Forbidden: The Soulkeepers Series, #1

By Lori Adams

Hauntingly romantic, achingly tragic, and highly addictive. "An action-packed, satisfying love story gets this supernatural series off to a rousing start." ~KIRKUS REVIEWS

 

My life went sideways the moment I arrived in Haven Hurst, Connecticut. It's one of those charming, quintessential places you find on lists like, The Top Ten Best Small Towns To Visit In America. It is beautiful, but what I now know would shock the tourists to the core.

 

The locals have been compelled to disregard the strange behavior of a particular family because they are Guardian Angels. I never expected my hallucinations to include something of this magnitude. I never expected angels to be monitored by The Council of Guardians, which has grown increasingly suspicious of me. And I never expected to fall in love with Michael Patronus, the angel in my senior class. But is love enough when mortal sins demand retribution?

 

"Loving a guy like Michael is like swallowing the moon, I am glowing on the inside."

 

And then Dante Dannoso arrived. A demon and a high ranking member of the Royal Court of the Unforgiven. Dante, who houses the Demon of Persuasion, has kept secrets from The Order of Reapers, those who control death contracts. For centuries, Dante has privately tracked the soul of his lost lover. He insists that I have this soul. He insists we share a past life and that I once begged him to find me again. Whatever the cost. It has been torture denying the sweet memories buried deep inside me. Dante casually dismisses my love for Michael…

 

"You think I am here for your heart, amore mio? Our life begins when your heart stops beating…"

 

Dante wants to kill me. Michael wants to save me. And yet…I am the one with all the power…

 

"In a clash between heaven and hell, no one raises the heat like Sophia and her Guardian Angel, Michael."—Cecy Robson, award-winning author of the Weird Girls series

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spyhop Publishing
• Release date: Nov 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737131267

Book preview

Praise For Forbidden

A n action-packed, satisfying love story gets this supernatural series off to a rousing start.- KIRKUS REVIEWS

IN A CLASH BETWEEN heaven and hell, no one raises the heat like Sophia and her Guardian Angel, Michael.—CECY ROBSON, award-winning author of the WEIRD GIRLS series

"ONE OF THE BEST ANGEL books I've read. Lori Adams’ writing is entertaining and SMART. Though it's a paranormal/fantasy, it was so real. I felt everything the characters felt, and man oh man, the emotional rollercoaster for this book was loopy and thrilling and had me back to read it the moment I finished. Read it in one sitting. Read it again in another. (And I will marry Michael in my book fantasy world.)" -CASSIE MAE, author of FLIRTY THIRTY

"I READ FORBIDDEN IN one day because I just could not put it down."—GOOD CHOICE READING

"SIMPLY PUT . . . THIS book was amazing! Not only was it captivating, but it was intriguing as well."—JUST US BOOK LOVERS

"I strongly recommend this book if you are looking for a well-developed paranormal romance...Can’t wait for the next one!"—TJ LOVES TO READ

"AS ROMANTIC AS IT IS addictive...witty writing...action-packed plot...face-fanning romance all in one, The Soulkeepers is quickly becoming one of my favorite paranormal series."—CASSIE MAE, author of THE REAL THING

"THIS IS ONE OF THE better books I have read...It was funny and suspenseful. I could barely put it down. When I was not reading it, I was thinking about the characters and the plot...This book is a must read for any lovers of the Twilight series...I love this couple. I highly recommend this book." PHOENIX, NETGALLEY

"SUCH A GREAT STORY. Fell in love with these characters. Great story build & can't wait for the next one. She built the characters in a way that you can't help but love them even the villains. Recommend this book"-L. BOOK NOOK, GOODREADS

"IN FORBIDDEN: THE SOULKEEPERS, Lori Adams has managed to create an awesome story packed with forbidden romance, good vs. evil and paranormal adventure. There is so much to like in this book! It grabbed my attention from page one and never wavered. The characters are likable and the dialogue between them made me laugh as I was reading the story...I have so many questions that were left unanswered at the end and now I have to wait for the next one to come out."-T. NETGALLEY

Spyhop Publishing

All Rights Reserved

SPYHOP PUBLISHING 2022

ISBN 978-1-7371312-6-7

ISBN 978-1-7371312-7-4

ISBN 978-1-7371312-4-3

Originally published by Random House 2014

First published in the United States by FLIRT, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

Copyright © 2014 by Lori Adams

This book has been revised as a young adult novel.

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

No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher, Spyhop Publishing.

