Chosen Blood: A Dark Urban Fantasy Romance (Demon Bayou Series Book 1) Read online

  Chosen Blood

  The Demon Bayou Series

  S Lawrence

  Copyright © 2019 by S. Lawrence.

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact :

  [email protected]

  https://www.slawrencewriter.com/ sign up for my newsletter to stay up to date on new releases and for exclusive giveaways

  Cover design by Sanja Balan (Sanja’s Covers)

  ISBN:978-1-950851-99-7

  First Edition: 2019

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Princes of Hell Creed

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by S. Lawrence

  Acknowledgments

  Princes of Hell Creed

  We protect those that fear us,

  save them from those who fell like the night.

  Flames will engulf feathers,

  Night will drowned the sun,

  Our war will be won.

  “Some angels fall, some mortals fly.”

  ~Daniel Saint

  Choose to soar!

  Prologue

  Lillian: slave, hostage, prisoner. That’s me, but I dream of freedom.

  I’m sure you’ve heard the myths about Avalon -- mystical island, hidden by magic, home to fae. The truth isn’t so sunshine and roses; it is dark and truly horrifying. If there ever were fae here, they were long ago murdered by those that reside here now.

  Avalon isn’t an island and it isn’t hidden either, although powerful magic protects it.

  They don’t hide.

  Avalon is wherever they chose to live, changing appearance to fit each new location. For the last few thousand years, the ones that took it over have moved it like a piece on a chessboard as they waged a war on all of humanity.

  I live here with them. I hate these bitches but I hold my tongue, biding my time and waiting for death.

  There is no escape.

  I tried once; I have the scars to prove it. The whip flayed the skin from my back, and only Grace helped me. She is the only one here I don’t understand. Why did she come with them? Why did she leave Heaven? She isn’t like the other angels.

  * * *

  That’s right. Angels. These aren’t the angels of legends; these are killers, as deadly as they are beautiful. Ageless.

  Make no mistake, they hate us. Why, I don’t know, but animosity rolls off them like a storm.

  One

  LILLIAN

  Did they kill God?

  I stand beneath the old Oak, my fingers brushing over the Spanish moss that hangs to the ground. It forms a curtain between me and Avalon, the house that looms across the yard. I ignore the house and those that are in it. They must have killed him. If he was alive, surely he wouldn’t let things continue. Wouldn’t he stop them? I hope so. Grace told me of him, and he sounds like he wouldn’t let his creations go around killing people.

  “Lillian!” My name makes me flinch. My body reacts before the last syllable dies in the air, turning and racing toward the back door. As I cross the threshold, she is waiting in the shadows .

  “What were you doing out there?” Lina practically screams, her voice shrill.

  “I just wanted some fresh air before I started on the kitchen.”

  It’s at least partially true. I do need to start cleaning the kitchen, and they will expect food soon. I don’t think they actually need food. More than likely they just like forcing me to make it and then telling me how awful it is.

  “Stop slacking, human.” She sneers the word human, and like always, it brings with it a sense of shame and self-hatred. Lina watches me closely for any reaction she could deem worthy of punishment. Years of practice allow me to hold my body still, muscles loose, and offer her nothing. Her eyes narrow for a moment before she spins on her sky high heels and slinks away. Just as she starts to turn down another hall, her obnoxious voice rings out, “Don’t forget to clean the floor.” I grit my teeth. I remember Grace telling me about Cinderella when I was little and I wonder where my fairy-godmother is. Maybe they killed her, too.

  Starting into the kitchen, I stop and turn back out into the hall, deciding to check on Grace before I get lunch started. I worry about her; every time she goes out now, she comes back hurt. No one says anything, but something has changed. I find her sleeping, the wounds still seeping, which means she was cut with a weapon from Heaven. I leave her to rest for now and return to the kitchen. The others wander in and out of the room, getting their food and tracking dirt all over the floor I’m still on my knees scrubbing. I ignore the snickers and ‘missed a spot’ comments.

  It’s hours later, and I’m still cleaning the floor, since they have coordinated their trips in and out of the room.

  The staccato of her steps alerts me to her impending arrival. I recognize the distinctive rhythm. I keep my head down as Seraphina strides in. I grimace as her boots covered with dry blood make brick red imprints on the wet floor.

  “Shouldn’t you be done?” Her voice is like a lash.

  “I just wanted to go over the floor one more time. I’m sure I missed some places.” Her eyes narrow at my words. Over the years, I’ve perfected the self-deprecating tone I use with her.

