The Fallen One (Sons of the Dark Mother, Book One) Read online

  The Fallen One (Sons of the Dark Mother, Book One)

  Title Page

  P rologue

  C hapter One

  C hapter Two

  C hapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Epilogue

  THE FALLEN ONE

  Dark Paranormal Fantasy

  Sons of the Dark Mother

  Book One

  Copyrighted © January 31, 2012 by Lenore Wolfe

  Smashwords Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Triquetra Press

  Cedar Rapids, Iowa

  First Printing January 31, 2012

  ISBN: 978-1-4524-2743-0

  ASIN: BOO73YAS8A

  Copyrighted © January 31, 2012 by Lenore Wolfe

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Bestselling author Lenore Wolfe’s book Dark Warrior: To Tame a Wild Hawk

  “Lenore Wolfe's writing is flawless and she sure knows how to keep up the suspense and build drama. That's rare to find in an author. The characters were mysterious and thrilling. I kept turning one page after another until I read the whole book in one setting. Can't wait for the next book in the series to find out what happens next.”

  By JDS, author of the series, Ancient Legends, (London, UK) on Amazon

  As J_Scott on Barnes and Nobel

  And Jayde Scott on Smashwords and Goodreads

  “Great Story!!! What creative characters and an imaginative story line Wolfe has come up with! It is a delightful foray into the legends of Atlantis, King Arthur and the Faerie Kingdoms combined with past lives of the female lead. Jaguar shifters, a Starborne, a master illusionist, a shaman, the fey, the Queen of Darkness, zombies, a medallion, a special doorway, a soul thief and a journey round out the story.”

  Wild About Bones on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, and Goodreads

  THE FALLEN ONE

  Sons of the Dark Mother Series Book One

  Released January 31, 2012

  Dark Fantasy

  A Tribute Novel

  EMBRACED BY SHADOW

  Sons of the Dark Mother Book Two

  To be released July 17, 2012

  Dark Fantasy

  Dark Paranormal Fantasy sister series by Lenore Wolfe

  DOORWAY OF THE TRIQUETRA

  Children of Atlantis Series Book One

  Released June 12, 2011

  Dark Paranormal Fantasy

  JAGUAR WITCH

  Children of Atlantis Series Book Two

  To be released April 28, 2012

  Dark Paranormal Fantasy

  SOLSTICE FIRE

  Daughters of the Dark Moon Series Book One

  To be released June 12, 2012

  Dark Paranormal Fantasy

  See free excerpts and upcoming new releases at the end of this novel

  By the Power of Three

  Times

  Three

  Let it be!

  Let it be!

  This novel was inspired by the story of a boy who fought off gangs to save his sisters.

  I want to thank my family, my friends and my loved ones. I want to thank my editor, without whom this novel wouldn’t be possible. And I want to thank my readers. I look forward to your feedback always.

  Ancient Queen

  My Battle Goddess

  I see the shadow of your wing

  I hear you calling me

  Your hidden words flow though my veins

  I am your prophecy

  You speak to me, your ancient words

  Old knowledge of days gone by

  You want the world to hear your verbs

  A healing with a sigh.

  You ask your child to sing old songs

  Of rituals long ago.

  The ancient magicks of which we’ve longed

  Now ring within our souls.

  I answer to your calling ways

  My heart beats to the drum

  Sing me your songs through all my days

  The world will hear it sung!

  Beat through my veins, you’re calling me

  I pledge to sing your songs

  Of you, My Lady, I do see

  I am your prophecy.

  Then use my tongue to still the night

  And use my hands to share

  The healing words and with the sight

  I am your Lady’s seer.

  I’ll teach the ancient songs of old

  And bring your healing grace

  Through my old hands I’ll bring your words

  To pass the worlds of time.

  ~by Shalimar

  Prologue

  Chicago, Illinois, fifteen years before….

  The children moved down the back-street alley, just as they had every day before, on their way to school. The crisp air bit at their noses. The gravel crunched beneath their feet, mixed with clean, white snow that, on any other day, would have had them playing and laughing with glee, leaving a trail of footprints behind them. Today was just an ordinary day, a day like any other day, a day that should have been light and happy, like any bright, sunny morning, on any clear, cold day.

