Fallen

There was something in his eyes.

A bright reflection of … a hard and ruthless warrior? Whatever it was in his eyes, it was of the angelic dominions.

He moved swiftly. His lips connected with hers. He bracketed her head with his palms, not pressing too roughly, but keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

It was a kiss. A strange, surprising kiss. Rough and fast.

Pyx had not been kissed before. And it was being issued by a Fallen one. To a Sinistari. How many ways of wrong was that?

Didn’t feel wrong. Felt kind of tingly and exciting.

Cooper swept his tongue across hers. A giddy sparkle radiated in Pyx’s belly—until he pushed her away and stepped across the room. Hand to a hip, he turned and gazed at her.

She swiped her mouth with the back of her hand, forcing out her most pissed tone. “That’s not how you disarm an opponent?”

“Oh no?” He toed the blade and kicked it across the floor toward her boot. “Looks like it worked.”

Dear Reader,

Opposites do attract, and that makes writing, and thinking up new and interesting heroes and heroines so much fun. It’s not always easy. The hero of Fallen has no past. He’s an angel, and before he landed on earth, well, he spent a lot of time just hanging out in Heaven, imprisoned for his original Fall thousands of years ago. So where to begin with a man who has so much to learn, and the entire world before him?

One of my favorite qualities in a man is a childlike wonder—the ability to see the world as if for the first time, and Cooper is that man. I hope you’ll enjoy this entry in my Of Angels and Demons series. And so you know, this story is a part of the overall paranormal world that I write in, and I call it Beautiful Creatures.

For more information on my books and the characters within them, do stop by my website: michelehauf.com

Love Michele

About the Author

MICHELE HAUF has been writing for over a decade and has published historical, fantasy and paranormal romance. A good strong heroine, action and adventure, and a touch of romance make for her favorite kind of story. (And if it’s set in France, all the better.) She lives with her family in Minnesota, and loves the four seasons, even if one of them lasts six months and can be colder than a deep-freeze. You can find out more about her at: www. michelehauf.com.

FALLEN

MICHELE HAUF

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To any and all who like to marvel

and wonder at the world.

Prologue

Pyxion the Other had been waiting for a summons to earth too long to fathom the passage of time. Centuries had passed. Even millennia.

Now Pyx stood among the mortals on a busy street in a city that boasted the much-lauded, medieval Nôtre Dame cathedral. After a night of walking the world—for that is how the Sinistari gained knowledge and assimilated to the mortal realm—a fierce intuition had led Pyx to Paris.

Cars, trucks and two-wheeled motorbikes zoomed by dangerously fast. The air held a miasma of chemical smells and off-gases. The chatter of water in an ancient fountain seemed out of place tucked among the urban sprawl, the result of rapidly growing populations over the centuries.

Pyx had arrived from Beneath naked and in human form, and so with but a mental gesture, had adopted clothing similar to that which nearby mortals wore. Dark, slim-fitted jeans, boots with a good heel and chains, and a button-up shirt that sported a bloody skull diagonally on the shoulder. It got the looks. Mortals stopped to gawk as Pyx strode by, confident and head held high, jaw snapping at gum snatched from a vendor’s stand, which proved an interesting mortal treat.

Passing a mortal female chattering with another, Pyx nicked the pink cellular phone from her back pocket, without missing a stride. The small device had a touch screen and it fascinated Pyx. The learning curve was a snap thanks to small icons on the screen. Aiming the camera lens across the street, the demon took a photograph of a couple kissing; the man’s hands were hidden high beneath the woman’s short leather skirt.

“Have to get me some of that,” Pyx said with an agreeable nod. “Mmm, lust.”

Sinistari were notorious for indulging in mortal sin. And what Pyx saw going on between the man and woman sure looked like a lot of sin.

Tucking the phone in a back pocket, Pyx strode purposefully across a busy street and aimed for the garish display of colored flash decorating the window of a tattoo shop.