This book contains an excerpt of AWAKEN Book 2 of the Soulkeepers Series

Also by Lori Adams

The Soulkeepers Series

Forbidden

Awaken

Unforgiven

Kate March Mysteries

Speak Easy

Avalina Jones Series

Avalina Jones and the Eye of the Storm

LoriAdamsBooks.com

For my family, whose encouragement has always been a true blessing.

~For Chelsea King, Forever Seventeen~

~Table of Contents~

Chapter One Things That Almost Never Happen

Chapter Two Michael

Chapter Three Dante

Chapter Four The Heart of Haven Hurst

Chapter Five Then Again, Maybe Not

Chapter Six Dante

Chapter Seven Ordering Off the Menu

Chapter Eight The Finite Capacity of My Reality

Chapter Nine Floats and Jimmies

Chapter Ten Michael

Chapter Eleven Letting Her Go

Chapter Twelve Music, Zombies, and Things That Tingle

Chapter Thirteen Pin Pricks in Heaven’s Floor

Chapter Fourteen Michael

Chapter Fifteen Hot Blooded Boys of Summer.

Chapter Sixteen My What Big Eyes You Have

Chapter Seventeen Michael

Chapter Eighteen The Circle of Death

Chapter Nineteen Déjà Vu With a Chaser of Hot Chocolate

Chapter Twenty Michael

Chapter Twenty-One Dante

Chapter Twenty-Two One Giant Step For Me

Chapter Twenty-Three Love and Other Fatal Diseases

Chapter Twenty-Four Rebel Without a Pause

Chapter Twenty-Five One Hotdog Heavy on the Miracle

Chapter Twenty-Six Surpassing the Outer Limits of Stupidity

Chapter Twenty-Seven Dante

Chapter Twenty-Eight Michael

Chapter Twenty-Nine Double Double Toil and Holy Crap

Chapter Thirty Down the Spiritual Rabbit Hole

Chapter Thirty-One Surprise of the Seraphim

Chapter Thirty-Two I’ll Have an X, a Scapegoat, and a Secret Boyfriend For Dessert

Chapter Thirty-Three The Playground of Angels

Chapter Thirty-Four Thank You Sir May I Have Another

Chapter Thirty-Five Smoke and Intrigues

Chapter Thirty-Six Landmines and Lullabies

Chapter Thirty-Seven Principalities of the Air

Chapter 1

Things That Almost Never Happen

Ialways know I’m in trouble when I hear the devil laughing. Maybe it’s my overactive imagination. Maybe my mind is bent. Or maybe I’m being watched by some malevolent entity that finds me particularly amusing. 

The moment the thought falls into my head, I disagree with myself. Nobody wants to believe evil is that close. I’ve never been highly superstitious or anything. Then again, I have been experiencing some pretty strange stuff lately. A bit too often for my taste.

So, when this motorcycle cop pulls me over, I’m not surprised to hear deep, sadistic laughter. I ignore it and fiddle with the long braid resting over my shoulder and wait for the cop. Please, don’t give me a ticket.

It’s my first time being stopped, and I’m nervous. Thankfully, Dad isn’t here. He’s a few miles ahead, pulling the travel trailer that contains our few household belongings and my meager seventeen years of existence.

Dad hasn’t been himself lately and would probably make things worse. In fact, he’s been more withdrawn and temperamental in the past two weeks. Well, really, since the disastrous breakup with my ex-boyfriend, whom I now lovingly refer to as Psycho Steve. It was torture for Dad to see the anger Psycho Steve left on my face. Sometimes, Dad acts like he is the one who got pummeled instead of me.

A stab of guilt hits my gut because I don’t blame Dad for shutting down. He’s been through so much with Mom dying unexpectedly a few years ago. Dad is still an emotional wreck. We both are.

It’s just me and Sundance in my red Jeep Wrangler. Dad and I removed the hard-top a few towns ago, which might have been a mistake. Golden Retriever fur has been swirling around like dust bunnies targeting my nose. And my blondish-brown hair, previously in a loose bohemian braid thingy, is doing a strand-up comedy. I slip off my gold aviator sunglasses and peek in the mirror; jeez ,Louise, I look like crap. Oh, well. The cool evening air helps calm my nerves about moving, so it’s well worth it. Being the daughter of a roaming pastor, I still haven’t gotten accustomed to relocating at the drop of a hat.

Since Mom’s death, Dad has grown increasingly restless. We’ve moved four times in the last two years, everywhere from Monterey to Santa Barbara to San Diego. I had just started my senior year at Los Angeles High when—out of nowhere—Dad announced we were leaving. No warning. No discussion. Just pack and go, and four days later here I am on the side of the road somewhere in Connecticut. Probably getting a ticket.

