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

  Alan opened his eyes, even as tears filled them. Danielle was sitting across from him, her face once again red. This time, there was no mistaking embarrassment for anger. “Wait,” Alan said raising both hands in the air. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You have to admit, though, this is crazy.”

  “Crazy?” Danielle asked. “This coming from the man who can move as fast as light?”

  Alan wiped away tears from his eyes and took a deep breath. “You have a point. But, come on. You expect me to believe that immortal beings from Heaven came down and chose a weak kid who battles with depression, who was bullied his entire life, who has more issues than he can count, and chose him for something special?”

  “Yes.”

  Alan’s temporary fit of laughter completely subsided, sobered by Danielle’s simple answer. He pushed his hair back out of his face. “I don’t know. That’s a lot to take on faith. Trust isn’t something that comes naturally to me.”

  “I know it doesn’t. If it were up to me, I would have given you more time to work through your … issues. Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of time anymore. And it doesn’t look like you’re making any headway in the personal development department, either.” Danielle lowered her voice as she spoke, but Alan could still hear her mutter the last part: “Between the stealing and the booze.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but this is just too much for me to handle at the moment.”

  “Here.” Danielle slid a slender, white phone across the table. “Take some time. Just not too much time. Call us when you’re ready.”

  She rose from the booth as she reached inside her sweater pocket.

  Alan waved a hand. “It’s okay, I’ve got the bill.”

  Danielle smiled. “How generous of you, Mr. Price.”

  Danielle turned to go, leaving Alan to sit and think about their conversation, though he couldn’t help asking one last question. “I’m not saying I believe you, but if I did: Are you an…” Alan couldn’t believe he was asking this question. It sounded closer to a lame pick-up line than any question he would seriously ask a woman. “Are you an angel?”

  Danielle smiled and shook her head. “No, I’m not. I’m just like you, Alan. I was lost. In fact, I was even more lost, when they reached out and gave me my abilities. I tried to fill the emptiness I felt with everything society told me I needed, just like you’re doing now.”

  With one last smile that communicated a mixture of pity and hope, Danielle turned and left.

  Chapter Four

  Why are you even stressing over that? She was clearly crazy. Angels? Like flying angels with wings? Really?

  Alan shook his head and made an internal decision to stop thinking about the strange conversation that night. However, as he rode the smooth elevator to the top of the high-rise, his hand dropped into his jacket pocket, his fingers making contact with the phone Danielle had left him. The lights to passing floors beeped by, and with every second, Alan could feel anxiety build. “One look won’t hurt,” he said to himself.

  The phone was slender and compact. It was one of the newest models available on the market. Alan remembered seeing an advertisement for it just the other day, the commercial with the girl and the family with the pet, smiling and laughing as they opened apps for music and videos.

  The phone lit up under Alan’s touch. It had a plain, white background with an icon marked “Messages” that jumped up and down on the screen. Alan swiped his thumb over the icon, and a single message read: “Danielle,” followed by a number.

  Alan’s thumb bent toward the number, more out of instinct than will. The only thing that stopped his thumb’s progress was the soft halt of the elevator and a dinging sound as the elevator doors slid open.

  Alan stuffed the phone back into his pocket and shook out of his head the notion of calling the number. When he raised his eyes to look down the hall to his penthouse door, he stopped in his tracks.

  He always left his door closed. Always. Living on the run at an early age and having to look over his shoulder on a daily basis had instilled the habit of locking up after himself.

  Now, his door was cracked open. Alan made his way down the hall. He could hear music coming from his penthouse.

  “Carmina Burana: O Fortuna” played in the background. Alan only recognized the song because he owned it. It was music that inspired him, and one of the few things, along with reading and exercise, that helped when his depression was at its worst.

  The inkling to run or to report the break-in to the police crossed his mind, but only for the briefest of moments. Any contact with the police would be bad. Too many questions could arise. Although the less-than-upstanding citizen from whom he’d bought his purchased identities had assured him that they were solid, he didn’t want to test the theory.

  Alan wrapped his pea coat tighter around himself and prepared to take off at a sprint in a moment’s notice. His hand made contact with his thick, wooden door, and it swung open without a sound. He wasn’t sure what to expect; nothing had happened. His penthouse looked normal. Everything was in place. No signs of a break-in; no items strewn across the floor or broken.

  The aroma of cooked meat and the sounds of someone busy in the kitchen made Alan’s heart rate accelerate. Alan left the door wide open in case he needed to bolt down the hall. He quietly tiptoed through his family room, past his makeshift exercise and weight room, and into the kitchen.

  Adrenaline pumped through every inch of his body. Alan’s mouth was dry as he turned a corner and was met with the sight of a slender man with his back toward him. Whoever he was, he was busy at work, hunched over the stove, a towel draped over one shoulder.

  “If I was going to hurt you, would I be cooking you dinner? Mmmmm… let’s think here. No, probably not.”

  Alan stopped and almost ran just hearing the man’s voice. It sounded like a snake slithering, and dripped past the man’s lips in a way that would put anyone on edge. Alan hadn’t made a sound coming in, he was sure of that.