A street vendor had set up outside the tattoo shop, and Pyx leaned over to smell the fresh, seasoned meat turning slowly on the vertical rotisserie. Being consigned to Beneath had stripped away all sensations such as touch, taste and smell. It was all Pyx could do to wait as the vendor stuffed the savory meat into the soft gyro bread.

“Give me one with pomme frites.” Pyx pointed to the greasy fries that glistened with salt crystals. Speaking French was easy, for while walking the world the demon had assimilated all languages.

The vendor handed over a paper-wrapped lump of warm gyro bread, sliced pork, and deep-fried pomme frites. Pyx touched the vendor’s forehead with two fingers and shoved. “Keep the change, buddy.”

The vendor nodded and smiled widely at the large tip Pyx had added along with the price of food. Demons could put thoughts into mortal’s hectic minds far too easily in this day and age. It was one more sliver of unremarkable chaos added to the heap inside a mortal’s brain.

The first bite was spectacular. Grease oozed and bread squished. Savory and warm, it hit a wanting spot in the demon. A deep, achy spot that wanted more. Earth offered far and beyond the pleasure Beneath had offered, because Beneath had offered nothing. Nothing.

Pyx gobbled up the gyro and studied the tattoo flash posted on the window. The skull with the worms crawling through the eye sockets appealed.

“Oh, yeah,” Pyx muttered, nodding.

Or maybe, the skeletal angel with wings on fire. “That’s what I’m going to do to you, Fallen one.”

The demon tossed the empty food wrapper over a shoulder and it missed the trash by a long shot. “Watch out. I’m coming for you, Juphiel.”

But first, a little decoration for this plain mortal costume the demon had been given.

Striding inside the tattoo shop, Pyx nodded to the beat of the loud rock music and swaggered over to the grinning skin artist. Tugging up the shirt in the back, Pyx straddled the chair and sat through two hours of pain.

Wow! It hurt like a—Pyx had nothing to compare it to. Never felt anything like that before. This mortal costume provided pain and sensation the demon had never felt while in its adamant demonic form. But nothing was going to make this demon flinch.

When the tattoo artist finished and rubbed a cool ointment over the elaborate design, Pyx refused a bandage.

“You should keep it covered for twenty-four hours,” the artist explained in French. “It will not heal properly.”

Pyx ran a finger through the ointment, and then wiped it on the artist’s shirtsleeve. “It’ll be healed by the time I step outside your fine establishment. Now, how much? I’ve got places to go, things to see, angels to slay.”

The artist said it would be five hundred euros.

Pyx gazed into the artist’s eyes. “Paid.”

The man nodded. “Thanks. Hey, honey, you come back to Spider if you want another tat.”

“Honey?”

Pyx sneered and wondered briefly if the man was one of those homosexuals. He paid the demon no mind as he went about cleaning his work area.

Swinging about to study the tattoo in the mirror on the bathroom door, the Sinistari demon hissed at the image staring back.

A tall redheaded person with hair down to the elbows cast a startled look in the mirror. Curves rounded in at torso and out at hips and stretched the shirt across the chest. The clothing fit well, but it was disconcerting because the style was made for men. And what Pyx saw …

“A female? No freakin’ way.”

What in all of Beneath? Was this some kind of joke? The Sinistari demon always manifested as male once summoned from Beneath. As far as Pyx knew.

Pyx turned sideways and clamped both palms over the breasts stretching the cotton shirt. The tattoo artist gave her a questioning look.

“Yep, they’re real.” Her lips pouted a little too femininely when she made a face. Upon arriving, he—or rather she—had assumed the clothing so quickly, he—she—hadn’t noticed the extra curves.

“Problem?” the artist asked as he cleaned his tattoo gun with an alcohol swab.

Pyx swung and hooked a hand at her hip. “You think I’m a girl?”

“You got a problem with your sexuality, pretty demoiselle?” He smirked, revealing the tip of a gold incisor. “There is a group that meets down the street every so often. They talk about how they’re trapped in the wrong body.”

“I am not trapped. I am …” She looked in the mirror. Pretty, as far as mortal women went, she had to admit. She wouldn’t turn away from such a sexy looker, that was for sure. She? “… a chick?”

