The Complete Archangel Wars Series: A Shared Universe Series (The Archangel Wars) Read online

  The Complete Archangel Wars Series

  Jonathan Yanez

  To my sister Cynthia, who has always been close to my heart.

  Contents

  Volume 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  5. Four Years Ago

  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

  22. Three years ago

  23. Two Years Ago

  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

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Volume 2

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Volume 3

  Prologue

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Volume 4

  Prologue

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Chapter 122

  Chapter 123

  Chapter 124

  Chapter 125

  Chapter 126

  Chapter 127

  Chapter 128

  Chapter 129

  Chapter 130

  Chapter 131

  Chapter 132

  Chapter 133

  Chapter 134

  Chapter 135

  Chapter 136

  Chapter 137

  Chapter 138

  Afterword

  Epilogue

  Also by Jonathan Yanez

  About the Author

  Volume One

  Of Angels and Men

  Formerly titled

  Alan Price and the Colossus of Rhodes

  Chapter One

  “Another drink, sir?”

  “Yes. In fact, can you just bring the bottle? I think that’ll be easier for both of us.”

  “I certainly can, sir. Would you like to be informed of the price? I mean, before I go get it.”

  He knew she was trying to be polite. Deep down, he understood what was going through her head. She was doing the calculations on how much he’d already drunk, in addition to the cost of the bottle. “No, I don’t need to know the price. Just bring the bottle, please.”

  He caught the surprise in her eyes even as she turned to go. The server bobbed with a bounce of her blonde curls, and was gone.

  He smirked and brushed a dark blond strand of his own hair behind his ear. The expensive fabric of his tailored shirt pressed against his muscular chest and arms as he reached across the table for the book that lay face up in front of him.

  Reading the book alone looked out of place in such a high-end bar. Even he realized that. The book reminded him of how he’d felt as he made his own transition from plain and forgettable to something else entirely. Something he was still trying to understand. All eyes were on him, from the female patrons in the bar to the staff. He witnessed his server murmuring to her coworkers while grabbing the requested bottle of 1939 Macallan.

  The sheets in his book gently ruffled; his fingers touched familiar passages. The pages were like old friends. He couldn’t help smiling as he remembered exactly how many times he’d read the book.

  The lighting in the bar was dim, which would have posed a problem to anyone else but him. The words were so familiar, he could see the print on the page as clearly as if he were sitting on a park bench during a bright midday.

  He heard her before he saw her. “Here you are, sir. The most expensive bottle we have. I had to convince my manager that this wasn’t a joke, but when I told him who ordered it, he practically ran to fill the request.” She placed the newly dusted bottle of whiskey onto the table. “Do you come here often?”

  He put the book down, his blue eyes making contact with hers. “From time to time. Usually there’s a different waitress working.”

  “Oh, I’m part of the day shift. I’m just picking up extra hours.” Her gaze fell from his, hesitating too long on his muscular torso, then finally rested on the book he’d placed back onto the table. “Spartans, huh?”

  He nodded. “Spartans.”

  An awkward silence followed as the attractive young woman grasped for a follow-up line, a line she’d never had to use before. Men had always felt obligated to fill the silence in an attempt to please her. “Um… can I pour the whiskey for you?”

  “No, that’s fine. You can leave the bottle.”

  She cleared her throat, once again at a loss for words. “If you don’t mind my asking: Who are you? I mean, the entire night staff seems to know you, and I think every woman in here has inquired about you since you sat down.” Her face reddened, even as she asked the question.

  He looked at her—really looked at her. She was pretty, young, and carried herself like a woman rather than a girl. High energy and a steady smile made her not only attractive, but also approachable. He couldn’t blame her for the question. In all fa
irness, it was one he’d been trying to answer for the past four years. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever know. The last few years have been a blur of temporary happiness.”

  This was clearly not the answer she was expecting. “Oh, okay. Well, let me know if you need anything. My name’s Sophia.”

  He nodded as she turned and left. Part of him wished he’d been nicer, but it was the truth. Alan Price opened the costly bottle of whiskey as nonchalantly as someone would open a bottle of water and poured himself a generous portion. As the glass traveled from the tabletop to his lips, he thought back to the first night he realized life would be more of a mystery than he’d ever thought possible.

  Chapter Two

  “Hi. Sorry, I don’t want to disturb your reading time—Oh, Spartans, very cool. Hope you don’t mind my looking at your book. I’m not trying to be nosy or anything. Just trying to make conversation and not let this get awkward.”

  Alan raised his gaze to see a dark-haired woman about his own age. Large, black-rimmed glasses framed her eyes. Jeans and boots marked her as someone who either had not anticipated or didn’t care she was going to a bar where they valeted Aston Martins and Ferraris on a regular basis. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

  “Nope, not yet. Do you mind if I sit down?”

  “Listen, I don’t want to be rude. I’m sure you’re a great person, but tonight—”

  “Oh, oh, no. Do you think I’m hitting on you?”

  Alan raised an eyebrow.

  “I mean, not that I don’t think you’re attractive. My gosh, have you seen your arms?” The young woman shut her pink lips tight. Her fair skin turned as red as the outside of an apple. “I’m so not good at these types of things.”

  She took a seat at Alan’s booth, across from him, disregarding his attempt to politely decline her company. “Listen, let’s start over.” The young woman extended a fingernail-polished hand that matched her red face. “My name’s Danielle Turner.”

