Unbound: The Fallen Series, #3

By Tanisha D. Jones

Someone's trying to kill her.

He wants to protect her, but her secrets won't let him.

They must work through their past or lose everything.

 

Elijah Cain

 Eli is still trying to come to grips with who he is. He's overwhelmed about coming into his powers and trying to figure out if what he has with Celeste is real. Everything is in question. If he doesn't make the right choice, he could be the catalyst to ending humanity.

Celeste Kent 

Celeste and Eli are finally in a good place. She's ready to reveal her past when her ex-boyfriend pops-up on her patio. He claims he's there to help, but only causes strife between her and Eli.As two worlds prepare for war, can Eli and Celeste forgive old betrayals to save humanity? 

 

Unbound is book three of the Fallen series set in a world of gods and angels. It's an erotic, action-packed story a goddess finding her humanity and a human finding his divinity during their ascent to love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tanisha D. Jones
• Release date: Nov 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393966463

Tanisha D. Jones

By the time I reached middle school, I’d developed a love of writing, creating my own teen based series that passed around school in colorful spiral notebooks. I am the single mother to a teen daughter, have a full-time job and college senior. So between Lupus flairs and the ongoing saga of 7th grade, I write.  Yes, while mortals sleep, I dwell in a world of dangerous women, mythological supermen, sexy supernatural mayhem and all things in between. And yes, I am Wonder Woman. Recently, my short story Serenity was featured in the Women in Horror Annual Anthology. I am a member of the RWA and the Southern Louisiana Chapter of the RWA.. In 2013,I completed my first novel, The First to Fall, the first in the Fallen series. I recently completed the second book in the series, Mark of the Fallen.  Tanisha D Jones, Author of  The Fallen Series, Urban Fantasy, Sci-Fi , Horror and Paranormal Romance

Book preview

Unbound

A Fallen Novel

By

Tanisha D. Jones

Prologue

THE THREE ENTERED, moving across the floor as one, as they did most things, to get a closer look at the new addition to their family. Giggling and whispering as young girls do, they tiptoed closer to stare at the exotic little girl sleeping soundly. She was tiny but beautiful. Even as an infant, her beauty was evident. Her hair was thick, dark as midnight, and curled wildly around a cherubic face.  Her skin was darker than their alabaster complexions. She was the color of warm caramel-like her father, the Egyptian, they supposed.  She stirred, opening her eyes to stare at the three girls.  Her eyes were stunning, a clear, crystalline turquoise rimmed with thick dark lashes.

She does not look like the all-powerful. She looks stuffed. Lachesis thought, her sisters nodded. The Moirai did not need to speak to communicate. They read each other's thoughts and often spoke as one. 

Clotho, the speaker of the past, poked at a fat thigh. The baby squealed, her eyes bright as she stared up at them.   Cooing, the baby grabbed Clotho's finger and put it into her waiting mouth.  Clotho grimaced but didn't pull away.  She let the girl gum her finger the way babies do to continue her study of the infant. 

She is the conduit to an untold power, one never yet witnessed. She will be legendary. Once they are together, they will lead the charge. Atropos, the speaker of the future, was the most serious of the three. With the knowledge of all things to come and could see the divergent paths that the world could take. She knew the hour the world would end, just as Clotho knew the second of the birth of existence.

STILL, LACHESIS, THE speaker of the present, mumbled aloud. She just looks like a fat baby to me. She's cute but-the most powerful goddess ever born?

She crosses pantheons, sister. Not only does she possess the power of her mother and grandmother, but she’s also the daughter of the Egyptian God of War. Clotho explained.  

Our little Caelestis, she alone could be the key to our survival. She will be the pathway.  Atropos gave what was as close to a smile as she could manage, gently stroking the child's soft hair. Will either be the key to our savior or ... our destruction.  They turned their eyes to the sweet, innocent babe who gurgled and smiled at her aunties.