What, in the black sea Beneath, kind of joke was this?

Rolling her head and huffing, Pyx kicked the door open and stomped out from the small studio. The gyro vendor smiled and cocked his head toward her. She was still hungry—she’d never be full—but now her appetite waned.

She, she, she!

She’d been saddled with a chick body while here on earth to track a renegade Fallen who would be hot to track his muse and put a nephilim child in her belly.

Well, she wouldn’t let appearance keep her from being the best Sinistari ever. She could do this. She would do this. Didn’t want to risk being sent back Beneath because she wasn’t doing the job properly.

She’d have to accept the fact she may be a female for her duration on earth.

“Ugg.”

Tromping down the sidewalk in her shitkickers, Pyx now mused about the name the other Sinistari had given her while serving time Beneath: Pyxion the Other.

Apparently they had known something she had not.

“Joke’s on you, Pyx. Deal with it.”

Chapter 1

The dance floor thundered with hyped-up, sexually charged adrenaline. Cooper danced in the center, surrounded by hundreds of bodies that gave off a variety of scents from soft and powdery, to baby-can-we-do-it-right-now?

The sensory world was new to him, and he couldn’t get enough of it. The women in their slithery clothing and dangly jewels tantalized him like sweet treats as they bumped and slid up next to his skin. The mortal skin he wore felt it all; sexy fabric with beads and metal, human heat, sweat, muscle and hard nipples.

Promises of a good time flashed in the women’s eyes. Cooper took it in with a confident grin.

All the sensations he’d been denied for millennia were now his to dive into headfirst.

He couldn’t remember when he’d unbuttoned the white dress shirt to let it hang on his shoulders and expose his abs. The kilt was freeing. The combat boots were not so easy to dance in—but he was no twinkle-toes to begin with.

Didn’t matter. The women weren’t eyeing his dance moves; their blatant focus was from Cooper’s head to just about crotch level. Look all you like, ladies. He’d never been admired before. Vanity, thy name is Cooper Truhart.

The DJ had announced the song blasting over the speakers was called “Welcome to The World,” and Cooper appreciated the welcome, indeed. He intended to enjoy his stay here on earth. Everything about it was amazing.

Most of all, he intended to make this stay permanent.

This mortal costume he wore served him well. It had muscles in all the right places, and put him inches in height above everyone else. His hair was dark and spiky with some bits hanging over his forehead. The women loved it, and many had run their fingers through it, sparking an erotic sensation down his spine he wanted to feel again and again.

Despite the earthbound costume, he hadn’t lost all his supernatural strength. He could toss a car across the street if he found the need to do so. A fist to a mortal’s jaw could tear it off, so he held back from fighting for the thrill of it. It was a difficult urge to quell. The fight ran through his blood, but he wanted to change—to gain humanity.

Since falling, he’d not lost all his angelic abilities. He could flash across the world, landing in one city or the next in an instant. He possessed sensory skills that would blow the mortals off their feet—literally, and his vision was only now beginning to take on color after a long confinement parasongs away from this vivid realm.

He never wanted to return to the Ninth Void. It had been a drag.

The beat increased and he danced closer to the blonde whose short red skirt fought to draw his eyes up from the fuck-me pumps. He knew that was the slang term for the shoes because a few weeks ago when he’d arrived on earth, he’d walked the world, taking in knowledge of it all.

That night he’d assimilated the world, the mortal society, their economy, their travails and triumphs. He could speak all languages and understood most of what he’d learned—though the mathematics and daily-life accounting stuff gave him problems. It was a good thing he didn’t need to keep a checkbook.

He had experienced women across the world, in all shapes, sizes, colors and ages—and levels of sexual desire. Women wanted him, and he was no man to deny them.

Kissing. Ah, kissing! Was there anything finer? He’d kissed dozens in his fortnight upon earth, and had no intention of slowing down his quest for sensory exploration and fulfillment. There were so many varieties of kisses that he felt sure he’d never tire of trying new ways to make a woman squirm and giggle with delight.