  But the children were not laughing. Even to a child, something about this day didn’t feel right.

  Their older brother always walked them to school, then took himself off to class. The
three girls glanced up at him now, almost in unison, beneath the dark, curly lashes of their matching yellow-green-gold eyes. The charge in the air was almost palpable for children as sensitive as these children. Something in the air simply wasn’t right.

  Something didn’t bode well—for any of them.

  Their brother’s name was Justice. And perhaps it was fortuitous that his parents had named him so, for nothing would prove this better than on this day, at this hour. He was about to live up to his name, and he always struggle with this responsibility, as well as the monster inside of him. But that couldn’t be helped—any more than what was about to happen.

  Justice was just fourteen years old, and was a stout, muscular youth. His skin was darkly tanned by the sun. And he was his three little sisters’ knight in shining armor. He would do anything for them—and they knew it. His heart was big—much too big for the burden of what was about to happen, and that burden would weigh upon him for much of his life. He was also a gentle boy—except when gang members threatened his sisters.

  Then he was anything but gentle.

  The gang had a thing for him because of this. They had never quite been able to settle the score. And each time—the score grew bigger.

  One of the gang members stepped out in front of them now, before they had even reached the end of the alley. Justice knew they had been waiting for him. This wasn’t the first time they’d laid a trap for him. Yet somehow, Justice knew, this time it would be the last.

  He had beaten their asses last time—even with the odds at one against five. Anyone else probably would have decided to leave him alone after that. But somehow Justice had known that this vendetta they had for him had only intensified, and he had known they’d be back for more.

  He yelled at his sisters to run, the way he had every other time, and run they did. And like every other time, it didn’t occur to any of them that their brother wouldn’t come out of this okay. After all, he always did; he was their hero.

  They couldn’t know what these beatings did to him. Nor could they know what today would cost him, or what he would suffer—all for what was about to happen.

  The gang was fed up with getting their asses beaten down. They were fed up, and they wanted revenge. They hadn’t taken any chances, and this time they’d brought some equalizers. Yes, Justice had a big heart when it came to his sisters—but this was war. And he was at home with war. He felt as if he’d fought in wars for lifetime after lifetime, as if he’d been going to war forever. He felt old, even though he was only fourteen.

  His shoulders dropped upon eyeing the number of gang members they had brought this time. They weren’t interested in honor. They weren’t interested in making this a fair fight. It had occurred to him, more than once, to wonder why they didn’t just get it over with—and shoot him….

  They had, however, never brought guns to these fights. The fact that they hadn’t was the only sign of honor they’d ever shown. Perhaps they had seen him as a worthy opponent, in some twisted way. Other than that, they’d shown no mercy.

  And neither did he.

  Justice fought without a shred of mercy. He was as strong as an ox, even at his young age, and the last time they had fought, he’d given these boys a beating that had laid them up for the past few weeks.

  But they were ready for him this time, and the gang was sure that they were finally going to even the score.

  One of them hit Justice with a heavy pipe: the sound of it hitting his flesh was a sickening thud in the cool morning air.

  He beat that kid’s face with his beefy fists, while the others fell upon him.

  They hit him with chains, boards, and even a brick, while he unflinchingly kept pounding on the gang leader. He was going down, he could feel it, but he wasn’t going to go down alone—and he refused to waver.

  However, he did worry. What would his sisters do now, with no one to protect them?

  He was screaming inside; he was beyond rage. His family had fallen apart. Their parents had failed them and he had done everything he could for two years now to make up for the lack, to protect them, but now even he had failed them.

  He bellowed like a wild animal, screaming his rage at the sky. His entire world was gone, and now theirs would be too. For without him, they wouldn’t last long.

  This gang hated him too much to let this end with him.

  He screamed, bloody and beaten: screamed his frustration—screamed his rage. He had failed them. His chest burned, his body burned: he was on fire. He’d never felt anything so painful. The gang members just kept beating him down. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move anymore. He knew he was dying.