  “Really? We are leaving soon. There are many sinners out in the city because of the celebration.” Her eyes are glowing at the thought of the punishments she will administer tonight. I nod but say nothing. My body tenses as she remains frozen, staring down at my back. The scars under my shirt burn as I remember the day she gave them to me. Finally, she saunters out slowly.

  A few hours later and I’m centimeters from the barrier of magic that surrounds the grounds. As close as I can be without setting off the alarm. I can just see the parade moving slowly by. Beads and cups fly through air that is full of music and laughter. I’m so caught up in that music and the bright colors of the floats that I don’t realize she’s behind me. By the time the met
al claws she wears on her hand dig into my flesh, it’s too late.

  Two

  TORRYN

  Hell really is an eternity of paperwork.

  My lips curve at my idiotic thought before my gaze lands on the mountain of forms on my desk. The Demon Bayou Rum company is a cover for us but it still takes a lot of work to run. We’ve been running it since 1805, when Evander came to New Orleans. At least now the paperwork is mostly computerized; I still remember the quill and parchment days.

  Looking at the sheet on top, I pull up the customer’s file and double check the numbers before signing off on the order.

  My desk phone rings, and as I bring the handset to my ear, I hear the frantic voice of our warehouse manager. It takes him no time to relay the angry message from another client. After reassuring him, I hang up before immediately lifting the receiver again and dialing said client to smooth things over. I’m hanging up when Evander curses at his desk on the other side of the office.

  His phone handset crashes down, and I’m surprised it didn’t shatter from the force. I don’t bother looking up from my computer screen. His chair scrapes over the wood floor, making me grimace, picturing more deep grooves in the dark walnut planks. Note to self: get a rug for under his desk. I wait for him to calm. Continuing to sign and update client accounts, I stop every few minutes to scan through headlines as a program I created searches the entire web for specific combination of words.

  Evander’s heavy footsteps beat like a drum as he paces. The temperature in the room skyrockets. Sliding my phone closer and tapping the app for the air conditioners, I adjust the temperature to thirty-two degrees. The blowers kick on, and I watch the digital thermometer slowly begin to lower from one hundred and fifty. The footsteps stop as his shadow falls over me.

  I raise my head, one eyebrow raised. “Fuck, sorry.” He breathes slow and deep, trying to calm his anger. I shrug. It happens; this fucking job, or assignment, whatever you want to call it, is enough to make a saint lose their temper. We aren’t saints. Watching him, I see flames flicker in his steely gray eyes. Shit, this must be really bad. “Check the email.” His voice is flat as he locks down his emotions. I hesitate. I really don’t want to see. He walks around the desk, stopping behind me. “Torryn, not looking won’t change it one goddamn bit.” His tone is understanding of my reluctance though.

  I know that, I really do, but six hundred years of seeing them, of not being able to stop those bitches, is starting to get to me. My fingers fly over the keyboard, accessing the Demon Bayou Rum website then moving into the hidden portion. Typing the password to open the encrypted email, my finger hovering over enter, I glance up at him. “Just tired of being one step behind.”

  “I know.” He does too. Evander was the first sent here. He was there when the scribe recorded the revelation. He doesn’t speak of it, but I’ve heard whispers. It is said that he was once among the middle triad of angels. He cut his own wings, choosing to fall after this whole shit show began. I’ve seen him without a shirt. The scars and ruins of his wings remain, so I know at least some portion of the rumors are true. I hit the key.

  Images fill the screen, and I close my eyes for a moment. Not that it helps. Six hundred years’ worth are burnt into my lids. Fuck. Shake it off; there’s worked to do. On the left hand side of the screen, I watch as avatars of the others join as each office logs in. Clicking the first photo, I enlarge it and study it, jaw clenched.

  She had been tortured, mutilated, and her death took a long time. Ignoring the blood, I look at her face. She had been beautiful. What a fucking waste. All because of jealousy. Evander’s finger taps the screen, pulling up another picture as he leans closer, eyebrows drawn down. “Enlarge it, please.” Doing what he says, I look closer at the picture. His finger touches the screen again, shifting the picture to the side. I lean forward, really looking at it, ignoring the girl and studying the ground around her. That’s when I see it. No fucking way.

  “Yes,” he answers. “We finally know where they are. Let’s hope they don’t leave.”

