Dark Awakening

Total-e-bound
www.total-e-bound.com

Copyright ©2007 by Charlotte Featherstone

First published in 2007, 2007

The Watchers: Dark Awakening

ISBN #978-1-906328-60-3

©Copyright Charlotte Featherstone 2007

Cover Art by Anne Cain ©Copyright November 2007

Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

Total-e-bound books

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author's imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-e-bound eBooks.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-e-bound eBooks. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork

Published in 2007 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated
Total-e-burning
.

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:

Sunfire: Pontiac, General Motors Corporation

At last, he'd found her.

This was the woman's apartment. He felt her, smelt the disease that was eating away at her. This was the one—this human female—who
they
sought to protect. She was part of a greater plan, a plan he was not yet privy to. But he would discover it, and when he did, he would enact his vengeance upon those whom he had once called brothers.

His boots made no noise on the carpeted floor as he made his way to the female's bedroom. Despite the fact it was only early evening, she would be in her room, able to do little more than sleep and eat while waiting for the Angel of Death to come and claim her.

Humans ... they were so weak, so fallible. How was it possible that legions of his kind had fallen for the pleasures of human flesh? He hated humans and the power they'd been given. Despised how they had been raised above him and his kind. How could the creator ask them to bow before such creatures? How could
He
love them—the humans—more than him and his brothers?

Before the humans, He had loved them best. Now, he and his kind had been replaced. Discarded and tossed aside; forced to protect and guide and
revere
the creatures He had made out of clay.

What made the humans so damn special—and this one in particular? She was dying. She could not be a part of God's plan to oust the Fallen from Heaven and end the war—the war between the faithful and the fallen—that had been locked for centuries in a stalemate.

But, if she was useless to either side—faithful or fallen—why had Sariel come to Earth and searched her out? No, there was a reason that Sariel, a devout and dutiful angel, had been sent to seek out this particular female.

The bedroom door was already ajar. He shoved it open with the tip of his boot, pausing on the threshold, his gaze taking in everything, from the walls that were bathed orange from the reflection of the setting sun to the white curtains that billowed and snapped in the wind as it blew through the opened window. Outside, the distant sounds of police sirens and gun fire echoed amongst the tall buildings. Shouts and screams and more gunfire rippled through the evening skies.

The sun had not even set, and already the mortals were killing each other.

"Mary,” he called, stepping deeper into the room. When there was no reply, he snarled and tore the comforter from the bed. She was not cowering beneath it.

Looking about the room, he sniffed at the air, smelling beyond the disease that was wracking her body, to the scent of her floral perfume. Perfume that had been sprayed not long ago.

She was not there.
Fuck.
Had Sariel already beaten him to the female? The phone rang and his head snapped in the direction of the nightstand as he glared at the answering machine with its red blinking light. On the fourth ring the machine picked up and a soft, frail voice spoke in the darkness.

"Hi, you've reached Mary Murphy, leave a message at the sound of the beep, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

The machine beeped and a breath whispered across the speaker. No voice or words came, only the soft, steady rhythm of air being drawn in and out.
Sariel.

The machine buzzed and the line went dead. He walked over to it and picked up the black square box, examining it from all angles. Hitting a button, he smiled in triumph when a robotic voice stated flatly, ‘you have three new messages. First message, Thursday; 6:10 pm.'

"Hi Mary, it's Jane from Dr. Archer's office. We just got the results of your last MRI. Dr. Archer asked me to call you to set up an appointment to talk about treatments. Call me back as soon as you get this message."

He pressed a circular button and heard, ‘message has been deleted'. Mary Murphy wasn't going to need that appointment.

"Message Two."

"Hey, Mary, it's Nadira. Where are you? I've been trying to call you all day. I thought we could meet at Langdon Park. You know, take a stroll along the paths. I'll meet you there at eight, and we'll watch the sun set. Meet me at my favourite statue and I'll buy you a cup of tea. Be there, Mary."

He glared at the machine. The woman's voice made his nerves taut. There was something about the hypnotic quality of her voice. He played the message again, not because he didn't already have the information memorised, but because he wanted to hear the woman's voice.

"Langdon Park.... be there."

The machine clicked and he dropped it onto the table. He knew the place well. Langdon was a quiet wooded park with lush gardens and crumbling statues of mythological creatures and heavenly icons. It was dark and secluded, and hardly ever frequented as it was on the fringes of the city.

All in all, it was the perfect place for Mary Murphy to spend her last night on Earth.

Nadira gazed up at the bronze statue of an angel whose face was contorted with agony. The angel's head was thrown back, revealing a thick, corded neck and shoulder length curls that were windswept behind him. His massive arms, all sculpted muscles, were outstretched as if he were trying to break his fall.

