Falling Read online

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  Falling

  ISBN # 978-1-78430-695-3

  ©Copyright Belinda McBride 2015

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright July 2015

  Edited by Ann Leveille

  Pride Publishing

  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, Pride Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. 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 2015 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  Bad Angels

  FALLING

  Belinda McBride

  Book one in the Bad Angels series

  Falling isn’t so bad. It’s the landing that hurts.

  Just what exactly happens when an angel goes bad?

  Stripped of his voice, his memories and his divinity, Rion Hunter falls to Earth in a fiery blaze. After crashing into a muddy sheep pasture in Scotland, the disgraced angel finds himself face to face with an unlikely rescuer—a Sidhe-born farmer named Rex.

  Rex finds himself rapidly falling for the beautiful angel, which can be risky when the object of your affection just might be psychotic. And if that isn’t enough, the men find that they’ve come to the attention of a ravenous succubus who has developed an appetite for Scottish farmers.

  Dedication

  This story is dedicated to songwriter Ian Anderson. Your songs were a gift that pulled me through some dark years. You gave me Rex and I will be forever grateful.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

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

  Fine Knacks for Ladies (The Second Booke of Songes or Ayres): John Dowland

  Chapter One

  Falling from Grace.

  How does one describe the sensation? How does an angel process the horror of being cast out, thrown from the gates of Paradise to plummet through the heavens? How can a fragile body survive the horrific, bone-shattering cold, the agony of fire, burning and reaving the flesh from bone?

  Kokabiel, the Star of God, was now a fallen star, blazing through the heavens, his soundless screams ripping through the fabric of the universe. Through the void of time and space, his cries echoed by the screams of others who were as unfortunate as he.

  He did not know the nature of his crime, only that he’d been cruelly betrayed, abandoned by those he loved and trusted. He had been powerful in the celestial realm, but was now helpless here in the thin, frigid air of the blue planet below.

  He hurtled and tumbled, his magnificent wings unable to gain purchase in the insubstantial atmosphere. He blazed with a glorious white light as he streaked through the sky. Again he screamed in agony of the body, anguish of the soul and deathly fear of his fate. Then he slammed into the Earth in an explosion of fire and steam and soil, his skin and flesh seared away, every bone in his body ground to powder.

  * * * *

  Kokabiel lay deep under the surface of the Earth, where he remained for hours and days and years until one morning he emerged, whole in body, but damaged and tainted in mind and soul. He burrowed his way through the mud and ice of the Earth’s crust, emerging from the rich black soil in an unwitting parody of birth.

  Naked and filthy, he sprawled on the new spring grass, chest heaving, bewildered by the colors and shapes he saw, confused by sounds that filtered past the mud in his ears. Strange animals surrounded Kokabiel, ignoring him as they grazed in the field. Creatures wheeled through the sky overhead, borne on feathered wings, much like his…

  He twisted, eyes wide in horror. They were gone. Burned away. Only charred stumps remained where his wings belonged. Panic gripped his heart and he lurched to unsteady feet, once again searching for the wings that he felt, yet were not to be seen. He opened his mouth to cry out, but only a coarse sound emerged from his throat, bursting past his mud-coated tongue.

  Kokabiel started to flee in panic, but clumsy legs betrayed him, spilling him to the muddy ground where he lay panting, the crippling fear too much to fight.

  “They’re still there, lad. The wings’ll grow back soon enough, now that you’re back in the light.”

  Kokabiel rolled over and located the voice. He scrambled on his backside, trying to distance himself from the threat. The creature looked familiar—two legs, two arms, a good-natured face under a mop of dirt-brown curls that glistened with silver. He couldn’t understand the words the man spoke, but the meaning registered in his brain.

  “Ah… It’s all right. You laddies are always near daft once you wake up. Don’t know if it’s the fall”—he glanced at the heavens, then looked down at the soil—”or if it’s the landing. Either way, you angels got it rough. Took you longer than most. You must have fallen farther.” He grinned, exposing a roguish smile. “I’m Reux. That means headache.” He chuckled at his own words. “Needless to say, I don’t use it often. You can call me Rex. That means king. Better name, if you ask me. Now, what do I call you?”

  He moved a little closer, and Kokabiel eyed the creature nervously, for this was no human nor was it an angel. Rex looked like a man, but through eyes blurred with fatigue, Kokabiel saw something else entirely. Something manlike and charming. Something magical. Surely this was no demon?

  Rex moved closer, squatting down on his haunches, resting his arms on his knees, long, slender hands hanging loose. His legs were clad in worn fabric breeches. A woven cloth shirt hung loose to his mid-thigh. Scuffed leather boots rose to his knees. The creature’s eyes were no color Kokabiel had ever seen, brown mixed with green and gold, harmonizing with his richly colored curls and warm brown skin. The forest green of his eyes echoed the rich green of his shirt.