Chapter One

Nicky Sky drifted above it all, feeling like he was in a waking nightmare when the explosion of light burned his sensitive eyes.  It lit up the night sky, a brilliant burst of vibrant blue that hummed and popped with electricity, then fading with a muted sizzle. The heat from it warmed his skin that always seemed to hold a chill now.  Once it disappeared, the smell of ozone and magic remained.

The sudden flash brought him out of his revere and into the present.  He was thrilled to see the Assiri tumbling through the air going ass over ankles into a second-story window.  After all, this was what they had been waiting for, proof that he was indeed all-powerful Fallen One.  There had been no proof of his existence, only suspicion and rumors. Until now.  The dark ones who’d set the demonic little fuck- twist lose on this world had done it specifically for that purpose.

Nicky listened to the screams of car alarms and the bustle of neighbors curiously peering through blinds when the squeal of tires tore past their homes down the narrow cobblestone street.  Lights came on in homes blocks away, voices rising in shock as the quiet Greek revival style home in the quaint historic Algiers Point exploded.

The blast was so powerful that the force pushed him up, lifting him higher into the darkness.  Flames lifted to the heavens, illuminating the sky bright orange and yellow, yet the heat never touched him.  Not really.  What he got was the memory of heat, just as he remembered the taste of food. Death, he’d decided, was so overrated.

The clattering of metal and wood falling to the ground and plumes of smoke filling the air added to the heated atmosphere. Excited and frightened neighbors poured into the street. Somewhere in the chaos, the Assiri wallowed in pain. Nicky knew without seeing the creature because, since his death, he experienced everything the Assiri did. That was part of their unnatural bond. It was down there, trying to collect itself after the sudden agony. Nicky was glad it had finally suffered the sheer terror it had freely doled out to others.

The sadistic little shit.

In the distance, he could hear the sirens of emergency vehicles coming, the lights flashing as they came closer.  Finally, the demon emerged from the flames, its black wings singed. The acrid smell assaulted the one sense he had left as it blew past. 

It had been the last decent act of the man he had once been.

Like being physically tugged, he slowly moved away from the city, heading downriver where there were no bright lights or sounds and smells of the living.  The place he was going was putrid and smelled of rotting flesh and molded wood. It was a hovel that teamed with vermin and covered in their leavings.  There, in the dank, abandoned darkness of a broken-down fishing shack, he and the Assiri would lay on the cold, damp floor together until it fell into a deathlike slumber.

He glanced back once more, remembering the life he’d once had.  There was a sadness in knowing he would never return to the man he’d once been. The Assiri made him into something different, something more.  He gazed down at his hands, watching the pale skin smolder as the sun peeked over the horizon.

Yes, vestiges of his human form would disappear the more time he spent with the Assiri. He was something new, something original to him. He was other. Yet, if he continued to have the murderous thoughts and impulses, he would be free if he just let that part of him take over.

ELI CAIN’S EYES OPENED just as the sun began to set, casting an orange glow across an unfamiliar room.  He stretched, his back and shoulders stiff from being cramped in a bed made for a much smaller frame. It creaked under his weight, the mattress dipping so that he and Celeste rolled to the center, their bodies crushed together under the comforter.  Not that he minded her pressed against him, so soft and warm, her bandaged arm resting on his chest. He gently brushed the hair from her face and stared in utter amazement.  In a few short weeks, Celeste Keegan Kent had changed his entire life.  She’d exposed him to a world he never knew existed.

In a mere 24 hours, he’d met gods and goddesses, shapeshifters, witches, pixies, and a host of magical fairy tale creatures. He’d also run afoul of a nasty little demon, witnessed a fight between a possessed werewolf, or Lycan and two Dhampir, his girlfriend nearly died in his arms, and his house had blown up.  That said, girlfriend was a literal warrior goddess, her father, the Egyptian God of war Anhur, her mother, the Greek Goddess Nemesis. Oh, and he was some sort of mythical superman known as The Fallen One, but the cherry on top of that magnificent pile of unicorn shit, he’d discovered that his grandmother was his daughter. Yes, the past 24 hours had been enlightening.