I grab my phone and shoot Dad a text saying I’ve been temporarily delayed. He’ll think I stopped somewhere to use the bathroom. I know I wasn’t speeding, so why pull me over? Hopefully, this won’t take long.

I sigh and rub my stiff neck. The cop is taking forever, so I search for him in the rearview mirror. My eyes are instantly drawn to the beautiful apricot sun setting behind a distant ridge. It’s pretty incredible, and I stare for several long moments until my eyes water. And then my headache flares up—that familiar dull throbbing over my right eye. My fingers pad along the scar on my eyebrow, compliments of Psycho Steve. I may have been on the wrong end of his fist, but that was nothing compared to how I’d defended myself.

That was the day my firm convictions against superstitious mumbo jumbo became more of a suggestion.

Dad doesn’t know the details. I mean, how can I expect him to understand when I don’t understand it myself? The only person I would’ve told was Mom if she was alive. Somehow, I think Mom would’ve understood exactly what I did and how it changed me.

Finally, the cop approaches, and I shift my attention to more immediate concerns. How much is this going to cost me?

Evening, Miss. I’ll try to make this quick. I can see you’re in a hurry. The cop lifts an eyebrow, anticipating some smart-alecky response.

Am I wrong? Was I speeding? I’m seriously not sure, so I smile politely.

He asks for my license and registration, so I dig them out of my beach-bag-of-a-purse, lay them onto his outstretched hand, and widen the smile. It’s wasted because he isn’t even looking at me. His eyes are cataloging the contents of my backseat.

Where you headed?

Haven Hurst. I try to sound cheerful even though I’m exhausted.

You don’t live there, he says, matter-of-fact. I frown and then remember my out-of-state tags and license.

Oh, yeah. I mean, no. I’m just moving there. Now. Today.

Miss St. James, you have a lot of expensive equipment back there.

The backseat is a dumping ground for my camera junk. A costly hobby, but Dad indulged me a year after Mom died. Anything to distract me from asking about the strange circumstances of her death.

Yeah, I like old-school cameras over phone cameras.

My collection of lenses, filters, and tripods has multiplied like rabbits. I even have some antique cameras packed in one of the moving boxes. I could offer a compelling argument for traditional composition and techniques versus the point-and-click variety but decide against it. So, we just stare. Awkwardly. He’s obviously suspicious, and I’m starting to feel accused of something.

What, you think I stole it? Well, I didn’t. It’s all mine, I say a little too aggressively and then grimace. I hate to sound so defensive.  It’s just stress. I’m always keyed up when we move.

The cop rips a ticket from his pad and flips it over, scribbling on the back. "Tell you what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna take this ticket to the newspaper office in Haven Hurst. The Gazette. Give it to Miss Minnie. She’ll take care of everything. I’ll know if you don’t." He gives me a warning look and hands over the ticket. I frown and read it.

Minnie, meet your new photographer. ~Tom

I don’t get it.

And then I do.

He turns to leave, and I say, Hey, wait a minute. You can’t do that. He gives me a doubtful look, and I realize he can. He just did. So, I wasn’t speeding then?

Were you? He reaches for the ticket pad again.

No, I say quickly before he writes me up for real. I wasn’t so...why’d you stop me?

Buckle up your dog. Especially with the open top. He’s a passenger, same as anyone else. He walks away, and I look at Sundance in the passenger seat; he’s been sitting up and watching with his big red tongue hanging out, happy to be included.  I pull the seatbelt across his chest.

Yeah, okay, but seriously? Giving me a job instead of a ticket. Is that even legal? Sundance barks. Oh, I’m sure you do like him. Probably some bored rent-a-cop— I stop when I realize he’s back at my window. Crap. My face flushes, and I want to crawl under the jeep. He says he forgot to return my license and registration and then hands them over.

Thank you, I mumble. Sorry about the—

"No problem. Oh, and Miss? This bored rent-a-cop is a State Trooper. But you can call me Officer White. I’ll expect you to remember that in the future. Welcome to Haven Hurst."

He walks away, and I slump in the seat. I want to tell him I’m not usually so rude. I’m just so freaking tired. Static from his radio sparks, and then the dispatch comes on. When his motorcycle roars to life, I twist around, hoping to throw out a better apology, but his siren blares as he drives by.

Great, I say with a pang of disappointment. I wanted our move to Connecticut to be a fresh start. It’s important for Dad to find some species of peace here. Maybe even make new friends. The plan for me was to slip unnoticed into a new school and finish my senior year in relative anonymity. I want to put Psycho Steve and the incident behind me. I want to forget the nagging questions about Mom’s death. I need this. Dad and I need this. We’ve become strangers abandoned on the same deserted island since Mom died in that psyche ward.