He liked the blonde ones with the big breasts. But he also preferred the smart ones who could hold a conversation about something beyond the color of their nail polish or which celebrity was screwing whom.

This one shaking her red-spangled skirt before him looked a bit vacuous and maybe … stoned. He couldn’t understand those who chose to dull the sensory experience with drugs or alcohol. Life was meant to be lived fully and with a clear mind.

He turned and dance-walked his way to the center of the dance floor where he paired up with a redhead whose smile touched his innate desire to flirt. With a shake of her head she tossed her loose hair over a shoulder and curved her body against his to give him a hip-bump.

Nice. But not dressed like the others. She wore masculine clothes, jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and boots. Yet her sinuous movements told Cooper she was all woman.

And she smelled, hmm … like lunch. He’d noticed the same scent wafting from street vendors parked along the main tourist streets edging the river.

Cooper had eaten little since coming to earth. His interest swayed more toward the sensual delights than the succulent. Though the two experiences combined did have their appeal. This woman’s allure and savory scent captivated his desire. Cooper danced as close as he could get to her.

She tipped a smile over her shoulder at him. Wide blue eyes were surrounded by deep ruby hair that glittered under the flashing club lights.

Man, he loved seeing in color now. When he’d served the angelic dominions, earth and all its inhabitants and elements had appeared to him in black and white.

And the woman’s mouth. More rubies there, but he didn’t detect cosmetics on her pale, flawless skin. Her lips were naturally red, as if they’d been kissed soundly.

Tonight, he’d take this one home with him and learn exactly what style of kissing would have her begging him to do more than simply kiss.

“You’re lovely,” he said over the raucous music and shouts to “Rock it!”

She merely smiled and dipped a hip against his, while drawing her fingers down his bare chest.

Cooper could feel her touch all the way through to his spine. Sparkles of energy radiated through him. Life. Damn, it was so good!

With a flirtatious wink, the woman slipped away. Now she danced between two women, their breasts brushing and fingers teasing across exposed skin. Now there was a fascinating touch. Mmm …

Cooper let out a wanting moan, and dipped his head to maintain sight on the redhead until a couple danced before him. He scanned the crowd, but couldn’t spy her lustrous hair or those pouting lips.

Lost her. But he’d find her again. Women liked to tease. The night was young and he was in no hurry. The world was his and he wanted to hug it, suck it all in, and keep it forever.

And drink it. Time for a whiskey break.

Easing his way off the dance floor, Cooper strutted up the nightclub’s open staircase. Each step flashed red as his boot tripped the motion sensors. Twisting a glance over the dance floor below, he slapped a palm to his sweaty abs and nodded, satisfied.

Oh, yes, he’d find the redhead later.

“Whiskey?” the bartender prompted, recognizing Cooper from the last three nights.

“Three shots,” he said. “Line ‘em up.”

When he found a place he liked he returned. But most important, Cooper didn’t feel compelled to be in this particular city. That was a key point. Because the one annoying aspect about the Fallen was that once their feet had touched earth, they were compelled to find their muse.

A muse was a human female, descended from the Merovingian bloodline, whom the Fallen one sought to mate with to then produce a nephilim child, a hideous monster, that once unleashed, would spread chaos across the earth.

Cooper wasn’t into chaos or becoming some baby’s daddy right now. He just wanted to enjoy this exciting and intriguing realm.

How he’d come to earth from his imprisonment in the Ninth Void he had no clue. Someone had summoned him from his many millennia of seclusion.

He appreciated the summons. But he knew only danger waited for him.

Millennia ago, he had agreed to a pact, along with dozens more angels, to fall to earth and mate with its human females. After unfathomable time serving Puriel, the war master of the Power ranks, Cooper had been so ready to fall. Actually, it had been the angel Kadesch who had opened his eyes to humanity.

Juphiel (his angelic name, which he had no intention of using on earth) had fallen from the heavens, but had never seen Kadesch again. He’d only begun to teach mortals on earth his craft—a manner of creating beauty that Cooper still retained, thank the heavens—a short time before a great flood had swept him to the Ninth Void, a silent, cold prison where he’d existed in utter darkness awaiting final judgment for betraying Him.