So, this swirling mist at the foot of the bed was only a blip on his weird shit o’ meter.  He stared at it, the smell of lavender filling the room, intensifying a scent he’d come to recognize as Celeste’s scent. But this was different. There was something darker than the pure sweetness that he associated with his beloved Doc.  There was something slightly sinister beneath the sweetness and oddly familiar to the person manifesting before him.

He leaned on his elbow to get a better look as the shape came into sharper focus.  The eyes were first, large silver-blue eyes wide with concern. The hair was next, dark with delicate streaks of silver. Then the face, soft, smooth alabaster skin gave her an ageless appearance, but he knew looks could be deceiving. She wore a polo shirt and khaki pants, an outfit that seemed out of place on her.  She took a step forward, wringing her hands as she watched Celeste sleep.

Okay, now who the fuck are you? Eli asked, sitting up.

The woman stopped and glared at him, her eyes widening.

It’s you.

Eli thought that he recognized her for a moment. Celeste roll into the void he’d left, grumbling something but didn’t wake. She’d had a rough night, and Boogie had given her a pretty potent pain killer.

It’s you. She repeated. I heard the rumors, but to see you...and with Celeste. She stared at him with a sense of awe.

Do I know you? He repeated. Beside him, Celeste rolled onto her back, her hair falling away from her face. The woman’s eyes darted to her, focusing on the fading bruises on Celeste’s cheek and bandaged arm. She eased closer to the bed, reaching out to stroke Celeste’s hair. Eli instinctively grasped her wrist to stop her. She met his gaze, pulling away, and took a step back. She brushed her hands over her hair, tucking it behind her ears.

How is she? Her tone low as not to wake Celeste.

She’ll be fine. 

Eli, who are you talking to? Celeste yawned, sat up, and stretched.

That’s what I’m trying to figure...where’d she go? He scanned in search of the mysterious women. All that remained was the lingering scent of lavender with a hint of jasmine and the rapidly fading silver mist that had alerted him of her presence. What the... she was just here. This kind of thing - does this happen often?

Too often, Celeste rubbed the sleep from her eyes then scanned the room. She inhaled deeply, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Was she small, dark-haired with silvery eyes? Dresses as if she works at Target? She was fully awake and growing more irritated by the moment.

Eli’s brow lifted as he nodded.

Damn it, Nyx, nice try, you psycho, Celeste spoke to the air, her voice low and threatening.

It made the hairs on Eli’s arms stand on end.

She’s gone, Doc. He cupped her cheek in his hand. She was still a little warm, the vestiges of the night fading away. The last thing he needed or wanted was for Celeste to have some sort of relapse. She was getting over being poisoned. She’d nearly died in his arms a few hours ago.

Oh, she hears me. Believe me, that bitch is listening. She’s always lurking, listening, waiting for her chance. Crazy old lady.

Who is she? She acted as if she knew me. He brushed wisps of hair off her cheek, tucking them behind her ear.  Celeste leaned into his touch, her anger seeming to seep out of her.

She knows you, alright.  Surprised she didn’t drop to her knees at the sight of you. That was Nyx, my  grandmother. She yawned.

Your ...grandmother? Eli repeated, And you don’t want to see her because?

Because she’s not to be trusted.  She leaned closer, her palm against his chest. She smelled good, like fresh vanilla and sweet, warm honey. He pulled her closer, and she willingly leaned into his embrace.

She seemed genuinely concerned. He kissed her temple, his hands moving up and down her back, his fingers brushing bare skin just above the small of her back.  She gazed up at him. Her breath smelled terrific. How was that even possible? Because he realized she was a goddess. Duh.