And what do I do? I insult a cop in our new town. Word will probably get around that the new pastor has a rude daughter. I groan, irritated with myself.

Sundance flattens his ears and growls at the forest lining the remote country road. It’s become a thick black wall in the fading light. My pulse jumps and makes the scar in my eyebrow throb. Then Sundance whimpers, and that’s enough for me. I start the engine and peel out.

A few miles later, the road dips, and I come upon the reason for Officer White’s hasty exit. A semi-truck and trailer are jackknifed across the road. The giant metal grill has taken a chunk out of a small white car. The truck driver is a burly-looking guy who seems dazed. He is standing aside talking to a cop.

A soft voice in my head says, She’s okay, and I immediately look at a woman in green nurse scrubs sitting on the ground. The voice is calm and all too familiar—Mom. It’s the other strange thing I’ve been hearing lately. The first time I heard my dead mom’s voice was the night Psycho Steve attacked me. Mom yelled, Grab the knife!

I hear her pretty often, usually when I’m about to do something questionable, which is weird that I would hear her now.

Red emergency flares block the road, so I pull over to wait until somebody waves me on. There are two state police cars and Officer White, but no ambulance yet. Officer White has joined the cop and the truck driver, who seems to be relaying what happened. The second cop is crouched beside the nurse. He’s writing on a clipboard while she presses a towel against her forehead.

Between the nurse and the crumpled car is a blond guy in blue jeans and a white T-shirt. He’s standing stock still with his arms crossed over his chest. There’s something peculiar about him. Almost like he isn’t quite—

Sundance barks, and I nearly jump out of my jean shorts. I shush him, but he’s persistent because a small, black dog is peering through the white car’s open window. It starts yapping, and Sundance barks back. Before I can grab his collar, Sundance wiggles free and bolts from the jeep.

Sundance! Come here! I yell, but he won’t listen, and I’m mortified. I should have gotten hold of him. I can’t afford to upset Officer White, again.

I scramble out of the jeep and catch Sundance as he reaches the white car. The dogs settle down and sniff their hellos. The nurse smiles ruefully.

It’s alright, she says. He’s friendly. And probably scared.

I give her an apologetic smile and pet her dog, some terrier mix. He’s trembling, poor thing. She asks if he’s hurt, so I run my hand over his wiry fur.

Aw, he’s fine. Aren’t you, boy? His tongue darts out and licks my wrist. I laugh and ruffle his ears, and the nurse smiles, turning back to the cop. I look at the blond guy in jeans.

He’s tan and tall, well over six feet, and muscular. Probably eighteen or so. He seems disjointed from the others, not concerned about anyone apart from the nurse. With no other vehicles around, I’m guessing he’s her son.

He didn’t react when Sundance barreled past or even glance in my direction. His solemn expression and deep concentration make me wonder if he’s in shock. Or maybe he was driving and feels guilty?

I know that deep fear when someone you love is hurt, so I walk over to say something reassuring, but a sudden explosion in my chest stops me. I clutch my heart, feeling like I swallowed a stick of dynamite. I imagine a mushroom cloud wafting up my torso and imploding. It’s forming an intense knot that settles under my breastbone and starts drumming counter to my own heartbeat, which is thundering in my ears. Each beat in my chest is stinging and reverberating up my throat. I grimace and try not to cough. The strangest part was seeing the blond guy react like it happened to him, too.

His head snaps up, his back goes ramrod straight, and he slowly turns and looks at me. His eyes are aquamarine prisms that stare with such intensity I almost feel guilty of something.

I have never seen or felt anyone so passively powerful. His chest is heaving like mine, and his face is full of alarmed curiosity. He cocks his head as if expecting me to speak, so I try.

Um, hey, are you okay?

The nurse looks up and says, I’ll be fine, dear, but could you grab my purse from the car? I should call my husband.

The guy doesn’t respond, so I pull my eyes away and gaze down at her. She hasn’t acknowledged him but is looking only at me. I turn back to the guy, who now has an incredulous expression as though I’ve said something outrageous. I’m getting that strange, unsettled feeling I get when things start sliding off the rails. My imagination coloring outside the lines.

But the guy has extraordinary eyes, not the Prince Charming swoony kind, those I’ve seen my fair share of. No, his eyes are full and strong and seem to hold me in place with their intensity. Noises recede, and the bizarre second heartbeat snuggles deeper inside me while an unexpected thought flits through my mind—I am not alone inside myself anymore.

The sensation makes me shiver, and the guy’s face softens, his curiosity shifting to concern. I suddenly feel a sense of peace come over me, as though someone has laid a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I know everything is going to be fine.