  Alan pursed his lips and set his book onto the table. He reluctantly shook the woman’s hand. Four years of running from his past and denying the underprivileged path his adolescent life had taken, Alan was used to using aliases. “Connor Moore.”

  Danielle released his hand and laughed, “Alan, please, if you’re going to use a fake name, at least choose one that’s not already taken by someone so unique.”

  Alan straightened. If she wanted to get his attention, she had it now. Alan was a name he’d left a long time ago. “How do you know my name? No one’s called me that in a very long time.”

  Danielle took a deep breath. “Listen, this is not going at all how I planned. I told him I wasn’t good at this kind of stuff.”

  “Told who?”

  Before she could answer, the server appeared alongside their table. “Hello, can I get you something to drink, miss?” She motioned toward Alan’s bottle of whiskey. “Perhaps a glass?”

  “What? No,” Danielle said with the slightest hint of disapproval. “I’ll have a Shirley Temple please.”

  The server nodded, her mouth beginning to drop open before she turned to fulfill the order.

  “Shirley Temple, huh?” Alan asked.

  “Yeah, I’m a lightweight. Give me a drink or two and—” Panic washed over Danielle’s face again as she found herself in the middle of a sentence she didn’t want to finish.

  Alan felt his lips twist into a grin despite himself. “Okay, you have me interested. How do you know my name, and what is it you want?”

  “My organization has been watching you since the night you jumped—fell—off the roof, and even before that. What we want is your help. What I mean to say is, we think a partnership would be mutually beneficial.”

  Alan searched the dimly lit interior of the bar, for what, he wasn’t sure—cameras revealing he was being set up, dark-suited government agents poised to take him away for experimentation, or the FBI for all the money and merchandise he’d stolen over the past four years.

  He scooted a bit closer to the edge of his booth, ready to run at a moment’s notice. As a general rule, he didn’t use his speed in public. Tonight could be an exception.

  “Please, don’t do your super-speed thing,” Danielle said. “You’re not alone in this. I know you must have so many questions, and I can give you the answers you’ve been searching for. The world needs you, Alan.”

  Alan’s chest constricted. For the very first time, fear of the real possibility of having his questions answered spread through him. For years, Alan had searched for an explanation to what he was, and every lead ended the same, with only more questions.

  The server appeared, balancing a glass on a tray. Danielle turned her attention away from him and visibly brightened. “Oh, my Shirley Temple. There’s a cherry in it, too. Yesssss.”

  Chapter Three

  “So,” Danielle said as she paused to take a sip from her straw. The ice cubes and the lone cherry swirled in her Shirley Temple. “Are you going to try to let me explain, or are you going to dash out of here and leave me with the bill?”

  Alan scanned the inside of the bar one more time before he settled into the booth’s thick cushioned seat. “I’ll stay. Start from the beginning.”

  Danielle smiled. “Okay, hear me out. This is the truth. It’s going to sound crazy, but I’ll be completely honest with you.”

  Alan’s temper flared. “Okay, yes, just get on with it.”

  Danielle took a long sip of her drink, either enjoying the spotlight or trying to mask her nervousness, Alan couldn’t decide. “You’ve been given these powers, Alan. You aren’t a mutant; you didn’t evolve; you’re not part of an experiment; your parents aren’t members of an alien race.”

  Danielle paused to let this information sink in. Alan’s mind was racing. If his mystery visitor was telling the truth, then all of his theories, all of his years of research of what he could be were evaporating by the second. Then something Danielle said made him stop mid-thought. “You said I’ve been ‘given these powers.’ Powers? All I have is one—speed.”

  “All you have is one power that you know of,” Danielle corrected. “This is just the beginning.”

  Alan was quiet. Half of him wanted to believe her. Above all else, over the last few years, he wanted answers. Now that he had them, they seemed so hard to believe. “How?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How did I get this—these—powers?”

  “The organization I work for gave them to you. You were chosen.”

  Images of the CIA, the Illuminati, and even aliens, occupied Alan’s thoughts. Alan reached for the whiskey bottle on the table and filled the silence with a long pour of the expensive liquor. He brought the glass to his lips and drained the cup.

  “That’s not going to help.”

  Alan looked across with watering eyes. “How do you know?”

  “Because I tried the same thing. I tried to dull the truth, the sense of responsibility. Money, alcohol, drugs—it’s all only temporary relief. Fun, I’ll give you that, but still only temporary. You know what I mean; you’re going through that now.”

  Alan put his glass onto the table and defiantly poured himself another serving. He knew she was right. He’d been at the drinking game long enough now; the comfort alcohol brought was only a brief rest from the issues he carried. “So, Danielle Turner—if that’s your real name at all—who is this organization that’s chosen me?”

  Danielle sighed and shook her head. “They thought you were ready to know the truth, but I’m not sure you are. Maybe you need more time.”

  Alan took another swig from his glass. “Come on, don’t stop now. Who is this secret organization: NSA, Black Ops, Hydra?”

  Danielle looked him straight in the eyes and spoke clearly, “The term ‘angels’ would best describe them. They’re here to help, and they need you just as much as you need them.”

  Alan choked on his next sip of whiskey. Laughter erupted from his chest, and he shook his head. His long hair w
hipped against his face as he thought of angels from Heaven choosing him.