Shivering, Nadira rubbed her palms up and down her arms. The summer air was heavy and humid. Every once in a while the wind came, chilling her. Dampness scented the breeze, telling her that it had recently rained somewhere nearby. The thunder in the distance was a warning that the storm was now approaching the city.

Still shuddering, Nadira once more looked upon the massive statue, marvelling at the impressive size of the winged man. She took in the sculpted body, the breadth of his chest, the strength of his arms and the power of his thighs, before she read the plaque on the stone base. ‘The fall of Gadriel from the Heavens'.

A flash of grey flooded her vision and she swayed on her feet, before looking up into the face of the bronzed angel; a face wracked with pain. Another sweep of grey, followed by a brilliant burst of white, swam before her. The vision that had plagued her for weeks was suddenly upon her.

In her vision, the sky was falling. Unnaturally black clouds churned above her, reminding her of how hurricanes appeared on the weather radar. In a circle they swirled, growing, gathering until only a small opening of the slate grey sky remained in the centre.

A crack of thunder, followed by a forked line of lightening shot out of the black mass. She tried to run, but she was frozen, standing directly below those strange clouds and the ominous eye that seemed to leer down at her.

And then it came, that shadowed image of spread wings and the body of a man hurtling down from the clouds.

An angel.

His naked body tumbled through the sky, feet first, until he landed softly in a crouching position only a few steps away from her. He did not see her standing on the street, but she could see him, kneeling, his head bent, his chest heaving as if struggling to breathe. Slowly his breathing normalised and he looked up—not at her, but straight ahead, at the tall apartment building across the street. She knew that building, knew who lived there and she shuddered, feeling the imposing weight of fear pressing upon her.

The creature rose from the balls of his feet, standing to his full height, which had to be over six foot four. As he did, the magnificent white feathery wings furled back, disappearing between the points of his massive shoulders.

Clothes magically appeared with his every step, covering his naked body with black leather pants and a black T-shirt that was stretched tight across his chest. A long, brown woollen coat covered his shoulders and he wrapped the sides around his lean waist as he walked forward, toward the entrance of the alley, where she stood cowering.

Stopping, he turned his head in her direction. “Shhh.” He pressed his finger against her trembling lips. “Soon, all will be revealed.” Then he stepped off the sidewalk and crossed the street, disappearing amongst the cars and buildings.

As the vision faded, Nadira's sight cleared until she was once more looking up at the statue of the fallen angel. His face was not the face in her vision. The angel looming before her now, had broken and bloodied wings, but the angel she had seen in her vision was whole and untainted.

Closing her eyes, another snippet of colour flashed before her and Nadira was once more amidst the remainder of her vision. She saw herself standing on the street, her face tilted to the heavens as her hair whipped around her cheeks. The storm clouds, which grew and blackened, continued churning violently around the circle of the eye until the centre seemed to widen and stretch. It was then that she saw him. The second one. And God above, he was even bigger, stronger—his face even more beautiful than the first angel. The breadth of his wings was great, more majestic. And they were ...
black.

Shaking violently, Nadira came to and looked around, half fearing her vision had come to life. But it had not. She was in Langdon Park, standing at the statue of the fallen angel, the one where she'd told Mary to meet her.

It was twilight. The last vestiges of the sun were streaking in purple and hot pink bands beneath the darkening clouds. A forked line of lightening shot out from the clouds, followed by a fierce rumble of thunder.

How long had she been here, standing before the statue? And where the hell was Mary? Hadn't she got the message? What if something had happened to her?

No, the park was safe she told herself. She wouldn't have suggested they meet there if it wasn't. Besides, both of them found comfort in the angelic statuary that lined the gravel paths. Mary never passed up an opportunity to walk through the gardens.

So where the hell was she?

What if...

No, she wouldn't allow her thoughts to go in that direction. It was a fact Mary was dying. But not tonight. Tonight was not Mary's time to leave this earth.

Rain drops began to fall. Nadira pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt and flipped open the cover, checking the time. Almost 9:30. Mary was over an hour and a half late.

Mary
. The name of her friend was ripped from her throat as the vision once more came upon her. Two angels, one white winged and one black winged. Both falling from Heaven.

Christ, what did it mean? That Mary was ... dying—tonight? No, the vision was just some bizarre dream. It was not a real vision. It was
not
one of those premonitions that had plagued her youth.

It was just her imagination. Her infatuation, she told herself. She gravitated towards angels in art and sculpture. She saw them in her dreams and collected them in figurines and pictures for her walls. The vision was just a stupid dream, not a message of what was to be.

The rain was falling in earnest now, and the last rays of the sun had been smothered by black storm clouds. She needed to get out of there. To drive to Mary's and prove to herself that the vision meant nothing. That she had not really seen two angels falling from the sky.