I feel myself starting to smile because I understand this feeling is radiating from him.  When he opens his mouth to speak, I lean forward, waiting...and then...something in the distance catches my eye.

Through the dark forest comes a guy about fifteen or so with disheveled brown hair. He’s thin and lanky, wearing a grungy black T-shirt and distressed jeans. Traipsing through the brush, he should be causing a racket, but I don’t hear a thing. As he approaches, I notice a nasty red cut along his jaw and another across his throat. His eyes sweep the scene and land on the nurse. He grins and ambles up to the blond guy. Before he can speak, the blond guy whips around and smashes him to the ground with a single backhand blow.

I gasp and startle the nurse and cop. They pause and look at me. I wait for them to acknowledge what just happened, but neither one even looks at the two guys. Finding nothing wrong, aside from my gaping face, they go back to the accident report.

The grungy guy struggles up to his elbows and shakes his head. The blond guy slams a foot against his chest, forcing him back down. The blond guy is coiled and ready for a fight, then he lifts his head and looks directly at me. Gone is the peaceful expression and the comfort he emitted. Gone is the softness and concern in his eyes. They have hardened into iridescent marbles that seem to glow, and he stares like he’s waiting for me—almost daring me—to interfere. I’m dumbfounded.

The grungy guy throws his arms up to deflect the next hit, but when it doesn’t come, he peeks at the blond guy and then tracks his attention to me. Our eyes lock, and a ribbon of coldness flutters through me. He has solid black eyes.

Hey! What’s going on? the grungy guy demands as he struggles under the foot on his chest. His eyes cut back and forth between his attacker and me.

The blond guy ignores him, keeping his focus solely on me. He frowns, worried about something.

The grungy guy points at me and says, You can’t blame me for that! I didn’t know!

What in the world is that supposed to mean?

The blond guy grinds his foot into the guy’s throat, trying to quiet him. The poor kid writhes in pain. It’s awful and I can’t take it anymore—this huge guy stomping on this defenseless kid.

Stop it! I yell and scare the bejesus out of the nurse. The cop with the clipboard stands abruptly. He wants to say something, but Officer White marches over.

What’s going on? You causing trouble, Miss St. James?

Everyone is staring, expecting me to explain myself, but I don’t know what to think, let alone say.

I close my eyes and grind my teeth. Please. Not another hallucination.

Ever since I defended myself against Psycho Steve, I’ve had strange visions that make me doubt my sanity. Another secret I’ve been keeping from Dad. But I’ve never actually yelled at these bizarre hallucinations. In public.

When I open my eyes—hoping somebody acknowledges the guys fighting—I’m sadly disappointed. All eyes are on me, and nobody is looking at them. But if I focus and squint, I think I can see right through—

Miss St. James! Officer White snaps, and I flinch.

Uh—

It’s okay, the nurse says, holding up a hand to stop Officer White. You bothered by the sight of blood, hon? It’s just a small cut. I’ll be fine. But my husband will be so worried. My phone is in my purse so... She nods reassuringly, like maybe the accident has triggered something in me.

The two guys are suspended in action—eyes on me, foot on chest, fist cocked and ready. It’s amazing; they look so real. I have to know what’s going on, but first I need to appease the nurse. I don’t want her to think I need help, so I snatch the purse from the front seat. When I turn back, the guys are gone, and I can hear the devil laughing.

Chapter 2

Michael

Just outside Haven Hurst, warm evening air above a Victorian farmhouse moved in a gentle, blue swirl. Hovering inside the energy force was the spirit form of Michael Patronus, guardian angel, first-class.

With his arms spread wide, razor-sharp fetching along his forearms kept him aloft. This set of wings was technically his defensive pair. Mainly for decapitating demons, reapers, or soul seekers in a single swipe. But they were also great for short distances. The larger gossamer wings seen in religious artwork were cumbersome and used for long hauls or formal ceremonies. Since guardians were assigned specific regions these days, Michael rarely used his gossamer wings. Besides, he preferred the new and improved fetching. Most young guardians did. The elders could keep their gossamer. Fetching was faster and more precise. Deadlier.

They could also slice open your thighs if you weren’t paying attention. Not deadly to an angel, but the cleanup was a hassle. And these were Michael’s favorite jeans.

He descended on the lawn as the fetching retracted with a soft flicking sound. Then his kaleidoscope eyes powered down until they settled into their normal color of pale blue. The transformation from spirit form back to human form was complete, yet Michael felt anything but satisfied.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, exasperated. He couldn’t believe what had happened tonight. It went beyond his imagination, which could go pretty far. It was saying something.