  He wasn’t prepared for what happened next. He was a sensitive: he knew things, sensed things the rest of the world didn’t believe existed. But even he wasn’t prepared for the change that suddenly came over his body. He stared at the claws that had unexpectedly ripped out of the end of his arm. For a moment he could only stare. The members of the gang stared too, and first, and then, when he rolled easily to his feet, they backed warily away from him. He let out an eerie cry: the cry of a jungle cat. The gang backed farther away, glancing down the alley, clearly trying to gauge their chances for escape while shock turned their faces to chalk.

  Menace filled his veins. He felt no pain now—and neither did he feel mercy. Nothing could stop him; and he didn’t stop, not even when they screamed, not even when their blood sprayed across the clean, white snow like art gone crazily awry. Everyone who witnessed the aftermath was left with a horrifying sense of nausea once they realized what must have taken place here this day.

  He didn’t stop, not even when their blood filled his senses. He didn’t stop until they all lay in shreds—and when he finally did, he could only stare at what he had done.

  He stared down at his now-human form, unable to absorb what had happened, what he had turned into, what he had done. He bent over double, bile filling his senses, along with the smell of their blood.

  He had killed them.

  He had killed them all. He couldn’t grasp the enormity of it. Nothing made sense; his head whirled and his heart pounded. He couldn’t absorb what he had become. Nothing could have prepared him for this, for what he’d changed into.

  It started to rain, as though the Goddess knew exactly what he would need here, now, on this day: this day that would mar every other day of his life for years to come. The rain felt warm and melted the snow even as it washed away the blood. He stared up into the sky, amazed at how the cold, crisp morning had suddenly turned warm enough to allow the rain, even more so than he’d been by the beast that had ripped its way out of his body. He stared, letting the rain drench his skin, washing him clean.

  He stared at the lifeless bodies of his enemies, watching their blood run down the alley in rivulets, and it finally occurred to him—with the sense of self-preservation finally pulsing through his brain—that he should get out of here before someone saw him.

  He looked wildly around, expecting to see horrified faces staring at the monster he’d become: but no one was there—no one had seen what he had become. No one had witnessed his murderous acts: well, at least, no one who had stuck around afterward.

  He straightened up and stumbled back down the alley like a drunk. He bent and ran, watching behind him, expecting at any moment for someone to chase him, for someone to scream, “There he is, the murdering monster, there he is, let’s get him….”

  But they never came. No one ever came for him.

  He’d just made it to the end of the alley when he saw her small face peeking out, staring in horror at her gentle, loving brother, her yellow-green-gold eyes wide with shock and terror, and he knew that she had brought the rain.

  She controlled the weather, and whenever she was really upset, storms were sure to follow.

  She was his youngest sister, and he had no idea how it was she had escaped from her other sisters, but there she was, hiding behind some cardboard boxes, staring at him in horror, with her sm
all body shaking—but whether that was from what she had just witnessed or from the fact she was drenched, wet, and cold he couldn’t tell.

  She looked at him as if he was the monster he now knew himself to be. And when he stepped toward her, she started screaming, her screams shaking him worse than anything else that had happened there that day. And then she ran.

  He somehow made it home, although he wouldn’t remember how he had managed it for many months, nor would he remember how the people he had stumbled past had stared at him in horror and fear, often quickly crossing to other side of the street. He found his way into the bathroom, where he stared horrified at his own reflection in the mirror and touched his face. It felt surreal; he felt surreal. He felt numb, carefully touching his face while staring at—and watching himself—in stupefied horror. How could he possibly look the same? He’d become a monster. How could he look the same—ever again?

  He tried to clean the blood off of himself using the buckets of water they had hauled from a friend’s house, since their water and electricity were now shut off. He tried to clean and examine his wounds. He peered through bleary eyes at his head. As near as he could tell, his head was split in five separate places.

  He needed to go to a hospital. But how? How could he take himself to the hospital? Wouldn’t they connect the brutal slayings in the alley to him, because of the beating he had taken? He stared at the splits in his scalp. He didn’t have a choice. These would never heal by themselves. He stared at the gashes on his arms and on his chest. Blood covered him everywhere. Finally, with despair, he began to walk the six city blocks to the hospital. People stared at him, as they had before, giving him a wide berth.