Stricken (The War Scrolls Book 1) (3 page)

Elioud shapeshifters…

Oh God. No. Not again.

“Oh God,” Aubrey whispered, blood rushing in her ears. She slid weakly down the wall, her legs no longer willing to hold her up.

“She’s fainting,” Killian said from a distance.

She thought she heard herself sigh in response, but she was already too far under to care.

Chapter Two

Where am I?

Aubrey glanced around, confused.

She stood at the edge of a driveway. A neat white house nestled between two towering oaks, a sea of waving grass stretching to each side. A tangle of trees spread out beyond the grassy field, dense and shadowed but familiar. The front shutters of the house were thrown open, the pale yellow curtains beneath fluttering in the warm breeze. Thick chains holding the old porch swing in place creaked as the wind tugged them into lazy motion.

A smile spread across her face as memory made sense of the scene before her. This was her home, the little paradise where she’d grown up. Time hadn’t changed the house at all. It stood exactly as she remembered.

But that wasn’t right, was it?

Aubrey frowned as a less gentle memory demanded her attention.

The scene before her flickered.

Her heart twisted painfully.

The massive oaks on the far edges of her vision blinked from life to death, branches bared and charred. The porch swing shifted from whole and hale to a melted and charred ruin. And the house…one minute, her home was pristine white and standing tall. The next, the house was little more than a gutted ruin, collapsing into a pile of rubble beyond the porch.

Smoke stood thick in the air, choking her.

Fire still smoldered in places, reducing to ash what it had not already destroyed.

“No.” Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut. She remembered this. Standing in this same spot. Watching the home she loved burn. Finding her—

“No!” She dashed toward the house as fast as she could, her heart in her throat as memory spurred her onward. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t.

“Daddy! Aaron!” The cast on her leg tripped her, causing her to nearly fall onto the charred porch before she could catch herself. She lurched across the wooden slats on unsteady legs, then flung herself into the ruins, heedless of the dangers lurking there.

“Aaron, where are you?” She ignored the alarm bells clamoring in the back of her mind, clenching her good hand into a tight fist to slow its shaking. The smell of char hung heavier in the air here, clogging her nose and throat. Smoke billowed like fog around her. She stumbled through the collapsing ruins of her home, fear for her family urging her forward.

Portraits and their heavy wooden frames were melted onto the walls, glass broken all along the charred floor. Her brother’s graduation picture was ruined, his face burned through. The photos of her mom were destroyed too, the edges of those beloved images still smoking in places.

“Dad?” Aubrey coughed, gagging at the bitter, painful taste of smoke in the back of her throat.

A groan sounded to her left, coming from the once-tidy little kitchen. She spun and dashed that way, a strangled cry breaking from her lips at the sight awaiting her inside the twisted doorframe. The room was gutted, pots and pans twisted into unrecognizable detritus atop melting linoleum. The kitchen table, charred a deep black, stood upright amid the destruction.

It didn’t matter.

The room no longer burned, but that didn’t matter, either.

Her father lay pinned beneath a roof beam. His left leg was bent, his flesh red and blistered halfway down the length of the limb. His familiar, handsome face was covered in soot, his dark hair singed. A nasty gash across his temple oozed blood, staining the right side of his face. His mouth pulled up in a rictus of pain when he turned his head, but his gaze was as gentle and loving as ever when it fell upon her. “Aubrey,” he said. “Sweetheart.”

“Daddy!” She collapsed to her knees beside him, ripping at the roof beam pinning him to the floor. Her broken arm and leg screamed in protest. Tears rolled down her face, silent sobs racking her body.

“Aubrey,” he murmured and then coughed, a sick sound. “You’ve got to get out of here, sweetheart.”

“No!” she cried, still pulling frantically at the rubble burying her father. Heat burned her hands, and wooden shards dug into her skin. She ignored the pain, determination driving her. “I can get you out. I can!”

“No, baby,” her father said, his voice a frail whisper, “you can’t. You’ve got to get out of here before the house collapses.”

“I’m not leaving you, Daddy,” she sobbed, tugging at the roof beam that refused to budge.

“You have to.” He sounded so much weaker than she’d ever heard before.

“No.” Aubrey shook her head, refusing to obey the man she’d always idolized. She couldn’t leave him here. She wouldn’t.

“They’re going to need you, Aubrey. You’re the only—” A harsh cough cut him off. He winced and groaned again.

“No,” Aubrey choked on the word, still tugging at the beam pinning him to the floor. “I can save you and Aaron!”

Her father’s gaze drifted off to the side and then quickly back to her, but he couldn’t hide the broken look in his eyes.

She turned her head and saw what he had.

Her brother’s arm, charred and blistered, peeked from beneath another fallen roof beam.

“Aaron’s gone, Bree. He’s gone, baby.”

“No!” She shook her head back and forth, trying to deny the truth fracturing her heart. “No.”

“He’s gone, sweetheart.”

“Aaron!” Aubrey jerked upright, her breath coming in gasping sobs.

Oh God, Aaron. And her father.

A nightmare, but not.

The dream was an exact memory, dredged up from that place deep inside where she’d tried to bury it three long years ago. Her shrink had told her then that memories didn’t stay buried forever, but she’d tried anyway.

Would the pain of that day ever fade?

At night, when she slept, the loss of her family haunted her like a wraith. It terrorized her, leaving her a broken mess over and over. But she was awake now, and in the light of day, she controlled what held her attention.

She drew a deep, shuddering breath and swiped shaking hands beneath her eyes. Shoving the memory back into the corner reserved for it and the others like it, she buttressed the walls she’d built around those painful flashbacks long ago. When her body stopped trembling, she took stock of her situation.