Who was that girl? How did she see him in spirit form? And why didn’t she say anything to the others?

This wasn’t something he’d been trained to deal with. No one ever warned him about human girls seeing angels in spirit form. Did she know what she had seen? He couldn’t be sure. He analyzed every detail—how her wide blue-green eyes had looked at him with shock and excitement and how her adrenaline had skyrocketed when he attacked the soul seeker. Her whole body had trembled, not from fear exactly but...

Michael growled and shook his head. What he’d sensed in this human girl wasn’t completely foreign to him. He understood that some, well, most, human girls found him attractive. He knew they watched him, flirted with him, and occasionally asked him out. That he’d been trained to handle. A few moments of intense concentration would convince the girl her feelings for him were strictly platonic. A protective brother and nothing more. She would retreat into her normal life, completely satisfied. Then, if the infatuation arose again, Michael would simply guide her interest toward someone else. It had always been that easy.

But that’s not what he’d sensed from this...this perceptive, curious human girl. She hadn’t been enamored but had studied him—in spirit form. Her penetrating gaze had analyzed and assessed him to the point of unnerving him. He had felt a surge through his system as though she had physically touched him.

Michael ground his teeth, his jaw muscle flicking back and forth. He threw a look up at the house, contemplating going inside.

Each member of his family was an angel of one variety or another. They were highly sensitive to emotions; therefore, hiding his current condition was not an option. He shouldn’t want the option, so why the hesitation? Why was he struggling with the idea of telling them?  Why was he suddenly cherry-picking the details? It was completely irrational, unlike him.

Mounting the porch steps, Michael flung open the front door and marched toward the kitchen. His two younger brothers, Raph and Gabe, were exactly where he’d left them when he received the call for help, sitting around the sizeable butcher-block island.

Gabe was the youngest at sixteen, with short golden hair combed neatly across his forehead. His nose was buried in an 1893 first edition of Spiritual Philosophy by Allan Kardec. It wasn’t homework, although the boys attended Haven Hurst High as a formality to blend in with humans. Gabe was a brainiac and bent on reading every book written by prominent humans. He was nearly finished with the 1800s.

Seventeen-year-old Raph, a slightly shorter version of Michael, was shoveling blueberry pie into his face with one hand while levitating a glass of milk with the other. He rotated his finger and stirred the milk until the chocolate was mixed to his liking. Eating and levitating objects, preferably at the same time, were his favorite hobbies.

Michael’s brothers immediately detected his agitation. The glass of chocolate milk dropped into Raph’s hand.

Man, who yanked your light? Raph asked as Michael swiped a glass from the open shelf.

Michael tapped his heart. Electric shock. Right here.

You were electrocuted? Gabe lowered his book and sat up.

Michael opened the fridge and poured a glass of juice, downing it quickly. It wasn’t electrocution, exactly. It was more like a...a...soft spark. Almost ignorable. Then it exploded. And almost knocked the air out of him.

A vision of the girl cut into Michael’s thoughts again—her shocked reaction to the same effect, her head tilting in question, her eyes pleading for an explanation. His protective urges had accelerated well past standard guardian limits to—

He snapped out of it and cleared his throat. Anyway, it started drumming like a second heartbeat. He clenched his jaw and looked away. Why did he immediately regret telling them? And why was he withholding the more critical issue—a human girl had seen him in spirit form?

Gabe thumped his book shut like a judge’s gavel. Facts and simplicity were his game, and he began his cross-examination in a lofty tone. Michael, clearly something has upset you. You’re neither easily rattled nor prone to exaggerations. If you’re upset, you have our rapt attention. Now what—

"Rapt attention? Raph snorted out a laugh. You have our rapt attention? Are you serious? Man, you still can’t talk like a typical human teenager."

Speak, Gabe corrected with a smirk. "Speak like a normal—Ow! Raph had levitated the book and thrown it at Gabe’s head. Gabe snatched it from the air. We’re not normal teenagers, Raph! You should expend more energy learning the language and less energy trying to irritate me!"

But it’s so easy! Raph said, laughing.

Gabe scowled and returned to Michael. Aside from this second heartbeat, what else happened? Did you lose a soul?

Michael scoffed. It was an absurd question. He had a perfect saved-soul record of 2,133 and 0. The highest of any first-class guardian. He’d never even come close to losing a soul.

The nurse at the accident reacted quickly enough to avoid a head-on collision when the truck driver dozed off. The Council of Guardians had called Michael to stand guard only to ensure she wouldn’t slip into a coma, making her easy prey for that low-life, ambulance-chasing soul seeker, Degan.