  “What do you think of my music selection?” He turned and winked at Alan. “It’s a personal favorite of mine—so inspiring and uplifting. I would listen to more, but you know how it is, all work and no play.”

  Alan stood tensed as he examined the intruder. He was tall with an inviting smile and dark hair. His wardrobe’s elitist nature would have put any A-list celebrity to shame: a tailored, button-down shirt with a light blue vest and tight-fitting slacks. In his right hand, he held poised a spatula covered in red sauce that reminded Alan of blood. Alan’s eyes widened as he examined the man’s feet. “Are those my slippers?”

  “Oh, yes, my bad. My feet were killing me. I’m going to have to murder the shoe sales associate who pointed them out. By the way, these things are like walking on clouds—pure orthopedic bliss. Do you know if they come in Tiffany Blue?”

  Alan’s face answered for him as the man moved the conversation along. “Well, enough about me. I hope you’re hungry. Dinner is about done. Let’s sit at the table like civilized folk.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is—well, you know all about this, Alan. Known by one name here, a different one there. But since we’re going to be such great friends, I’ll let you in on the secret and tell you. My real name is Dominic Drencher.”

  Dominic was talking so fast, it took Alan a moment to realize what he’d said. “I need you to leave right now. Put my spatula down and step away from my stove.”

  Dominic ignored Alan and instead turned back to the sizzling food. He opened up cabinets and drawers as if in his own home, ignoring Alan’s demand as he plated dinner for two. “I’m going to overlook that rudeness and serve us instead.”

  “If you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police.”

  “Empty words, Goldilocks. You want the police here even less than I do.” Dominic picked up two plates loaded with food and walked past Alan, toward the dining room. “Follow me. You know you have to. I’m not leaving you much of an option. Once you’v
e heard what I have to say, then I’ll leave.”

  Alan’s slippers disappeared into the other room. Confusion, more than anything, festered in Alan’s mind. He wanted the strange man to leave, but not as much as he wanted answers.

  Alan had a strong feeling that this had something to do with Danielle and her crazy story about angels. Before he could give it a second thought, Alan found himself walking to join Dominic at the table.

  “There you are. I thought you’d come,” Dominic said.

  The table was set, wine poured. On each plate was a generous helping of steak and spaghetti. His intruder wasted no time in opening his napkin and shoving food into his mouth.

  Alan pushed his plate away as he took a seat on the opposite side of the table. Despite Dominic’s elegant appearance, his table manners were anything but proper. He stuffed fork-load after fork-load into his greedy mouth. Worse, Dominic didn’t stop talking while he ate.

  With a deep sigh and a mouth full of food, he started. “So listen, I know you were visited tonight by that hot little number. She’s cute, right? Has that whole mousy, nerdy girl thing working for her. Anyway, she’s offering you answers and I’m sure she seems all sunshine and flowers, but believe me, you don’t want to trust her.”

  “Why not?”

  Dominic let out a deep burp. “First off, her organization’s benefits are horrible. Practically no sick days, and you can forget about holiday pay. I’m offering you a chance at real freedom. I have all the answers you’ve been looking for, and an opportunity to join my organization.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Are you going to eat that?” Dominic was pointing a dinner knife at the plate of food that sat in front of Alan.

  “No, be my guest.”

  Dominic licked his lips and accepted the plate from Alan. “Let’s see, where was I?”

  “You said you had answers.”

  “Oh, yes. Well, what did the doe-eyed beauty tell you?”

  Alan thought back to the conversation with Danielle just hours before. Even as he spoke the words, he realized for the dozenth time how ridiculous the whole thing sounded. “She said … she said that I’ve been chosen, that I’ve been given my power for a reason. She said … that angels gave it to me.”

  Dominic practically choked on his food. He reached for the glass of red wine in front of him and downed the entire serving before he shrugged. “Well, I guess they are, in fact, angels. Although I wasn’t aware they were going by that name again and so freely telling others.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes, ready for story time, Mr. Price?” Dominic didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. “On second thought, I’ve been at this long enough to know when someone’s going to join me and when someone won’t. You’re not going to side with my organization no matter what I say. I should just kill you now.”

  Alan had been nervous and wary the entire dinner, but now his muscles tensed again and panic gripped his heart. He knew he should have left as soon as he’d seen Dominic. Something inside, some moral compass, had warned him, but like all of the times before, he’d chosen not to listen.

  Alan’s heart was pounding in his ears. His hand made contact with the phone still in his pocket. He said a silent prayer as his right thumb blindly maneuvered around the face of the phone.

  Alan stood, trying to buy himself time. “You need to leave now.”

  Dominic lifted his eyes to the ceiling and tilted his head from side to side as he spoke aloud to himself. “But you did provide dinner, and these ever so comfortable slippers. So, in all fairness, I should probably let you off with a warning and a beating. What do you say? That’s a fair trade, right? Your life for dinner and slippers?”

  Alan had heard enough. With a twist of his hips, he was off, sprinting out of the dining room, calling on his speed to deliver him from his intruder’s sadistic plan.