At some point, she’d been moved from the abandoned house and tucked into a massive four-poster bed. A deep red comforter twisted around her legs. Dark curtains—so red they might as well have been black—covered long windows on the opposite wall. An overgrown armchair sat in the far corner, a wooden table beside it. Two large bookcases flanked it, each stuffed to overflowing with books and papers of all shapes and sizes.

Aubrey drew another breath and disentangled herself from the blankets before climbing unsteadily to her feet. It felt as if a great weight sat upon her chest, fear and pain squeezing her heart in a vise. But she could curl into a ball and cry later. Right now, more important things demanded her attention.

“Which door?” she asked herself, staring at three identical doors situated around the room. None provided any hints as to where they led.

She chose the closest and pulled it open.

A bathroom, impressively decorated in deep blues and soft creams. No help there.

The second door opened onto a closet full of jeans, T-shirts, and combat boots far too large for a woman. So, one of her rescuers—if that’s what they were—lived here.

She closed the closet door and started across the room.

The last door swung open before she made it halfway.

One of her rescuers stepped into the room.

She halted in her tracks.

Piercing blue eyes homed in on her, startling her. She’d never seen such a beautiful color before. Sky blue close to the pupil and gradually darkening to a stormy blue around the edge of the iris. His face was all chiseled planes and beautiful, severe angles beneath a riot of unruly blond hair. He stood a good foot taller than her five foot three. He was also a lot younger than she had expected, probably not much older than she was. His face was unlined, youthful. His skin seemed to glow a soft gold.

And his arms. Good grief! She’d seen tree trunks smaller than his arms.

He was too big, too perfect, to be human.

“Hello,” he murmured.

Aubrey stared at him, her heart beating fast.

“Did you sleep well?” He made no move to come any closer, choosing instead to cross his arms over his chest and lean back against the wall. Muscles bulged beneath his shirt. He left the door standing open, maybe trying to put her at ease.

It didn’t work.

“I…” The words stuck in her throat. She coughed and then nodded instead of trying to force out a response.

“Do you remember anything?”

She hesitated a moment and then nodded again, slower this time. Whichever of the three he was, gentleness didn’t seem natural for him. Even talking softly and leaning against the wall, he was more commanding than any other guy she knew. An aura of danger rolled from him, not threatening perhaps, but there just the same.

He was the predator. Never the prey.

Killian.

His name floated up from the murky depths of her mind. Oh yes, she remembered him. Bossy and commanding, and—

“You’re Fallen.” The words slipped out as soon as realization dawned. She took an involuntary step backward. She didn’t know much about the fallen angels who lived on earth, but she knew enough to be afraid. The Fallen were like shadows, walking among humans but leaving no trace. They were guardians, Warriors of Light protecting her kind from the polluted races the Fallen had supposedly birthed with demons long ago, but only a fool thought they were the cherubic helpers popularized in paintings.

The Fallen were fierce, loyal, and even more deadly than any of the demon races out there. They were God’s warriors, His army, and they were damned. Cast from Heaven by God the same way He’d cast Lucifer into Hell.

The angel shook his head in denial. “You’re mistaken.”

“I’m not.” Aubrey lifted her head, narrowing her gaze. “You and the others are Fallen. That’s how you knew where the—” She couldn’t bring herself to verbalize the rest of that sentence. Not with Aaron’s memory so close.

“You’re mistaken,” Killian repeated.

“Then what are you?”

He pushed away from the wall and walked toward her, his arms still crossed loosely over his chest. The muscles in his chest bulged beneath his dark tee. The fabric stretched tight over his abdomen, seeming almost sculpted to the rock-solid flesh beneath.

“You’re not human.” She walked backward, refusing to let him get too close. To keep her hands from shaking, she curled them into fists at her sides.

“I am,” Killian said, “more or less.”

“Let’s talk about the ‘less’ part, then,” she snapped. A part of her brain warned her that she was being foolish goading him like that, but she couldn’t stop herself, either. She remembered how he’d snarled and sniped at her, threatening her without actually threatening her. She didn’t like him.

He stared at her for a long moment before shrugging a shoulder. “I’m Nephilim, half-human, half-angel. Does that help?”

“You’re Nephilim?” Aubrey’s heart sped up. “You’re—they’re—” She swallowed hard, remembering another Nephilim boy with cold, blue eyes and deadly intent. She pushed that memory away, fighting for calm. “The things chasing me—?”

“Were shapeshifters before they became infected.”

“Infected?” The question was a pitiful squeak. Aubrey didn’t care.

The wolves really were shifters. Oh Lord, what had happened to them?

“This is going to take a while,” Killian said with a sigh. “I’m going to walk toward you. No,” he said when she starting backing away from him. “Don’t do that. I’m not going to hurt you.” He pointed behind her. “I’m going to go sit in that chair, okay?”

Aubrey looked between him and the chair. For him to get to it, he needed to walk right by her, within grabbing distance. She crossed to the bed, a good six feet from the chair in the corner. She knew it wouldn’t be far enough if he meant her harm, but it was the best she could do at the moment. She nodded to him as she pressed herself into the wall beside the bed, letting him know he could move.

Killian frowned at her but didn’t say anything as he strode across the room then lowered himself into the chair.

Aubrey stared at him for long moments, trying to decide if he was going to hurt her.

“Are you always so jumpy?” he asked.

“Not until recently.” She rubbed her hands along her arms for warmth. Her body felt frozen solid, the kind of chill that came from inside and worked its way out. “What do you mean by
infected
?”

“Recently as in the last couple of days?” he asked instead of answering.

“More or less. How are they infected?”

“You’re stubborn.” Amusement flickered in his blue eyes.

“And you’re avoiding the question,” she said, glaring at him. “How?”