She’s up to something. She’s always up to something. I really should have killed her when I killed my mother.  She leaned in close to brush her lips against his. He deepened the kiss, tasting the warm sweetness that was her mouth.  He reveled in the feel of silken skin and the velvet of her mouth when what she said finally registered in his mind.

Wait. What?

REMY SAT WITH HIS BACK against the door, his head down, shoulders slumped as he dozed.  Behind the silver-plated steel-reinforced door lay the slumbering Lycan giant that was Briar O’Flanagan. Remy Kent still wore his filth covered clothes from the ordeal the night before, his hands crusted in dirt and blood resting in his lap. He didn’t flinch as the two visitors came down the narrow hallway towards him.

Gaston Kent strode towards his younger brother dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. His shoes echoed on the stone floors, filling the silence as he approached.

Beside him, Marama Puawai, Commander of the Grey, moved with a stealthy silence.  She was small compared to Gaston, but it was also her secret weapon.  Those who at first underestimated the petite warrior never did that again. If she let them live, that is.

How long has he been here? He spoke in hushed tones as not to disturb his younger brother’s slumber.

Since you delivered the Lycan.  He hasn’t moved from that spot. She matched Gaston’s lowered tone. He even helped subdue Briar, then relieved the guard I’d assigned. You wouldn’t happen to know why he insisted on staying here? 

Gaston stared at his little brother. For a moment, he nearly brushed the hair from his face the way he did when Remy had been much younger with a mop of thick curly hair. That had been before he’d been hardened. The only person who ever seemed to ease his pain lay behind that door.

Of course, Remy would never admit it, so neither would Gaston. It wasn’t his story to tell, and frankly, it was no one’s business.

You both know that I can hear you, right? Hey, Mara, Remy spoke but didn’t move. Gaston kicked his chair, and Remy finally met his gaze.  He was tired, his amber eyes red-rimmed. The Commander snickered and gave Remy a quick little wave.

You smell, Gaston said, folding his arms across his chest. His voice was a deep rumble that seemed to emanate from the soles of his feet. 

Marama cleared her throat and took a step back.

I’ll just be down there if you need me. She pointed down the corridor, leaving the brothers to speak in private. Well, in as much privacy as she could allow, most preternatural and otherworldly beings had an acute hearing. Even in the Collective covered in charms and incantations to protect privacy, sometimes things leaked through.  Gaston watched her, waiting until she leaned casually against the wall at the very end of the corridor before turning back to Remy.

We all smell, Gaston. It’s the nature of the beast. Remy grinned in a way that had always irritated his brother. The fact that Remy was aware of and did it just to annoy his more refined brother.

Okay, you smell like shit. Better? Gaston heaved, fanning his face when Remy’s stench assaulted him. Though they shared a strong resemblance, Remy Kent had softer features, making him a prettier Gaston version. He was sinewy and muscular but somewhat lanky and loose-limbed.  Gaston was angular with features that were a combination of African, Italian, and French. He had a powerful angular jaw and a solid muscular frame.  In a former life, he’d been a soldier, in this one, a businessman. 

Remy, on the other hand, was the type of kid you would find at a skate park in skinny jeans and concert tees. His thick curly hair was always in need of a good trim, and his baby face seemed permanently shadowed with dark stubble.

Much.  He sniffed his armpit and grimaced. Unlike you, I didn’t have the luxury of a shower. He stood slowly, stretching, and studied at his ribs, which stuck out at an odd angle on his left side. He gave them a shove with his right hand, and they made a loud popping sound as they moved back into place.  

Gaston grimaced and shook his head. The sounds of cracking bone and stretching the muscle, the way Remy’s body would deform, then reform into something new and flawless, always made Gaston a bit queasy. To witness his little brother do this only made the transformations that much more painful to see, though Remy insisted that it didn’t hurt.

Does it hurt when your fangs extend? an incredibly young Remy had asked when his very protective older brother had questioned him.

Of course, it doesn’t, Gaston said.  It was more of a tingle than anything else.