  No one had ever been as fast as Alan. Nobody was capable of traveling at the speed his legs carried him. So when Alan felt the grip on his shoulder, when Dominic’s hand twirled him around in a half-circle, Alan couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

  “Don’t tell me you thought you were the only one. Oh, you did?” Dominic laughed. “Well, let’s see if, along with all those muscles, you know how to fight.”

  It was clear Alan didn’t, as fists connected with his face and torso. Alan tried putting up his hands, tried holding Dominic back, but it was useless. His attacker was too strong. Along with extraordinary speed, Dominic was stronger than anyone Alan had ever encountered.

  Alan’s mind flashed back to the night he fell from the building. The beating he’d taken at the hands of Brent Carson and his lackeys at the school dance. Even now, with all of his money and speed, history was repeating itself.

  In the span of a few seconds, the fight was over. Blood ran down Alan’s forehead and mouth and he could taste the bitter metallic tang as it hit his taste buds. His ribs ached with pain, indicating they were either severely bruised or broken. Alan was struggling to make it to his feet, when another vicious strike connected with his left temple.

  “Apparently, you still have a lot of growing to do,” Dominic said, stepping away from his victim. Alan looked up through blue eyes and strands of his long hair to see Dominic cleaning his own blood off his hands. “When she comes to try to make everything better, tell her I said, ‘Hello.’”

  Already on his knees, Alan couldn’t hold himself up. His vision blurred, and Dominic’s voice faded in and out. Without any control over his body, he fell face-first onto the kitchen tile. The last thing Alan remembered seeing was a pair of baby blue, slipper-clad feet walking away.

  Four Years Ago

  Just one step, and it would all be over. Alan teetered on the ledge of the fifty-story building. The cold wind whipped around him at dangerous speeds, harassing his tuxedo jacket’s lapels and short blond hair.

  Well, you came here to do it. You came all this way.

  Alan looked at the streetlights stretching out in every direction, at the trim landscape so far below him. He swayed as the power of the wind tried to pull him over the ledge too early. Alan winced as the cold breeze forced itself against his face.

  An ache as he squinted reminded him of his black eye. Reaching a hand to his face, Alan felt the tender swollen area.

  That’s going to leave a mark. It’s going to have to be a closed-casket funeral. Ah, what are you talking about? Nobody’s going to come to your funeral anyway.

  Alan bit his lip at the harsh but true thought. Immediately, he regretted his action. Pain and fresh blood oozed from his recently spilt lip. Alan grunted as the discomfort subsided.

  The night was cold and dark. Fitting, he thought, for this to be my last night... the one on which he died would be just like the life he lived. He hadn’t asked to be born, yet he was. He didn’t want to be depressed and angry all the time, but he was. Seemed as though he didn’t have too many choices in this world except for this one: he did have the choice to end his own life.

  One step. Just one jump, and it can all be over. No more pills, no more being alone, no more looks of disgust directed your way from kids at school or the adults you know. One step, Alan. Come on, you can do this.

  Once again, Alan swayed in the wind. Goose bumps prickled at his hands and neck, while a shiver ran down his spine. For all the many reasons Alan wanted to jump, one thing held him back: giving in to defeat. Alan hated losing. If he jumped, he knew he’d be giving up on everything.

  You tried; you tried it all. This isn’t giving up. This is your last, unexplored option. You did everything you could, especially today, and you still ended up looking like a loser. You still ended up alone.

  Alan looked down at his fancy clothes—the tuxedo, the boutonnière… all the clothes the cool guys wore in the movies, the clothes that were supposed to make him feel better about himself. They hadn’t.

  For a moment, Alan wondered how irritated the tuxedo re
ntal store would be when he died and ruined one of their suits. Then he wondered, if they could, would they salvage the suit and re-rent it?

  Alan shook his head as he inched closer to the edge of the building. Looking down made his vision swim; the ground zoomed in and out like a high-powered camera lens trying to focus.

  It’s not giving up. How can it be, after today? You tried everything. You’ll always be a loser; you’ll always be angry and depressed. This has to be the way—doesn’t it?

  As Alan once again debated whether or not he should take his life, the wind made the final decision for him. A violent gust came up from behind, and before Alan could step back or try to regain his balance, it pushed him over the edge. Buildings rushed by as he headed, face-first, to the unforgiving cement sidewalk below.

  It was then that Alan knew he wanted to live. Too late now, but he knew that this was giving up, that this was the easy way out. In that moment, as the earth rushed to meet him, he knew he wanted to see the next day. A burning desire heated him from the inside out, a desire that told him to survive.

  The ground came closer and closer, only seconds away from embracing him. But Alan’s life didn’t flash before his eyes in his final moments the way everyone said it does. Instead, the events from that specific day did.

  Chapter Six

  “Alan, you’re going to miss the bus. Hurry up, you can’t afford to be late again.”

  Alan ran down the creaking stairs, grabbing his worn backpack with one hand and trying to wrestle his shoulder-length hair into place with his other. By the open door, Tony waited for him with that same look on his face, a look Alan hated with every fiber of his being. It was a look that said, “I’m sorry you’re like this. I wish you could be better.”

  Alan flashed a practiced grin at Tony. A grin empty on Alan’s part, but seemed to satisfy most anyone else. “Thanks, sorry.”