerpt
“Where are you trying to go, boy?” Killian St. James asked,
inching toward the Elioud shapeshifter in front of him.
The wolf responded by curling his upper lip in a soundless snarl.
Saliva dripped from his fangs, causing flecks of foam to form all along his
muzzle. Gray fur stood on end along his back. The white, matted fur of his
chest seemed to shine in the darkness. His claws clicked against the rotted
wood of the floor as he backed away from Killian, moving his head side to side
in search of an escape route.
There wasn’t one, of course.
Killian had made sure of that, backing the shifter toward the
corner of the room with every warrior-skill he’d learned over the last two
centuries. His blade-brothers, Abriel and Dahmiel, flanked him, spread out into
a loose spear-point to ensure the Elioud went nowhere.
He didn’t seem to appreciate their efforts.
Fury rolled from him in waves, stinging at Killian until his eyes
and nose burned with the sharp, acrid scent of the diseased blood running
through the infected man’s veins. Killian wanted to gag at the rancid smell but
refused to give in to the churning of his stomach. He was stronger than that. He
was a Warrior of Light, one of the last left to guard the world against the
hordes of Hell. And Fallen warriors didn’t lose their shit in the middle of a
hunt.
Besides, if Killian lost his focus now, things were going to get
nasty, and quick.
As if realizing this, the shifter glanced between Killian and Abriel,
his gaze flickering rapidly from one to the other. Killian watched as the shifter
hesitated over the empty space between him and his brother, and then on the
gaping doorway beyond.
Killian was ready when the thing made a last-ditch decision to run
for it.
Before the shifter even altered its stance, Killian spun the flare
in his hands, sending the thin tube whirling like a dancer’s baton. Blue sparks
shot from both ends, piercing the darkness with an inky-blue light. Smoke curled
upward, the sulfuric stench wavering in time to the pop and sizzle of the bright
embers shooting from the ends.
“Not today, buddy,” he told the shifter.
The beast raced across the rotted floor with his head low to the
ground. He weaved away from the flashing sparks, aiming like an arrow down the
center of the room. Killian stepped to his left to cut him off, hoping the
shower of sparks would slow the creature down.
The shifter howled as embers stung him like bees.
Chills raced up Killian’s spine at the pained sound. The smoke billowing
from his flare burned his eyes, but he didn’t blink as he hoisted it higher,
directly over the Elioud’s head.
The shifter darted away from the sparks now falling upon him. The
sharp scent of singed fur wafted toward Killian, joining the disgusting mix already
clogging his nose. His stomach roiled in rebellion again.
Why couldn’t he shut out the odor?
The smell of death and disease hung in the air around them like
rotting flesh on a week old battlefield, but in the last four months, he’d
learned to focus on other things. The corrosive smell of gasoline and the thick
taste of tar wrapped like tentacles around human cities had been a good
distraction from the walking, raving dead in the beginning, but not anymore.
The sickly stench clung to Killian’s skin. It seeped from his
pores until all he smelled anymore was death, disease, and the damning scent of
defeat lurking on the horizon.
The Fallen were losing.
La Morte Nera could not be stopped.
The realization stung worse than the blue embers falling upon his
hands.
“Watch him!” Abriel shouted as the flare began to fizzle in a
plume of dark smoke.
The crazed shifter twisted in midair, more frantic to escape now.
The smoke billowed around him, confusing him as it had countless others before
him. The infected didn’t like the sulfuric smoke any more than they liked
dying.
Too damned bad for them.
Killian spun to cut the shifter off, but in wolf form he was fast,
far faster than Killian had anticipated. The beast raced past him, tail
swinging wildly, half a second before he reached position.
The shifter curled in upon himself, getting ready to leap through
the door.
Son of a bitch!
Killian tossed the flare aside and lurched forward, reaching for
the pair of throwing knives hidden in their sheaths up his sleeves. He doubted
he’d get the knives out before the shifter completed his desperate dive, but Killian
ripped them from the leather and threw anyway.
Dahmiel loomed up in front of the doorway with a roar, his sword
still strapped to his back and his tattooed arms outstretched. The Elioud
caught sight of him and howled again, trying to turn himself mid leap.
Killian shouted a wordless warning to his blade-brother, watching
in silent frustration as the shifter managed to twist its massive body to the
side. The knives didn’t even touch the creature as they whistled by.
Dahmiel didn’t flinch as first one and then the other silver blade
sank into his arm, cutting deep from the force of Killian’s throw. In fact, Dom
paid the knives no attention at all, instead grabbing the rabid shifter by the scruff
of the neck and slamming him to the floor as if the knives had never touched
him.
The momentum of his body slam splintered the rotting wood at his
feet.
Entire floorboards caved inward, dragging him down.
“Dammit!” Dom yelled, the impact of his fall ripping through the decaying
building like a rocket blast.
Killian staggered and fell, landing hard on his knees. A second
flare slipped from his belt, then bounced once before clattering harmlessly through
one of the larger cracks in the floor. It landed in the basement below with a
distant thump.
The shifter roared.