After giving Gabe a Like hell, I lost a soul look, Michael strolled to the sink, setting his cup down while considering options. Keeping the girl a secret wasn’t smart. He could see that now. He was required to report her. So why hesitate? Why was he so reluctant to share her ability with his brothers?

Well, what then? Gabe said, stepping toward the door. It’s obvious you’re disturbed. Should I call the others and—

No, Michael said quickly. Of course, Gabe wouldn’t let it go. What was he thinking? It was ... I mean, this second heartbeat was connected to a human. A girl. She showed up at the accident, and— H rubbed the back of his neck, irritated again. Why was he feeling so possessive?

Yes? Gabe prompted.

Michael gritted his teeth, forcing the words out. She...looked right at me.

He hated to say it out loud. Not just because he wanted to keep her a secret but because he knew how it sounded. Like adolescent babbling from a recently earthbound angel, not a seasoned guardian who knew better. And Michael knew better. Which made him almost doubt himself for the first time.

Impossible. Gabe crossed his arms.

Were you in spirit form? Raph asked.

Of course.

Impossible, Gabe repeated. "She wasn’t looking at you. She was looking through you like they all do. You know that better than—"

She spoke to me, Michael blurted out.

The boys looked at each other.

"I know, I know. Impossible. But she did. I was in full spirit form when this human girl arrived. I didn’t realize the pain was radiating from her until she stepped closer. That’s when it spiked. This electric impulse. The second heartbeat started, and then she looked at me and asked if I was okay."

What is she? Raph asked, his blue eyes narrowing.

Human. I’m sure. She had a perfect human aura, but...

But what? Gabe said.

I don’t know. I’ve never felt so much emanating from a single person. Everything was jammed up, overlapped, and convoluted. I couldn’t separate them—love, hate, fear, determination, desperation, pain. All colored and muted—

What colors? Gabe asked because human auras were rather simplistic in nature. So anything out of the ordinary was curious, especially to anyone in the spirit realm.

Blacks, reds, greens, blues... Michael’s voice trailed off as he remembered the girl’s uncommon aura. Her spirit had been open, but it wasn’t at peace. It was almost as if she needed something from him. He’d been so close to understanding, and then Degan showed up, and Michael’s temper flared at the interruption. He’d overreacted. And the girl’s spirit had slammed shut, locking him out. When he’d been forced to disappear with Degan, the second heartbeat faded, and Michael had been surprised by the emptiness he’d felt.

That’s what bothered him the most.

You sensed she needed special protection? Gabe said, studying Michael intently.

Michael averted his eyes and worked to mask the myriad of emotions flowing through him. Although he had a supernatural instinct to protect humans at all costs, there were designated boundaries he couldn’t cross. So why did he feel dangerously close?

Concealing his emotions from his brothers wasn’t easy because he wasn’t supposed to. They worked as a team. They shared everything. If they suspected he had developed the skill to camouflage his feelings, they were obligated to report him to The Council. Michael would be placed under watch for signs of weakness and betrayal. Now, more than ever, he mustn’t invite problems. He’d been working too hard to perfect his guardian gifts for the Winter Trials—that once-in-a-lifetime chance to join the special legion of warriors known as Halos of the Son. The elite team was held in the highest esteem for their acute abilities and respect, ranking second only to Archangels. Just being considered for the trials was rare. Michael couldn’t afford to interfere with his chances.

Is there something more? Gabe pushed.

Michael lowered his eyes as the debate inside him raged. He should tell them how the girl had also seen Degan, which was impossible. Humans often think or imagine they see angels in their natural form. More likely, they feel an angel’s presence or maybe even sense a spirit walker helping lost souls. But even then, humans would explain it away as something else, never realizing the close proximity in which they all existed.

Some humans could see ghosts, but no average human should ever see a soul seeker like Degan. They were greedy pathetic products from the lower spirit realm. Humans couldn’t see them—it just didn’t happen. And certainly not someone as young and innocent as this human girl. If she was as innocent as Michael had first assumed.

Should you report her to The Council? Gabe asked when Michael didn’t answer.

Just ask Dimitri. Raph climbed down from the barstool. As usual, he was barefoot, shirtless, and wearing faded jeans low on his lean hips. He stretched, cracked his back, and ended with a hearty burp. I’m telling ya, Dad’ll know what to do. Messengers live for this stuff.

Michael gave a mental shake to cast off loose emotions. It alleviated nothing. Something had shifted in him, and he regretted telling them anything.