For me, shifting is kind of like when your foot falls asleep- pins and needles, then- nothing. Then he’d promptly transformed into a house cat to punctuate his statement.

Unlike his little brother, Gaston was purebred Dhampir; Remy, the son of Jonas Kent’s second wife, was a hybrid. He was a shape-shifting Dhampir. Not that there weren’t all sorts of creatures who could shift or dozens of combinations. Remy was the only one of his kind that they knew of anyway.

Are you just here to give me shit? He asked.

Gaston slid open the narrow viewing window to stare at Briar half, expecting him to rise and tear through the room the way he’d done in the wee hours. It had taken several attempts to sedate the giant, and now he lay still, breathing softly.  He closed the window letting Briar sleep a peacefully as he could.

How is he? Really. Even after spending the better part of two centuries in the States, Gaston still had a pronounced French accent.  Remy had long abandoned the accent, but it fit Gaston for some reason. It was obnoxious.

He’s not good. When he is lucid, he says it’s getting harder to fight.  It’s like a hive mind, with that thing in control. Remy grunted, scrubbing a hand over the stubble on his cheeks. When it sleeps, Briar gets peace.  I just wish I knew a way to help him.

I know a way. Lisette Kent stood beside them, her voice making both of her brothers start.

Jesus, Lissy, I wish you wouldn’t fucking do that.  Remy snapped but with no real venom. She raised a perfect brow in amusement.

Lisette Kent, the middle child of the Kent family, was tall, with soft brown skin and the same golden amber eyes of her brothers.  She possessed a head of honey-blond hair that she’d sheared into a pixie cut that framed her face, unlike them. Lisette was beautiful and smart and, by far, the most intimidating of the Kent siblings. She wore a white button-up shirt with a double strand of pearls at her throat, a black leather skirt, and sky-high black stiletto’s, yet she’d approached them silently. 

You smell like sewage back up.  She said, and Remy obliged her with his middle finger.

Anyway, the witch who saved CeCe can help. She’s powerful. If she can save a goddess, she can save Briar.  She may be the only one who can.

Then let’s go get her. Remy took a step forward only to have Gaston place a staying hand on his chest. 

You need to make another stop before you go. The great and powerful OZ is summoning you.  She’s waiting for you in her suite. Gaston said, knowing that Remy’s reaction to being called to Lilith’s room was possibly the start of world war three.

I’m not a part of the Collective.  I don’t answer to her anymore.  He brushed past his siblings, his jaw set.  Gaston and Lisette shared a look. Giving in, Lisette rolled her eyes.

Remy, he stopped, turning to face her. Look, I know you hate her. He opened his mouth, ready to rant on just how much he despised their High Regent, when Lisette lifted a hand. I get it.  What she did to you, to us, was beyond reprehensible.  But if you go up there, you could get information. She will slip up because as fucked up and twisted as she is, you, my pretty little brother, are the thing she wants but can’t have. 

She wanted Karim too. Send him.  

Lisette smiled a soft smile that made her look young and carefree.  Remy was the only person in the world who could elicit that smile from their sister.  Gaston sometimes envied their connection.

She’s scared of Karim. Not to say you don’t terrify her as well, but for totally different reasons. You are our secret weapon against the Red Menace. Besides, if you don’t go, she is going to be a raging bitch for the next few weeks, and nobody wants that.

Remy glanced from Lisette to Gaston then back.  He thought for a while, and his shoulders slumped from pure exhaustion.

Fine. I’ll do it, but we go get the witch when this is over.

Great, and thank you. You can shower and change in my suite. Come on.  Lisette looped her arm around Remy’s, ignoring his smell and filth as they strode toward the exit.

Gaston motioned for Mara to re-join him.  She stood with him as he slid the viewing window in the heavy cell door open to peer inside.  Briar remained still, his breathing labored and strained.

Keep an eye on him. And if you happen to see anything, let me know. He said.

"Do you think this has something to do with her highness?" She said it with such dry sarcasm that Gaston chuckled.