“No more imprisonment or warring,” he said with a tilt of the shot glass. The whiskey burned down his throat. “I’ll never go back.” He slammed the glass on the bar and gripped the next shot glass. “All I have to do is find my halo and I’ll be home free.”

During an angel’s fall to earth, their halo fell away. Cooper knew if he could find the thing, he could cease this ridiculous quest he’d originally agreed to—a quest to find a muse.

So not going to happen. Because it had all been a lie.

And if what he’d learned the first time he’d walked earth were true, what usually happened to a Fallen immediately following mating with a muse was death. Death delivered by the one creature forged specifically to track the Fallen and slay them—the Sinistari demon.

He’d encountered a Sinistari since arriving on earth. The demons were a difficult kill, but not impossible. Now, Cooper kept one eye over his shoulder.

He would not go out without a fight.

“Not on my watch,” Cooper said, and tilted back the second round.

He growled with satisfaction at the drink’s toffee-malt bite, and eyed the back of the bar where the pool tables queued along the wall. He was familiar with the rules and techniques, but hadn’t attempted the game. He’d win. No sense in trying when he knew the outcome.

Just as he reached for the third shot a feminine hand grabbed the glass and tipped it back in a quick swallow. “Another!” she called, and the bartender appeared with the whiskey bottle. “Man, that stuff is good.”

It was the redhead who wore men’s clothing. She slapped the bar in thanks as the bartender topped off her shot, then tilted it back with more gusto than Cooper had performed.

She winked at him, then sauntered off into the crowd.

Crossing his arms and leaning against the bar, Cooper followed the sexy siren’s journey through the crush of dancing bodies. She stood as tall as him so it was easy to spot her in the crowd. She carried her head high and segued into a group that matched the music’s rhythm.

She caught him staring and blew him a kiss, her red lips puckering sexily.

Man, did he love the women.

The guy with the mousse-slicked white hair and silver hoop earrings was definitely not human. Vampire, Pyx decided, and in confirmation, he flashed fang when he leaned in to whisper into a mortal woman’s ear.

While mortals did not believe in those creatures they labeled paranormal, Pyx wasn’t so stupid. If angels and demons trod the earth then so did all the rest of the monsters and freaks.

Her job was to ensure a nephilim did not join the freak ranks.

“Let the games begin.”

It was dark in the bar, save for the frenetic lights flashing violet and red and bouncing off the corrugated steel walls. The atmosphere was disturbing. Frantic, alive and vital. After so much time spent Beneath she craved the activity. Adrenaline coursed through her system. Yet she needed to focus. And wonder upon wonders, the first nightclub she’d chosen had turned up the Fallen she was after. Go, Sinistari!

The Fallen had not said anything to her when she’d stolen his drink. She wasn’t sure how to take that. Not defending his property? A wimp? Or a gentleman who would allow a woman to do as she desired?

Either way, for some reason, said task had suddenly taken on new weight as she watched the pale-haired vampire eye another vamp across the room. That dude wasn’t here for kicks; he was following someone. She knew it because she was doing the same thing.

“Vampires,” she muttered. “I so don’t need this trouble.”

Pyx slapped a palm across the leather sheath she wore strapped under her left arm. The Sinistari had the ability to allow mortals to only see what they wanted them to see; the sheathed dagger was only for her eyes.

And yet her eyes didn’t stray from her two new marks. The bloodsuckers sent some kind of silent signal back and forth through the nightclub. The one farthest away in the balcony had his eye on a man at the rear of the room—the Fallen one. There were so many supernatural vibrations—vampire to vamp, angel to demon—Pyx had a hard time keeping them straight.

So she turned her focus to the prize. The Fallen wore a green-and-blue plaid kilt, of all things, and was currently advertising virility and sex appeal to the woman who slobbered over him. His dark hair was razored short and finger-combed. A white shirt fell open to reveal muscled abs and chest with a tease of dark hair. His legs were striking only because Pyx had never seen a man in a skirt wearing combat boots, and working the look so freaking well.