I’ll wait. I didn’t recognize her as a local, so maybe she’s passing through. Besides, I didn’t sense that she was harmful to anyone. But if she sees any of us in spirit form again, I’ll let Dad know. And as far as I can tell, this human girl doesn’t need special protection.

Chapter 3

Dante

Hell smelled. Imagine sinners that reeked like roadkill mixed with an ample dose of demon blood smoked to perfection. That was how Dante Dannoso described Hell. He had been ‘living’ below for seven centuries and knew firsthand.

But Dante had learned to ignore it, to distance himself from his surroundings because he didn’t belong there. Well, maybe he did now, but not in the beginning. Who knew dying for love would send you straight to Hell?

It was complicated.

The stench was faint in the upper catacombs where he lived and even lighter in the antechamber where he was standing now. Waiting.

There was a lot of waiting in Hell. You waited to be punished, which came far too soon for most losers and involved an unusual number of fiery objects. You waited to get jumped by gang reapers, who were easily bored and easily amused by inflicting their own brand of pain. If you were a nobody, some schmuck who had tossed away his soul for job or money or talent, you waited to get yours. And it was coming. Every reaper, soul seeker, or demon would pounce on you. Wash, rinse, repeat.

But if you were one of the Chosen, a demon with reaper capabilities, you didn’t have to wait for pain. They were called Demon Knights or Knights of the Unforgiven, post-humans cursed with particular demons. Demons like Persuasion, Affliction, and Impatience.

They might sound mild, but they were from Hell; mild didn’t exist.

Demon Knights may be part of the Royal Court, but they constantly endured some level of pain as they worked to control their demonic urges. The greater the hunger, the greater the pain; thus, the essence of their curse. In return, they received assignments that sent them to the surface to torment humans, a coveted position down below. Anyone allowed to resurface was the envy of others.

Demon Knights were allowed to Take their victims’ souls and didn’t have to wait for reapers to finish the job. A Demon Knight could snatch a tormented soul so fast it would be halfway to Hell before a guardian received the call for help.

The crude system worked unless you ran with Dante. He and his friends were Demon Knights, and they kept losing souls. First, Dante would lose his temper, and then they would lose souls to Heaven. Because of this, Dante and his pack had been literally grounded for nearly four hundred years. They hadn’t been given a single soul assignment—hadn’t seen a death contract in ages. All that could change today.

Trust me, Dante reassured his friends. They will vote in our favor.

Dante had sent a petition to The Order of Reapers two hours ago. They controlled everything: who competed in the Demonic Games, who was sent to wither away in the Nether Region—Hell’s most subterranean level—and who was allowed to resurface with a death contract. Dante was after a very specific death contract and had asked to be reinstated.

He wanted the soul of Pastor St. James. But, secretly, he wanted the soul of the pastor’s daughter, Sophia.

Dante hadn’t wasted four hundred years laying bets on the Demonic Games. He had been tracking the reincarnated soul of his lost lover and found it in Sophia.

Just the thought of finding her again sparked a fire inside him. Dante couldn’t wait to hold her again, kiss her, and be with her. Moisture gathered in his eyes, and his hands trembled in anticipation. It had been so long, but it was finally going to happen. He could feel it. She was home, his only light in a dark world. They had been inseparable once. In love. Until death do us part had never been an option.

First things first.

Dante had to resurface, and he had to have permission. But he couldn’t let The Order know he’d been searching for his love’s reincarnated soul. They must believe he was trying to redeem himself, getting back into the King of Hell’s good graces, if he actually had any.

The King, simply referred to as the Master, had not been seen for centuries and left the daily operations of soul harvesting to The Order—six malevolent Demon Lords and their leader Lord Brutus. Only when things went terribly wrong was the Master’s dark energy felt. Something The Order tried to avoid, for even they could be cast into the Nether Region. As such, soul assignments were carefully scrutinized. Personal assignments were never allowed because every soul Taken was strictly for the Master’s pleasure.

The Order would never let Dante resurface to stalk a Forgiven soul as other Demon Knights did. But maybe they would allow him to hunt down a sure thing.

Pastor St. James had committed a mortal sin that his daughter didn’t know about, and it was Dante’s only hope of resurfacing. Vaughn Raider, Dante’s oldest friend, knew the real target was the pastor’s daughter, but even he doubted The Order would approve.

What makes you think they’ll agree? Vaughn looked up from the whetting stone, where he had been sharpening daggers for the past two hours. With the Demon of Affliction buried inside him, Vaughn was constantly compelled to inflict pain on others. He had to alleviate his demon’s urges somehow. If he refused, as he had tried in the past, his demon would eventually overpower him and thrash everyone around; it would end in a bloodbath with him chained to a wall.