If she doesn’t have at least a toe in this, I would be surprised. Keep your eyes and ears open. There is something bigger than a rogue demon happening here. We just need to figure out what.

CHAPTER TWO

The dark walls of the windowless room made Karim feel claustrophobic for the first time in years. He’d always been comfortable in the Collective, but now he itched to leave, to go out and find her, to make sure she was safe. He’d just about worn a rut in the carpet as he stalked around his suite, bidding time.  Why was it taking so long for the sun to set? It was late fall, for Christ’s sake.  He raked his fingers through hair that had grown too long.

He hadn’t cut it because she’d liked it long. He could still sense her fingers moving through it, sending shivers down his spine. He knew the chance of her coming back to him was next to zero when she’d told them about the Nephilim.

He’d hoped the supposed Fallen One would protect her, but he’d let her be hurt. Badly.

She’d been in agony in the early morning hours, the life draining from her. He’d experienced the relics of her pain even though their relationship had ended years ago. Not the way he had been in the past when she was his. She was never entirely his. Karim had long ago ruined any chance with his stupidity and stupid nobility. He supposed he would have been better off if he’d never had her, loved her. Maybe then there wouldn’t be an ache at the mention of her name. Jesus, why couldn’t he get over her already?

Karim ruined good relationships because of his obsession. She was out there, hurt. And for once, not by him.

Her pain intensified his awareness of her and his need to protect her, even though he knew she was safe. She was somewhere in the French Quarter, shielded by powerful white magic.  A place with him.  Karim growled at the thought of him touching her, comforting her, making love to her when he could no longer be there for her.

His anxiety wasn’t merely due to her pain.  Something dark and powerful was moving towards them.  He could sense it. The Lycans had been jittery and on edge more than usual, at least. And the Fae had all but disappeared into their home realm.  He hadn’t seen an actual faerie in days.  Karim had an overwhelming feeling it had to do with the recent discovery of The Fallen One.

There had been whispers in the halls, and conversations cut short whenever he was nearby. They all knew he had been with Celeste; he was her destiny.  They knew he was alive, but only a select few had seen his human face, and even fewer still knew his identity.

He wished he could speak with Atropos, the speaker of what is to come alone, and he could get a straight answer. Any combination of the sisters would drive a sane person crazy.  Clotho and Lachesis were always with their sister. They spoke in a strange cadence, all saying in tandem like a bizarre game of telephone. He glanced at the clock and reached for his coat. It would be dusk in New Orleans, safe for him to journey outside without burning.  He was only going to see how she was recovering.  That’s what he told himself.

Of course, he knew that was a lie.

He opened the door and found the last person he expected to see on his doorstep.

Going to check on your one true love?  Marama considered him, a smile teasing the corner of her lips. The Commander of the Grey and fellow members of the Seven had always shown disdain for him. They had a long-complicated history and issues that needed resolution. Not for his lack of trying. But Marama, one of the youngest of the Seven, was known for her temper. And she was known to hold grudges for centuries.

Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the wolf?

Perks of being Commander. I can do as I please.  You can’t wait to see her, can you? Even after all this time, still, you’re wrapped around her finger. 

He could never understand why the Collective had insisted that Marama’s suite be on the same level as his.  There were dozens of rooms available on several levels, but they put her down the hall from him.

You are so predictable. She said while turning to walk down the hall to her suite.

He watched her for a moment, her plump ass snug in a pair of skintight leather pants. She was tiny, barely five feet tall, with an hourglass figure. Her face was angelic and round with full lips and doe-like eyes in the softest shade of amber he’d ever seen. The intricate Tā moko, a traditional Maori tattoo, chiseled into her chin, added to her dark beauty.  Even her name, Marama Puawai, or Moon Blossom, added to the facade.  Of the seven original vampires, the truth of the matter was she truly lived up to her moniker, Marama, the Vicious.  She was by far the