  “You knew they would hunt here someday, didn’t you? That’s why you chose to set up here, why you established the rum company as a cover.” I shake my head. He has been here since the time of Jean Lafitte, who brought rum to Evander from the Caribbean.

  “It has always been a city tolerant of vices and sin. I’m certain they’ve been here before. I just couldn’t find them at the time. They hate the very things they crave.” That’s why we have an office in every city known for debauchery- Rio de Janeiro, Las Vegas, Amsterdam, and here, New Orleans. “Finally, they made a mistake. Only one city has those metal disks in their sidewalks.”

  I stare at the termite bait disk just barely peeking out from under the victims arm. Right in our fucking city! I see the red flames reflected in the screen as my anger flares. His hand falls on my shoulder, and I push back from my desk. “I chose you, Torryn. Do you know why?”

  I have no idea. One day, I was training and the next, I was called to see Luc. He refuses to use his full name now that it has been vilified by those he fights to save. Only those wishing to die would call him it or Morning Star. I shake my head.

  “The revelation,” he says as he steps away. Six hundred years and not a single word about any fucking revelation.

  “What about it?” A chill creeps up my spine when he turns back to me, leaning against his own desk. I see the angel he was shining out and I realize the stories have some of it wrong. He was no mid-tier angel. I am working for a Cherubim, or at least he used to be. Not one of those fucking chubby brats with a bow and arrow, no, the creatures sent to guard Eden as the divine protectors. I watch as his face shifts. Like all Cherubim, he has four, and they can be both comforting and terrifying . He lets me see the other three sides he keeps hidden before it settles on the one I’ve always known. FUCK.

  “They call you demons. If they only knew.” He shakes his head. My fingers grip the arms of my chair, dread beating at me. Never have I questioned the stories of how we were created. Yes, I knew we aren’t evil or bent on human destruction, but how we came to be was never a question. Until this very moment. He moves around the desk.

  “The time has come.” Luc appears by his side, and I fight not to flinch. The Devil is both beautiful and terrible to behold. I lock my muscles, waiting. “The time for the truth.” His hand lifts, index finger raised, his skin cool as it touches my forehead. It lays there for a moment and then taps.

  That gentle tap reverberates through my skull, a wave of power so great it knocks me over backwards. His smirking face is the last thing I see before excruciating pain rips through my brain. Flashes of images blind me. I claw at my eyes, but strong hands pull at my wrists, pinning them to the floor.

  I have no idea how long it goes on but when it ends, I’m left gasping and pissed off. Jerking my arms free, I jump to my feet, eyes blazing red in my anger. For six hundred years, I had believed the lies but questioned everything because I didn’t feel evil.

  “Why?” I grit out.

  “Why you were chosen? Why the lies? Which do you wish to know?” Evander is the one to answer.

  “All of it. You fucking lied to me. I’m no demon.”

  “False. You are very much a demon. I made you, pulled you from the darkness.” Luc’s tone dares me to deny his truth.

  “What darkness? I was an angel. I fought in the heavens,” I remember, tears threatening my eyes at the brilliant beauty.

  “Yes, you fought. Fought and died that day, braver than most, and yet He turned His back on you, leaving you in the darkness.” Luc’s voice hardens as he speaks of his Father. “He turned His back on us all. He left that day, went to another world to begin again.”

  It is a day of surprises and truths, apparently. Light shines brightly from him, and I fight not to shield my eyes. It dims slowly, and when I can finally see again, Evander’s hand is gripping Luc’s forearm. In that instant, I understand why they had called him Morning Star.

&
nbsp; “What happened that day? I remember fighting but not the reason why, or even who, for that matter.”

  Evander glances at Lucifer, who shakes his head, his anger still too close to the surface, so it is Boss who tells the tale.

  * * *

  THAT DAY IN HEAVEN

  The Archangels had been sent to Earth to watch over the humans, to help them. We don’t know if God knew or if He didn’t what would happen. While there living amongst the humans, they found themselves drawn to these creatures. Angels had never experienced the kind of needs and desires that people did continuously. They were born wanting and needing. The angels found themselves curious about earthly love. This love was so different than the love experienced in heaven.

  They partook in the pleasure of the flesh and in doing so, found a love like none they had known before. Children were born of these unions, and at the moment of their birth, when their first cries rang out, they were heard in the heavens. Every birth is a joyous occasion for angels, but these were more so because they were so angelic. All of Heaven celebrated, except for seven.