  An ornate amulet dangled from a worn leather cord around his neck. Magic resonated from the object.

  “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you? That’s going to be a problem right quick. I’ll have to keep you hidden from the lassies till you’re on your feet. Can you tell me your name?”

  Rex’s voice was mesmerizing, lyrical. Kokabiel felt his heart settle, his fear beginning to recede. Panic rose once more with the realization that knowledge was flooding into his brain. Colors had names. Words had meaning.

  Kokabiel moved his lips experimentally, and a harsh sound came out. Before falling, his voice had been music, pure and crystalline. Now it was hoarse and husky. He’d lost his wings and now his voice. Tears stung his eyes.

  “Koka—” He broke off, unable to bear the sound.


  “Kokabiel?”

  He nodded.

  The creature—Rex—rose and paced. Through tear-blurred eyes, Kokabiel thought he saw something… But he blinked and it vanished. No, Rex was no angel, nor was he human.

  “The Kokabiel? The Star of God?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit. What in hell’s going on up there?” He ran a hand through his curls, frowning up at the sky. Seeing Kokabiel’s look of confusion, he shook his head sadly. “You aren’t the first, lad. Not by far.”

  Kokabiel reached up and clasped the hand Rex offered. The other man pulled him effortlessly to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily, unaccustomed to the weight of a corporeal body. He stepped and winced, a sharp pain jabbing into his naked foot. His muddy skin pebbled with the cold. Kokabiel glanced down. His flaccid penis rested in a nest of dark curls. That was new. Before, his body had been hairless and smooth. He reached up—tangled hair filled his fist. It was no longer brilliant and star-colored, but a rich, vibrant hue…like blood. It was very nearly the color of blood. His hair fell nearly to his hips rather than floating in waves around his shoulders. Gaps in the filth on his skin showed it to be creamy white, rather than alabaster.

  Kokabiel touched the skin of his face. Under the drying mud it felt as it should, smooth and hairless. The features felt the same. He wondered what color his eyes were. He suddenly realized that he didn’t know what he looked like. Beyond his name, he had no memory.

  “So you are God’s Star. Obviously, we can’t be calling you that.”

  Rex strode to a lump on the ground. It was a pack of some sort. He reached in and tossed Kokabiel a blanket, which he accepted with gratitude, wrapping it around his trembling body. A sharp pain ripped through his belly, followed by an unusual noise. Rex grinned as he turned away.

  “A bit hungry, eh? Well, I’ve got mutton stew that’ll be near ready.”

  Hungry? That was the pain in his belly? He trudged behind the man, realizing that he stood taller than Rex, by nearly a handspan. Rex had broad shoulders, tapering to narrow hips. Kokabiel had nothing to compare the man to, but saw him as a thing of beauty and exceeding grace.

  Grace. He had fallen from Grace.

  “I’m thinking of names of stars. We don’t want anything too heavenly, if you know what I mean.”

  Kokabiel did not know what the odd man meant. He looked around, blinking at the oddities of the landscape.

  “What are those?”

  Rex looked at what had caught Kokabiel’s attention. “Those are sheep. We use their wool to make clothing and blankets, like the one you’ve got. We use their flesh as well.”

  Flesh? He swallowed down his horror.

  “I’ve got it. Orion the Hunter, that’s a constellation. But we won’t call you Orion. You’ll be Rion Hunter. What do you think of that?”

  Kokabiel didn’t know what to think, so he did not speak. That seemed the wisest course of action. It was the course of action he would adhere to for many years to come. Speak little, listen carefully.

  He continued to trudge behind his rescuer, tasting pain, discomfort and misery for the first time in his very long existence.

  Underneath all that, Kokabiel—now Rion Hunter—felt the awakening of a spark. That spark was the birth of something new—curiosity.

  He looked around at his new home on Earth, and the newborn hunger in his mind very nearly equaled the hunger in his belly.

  Chapter Two

  “You’re a quick study, lad.”

  Rex watched as Hunter carefully cut the vegetables for the day’s stew. The angel had had one or two mishaps with the well-honed knives and had learned quickly to respect the tools. The chunks of potato were rough and uneven, but that would matter little in the eating. What mattered more to Rex was that Hunter’s cuts closed and healed at a stunning rate. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t trust the man with an axe. He was clumsy as a newborn colt.

  Unfortunately, knowing what his new protégé was capable of, Rex really didn’t trust him at all. He simply couldn’t allow himself that luxury.

  Orion Hunter seemed to accept his new status here in the home of men. He listened carefully and learned quickly. Food was a novelty. He’d cautiously tested Rex’s meager fare. Vegetables and grains were found to be appealing, and within a few days, he’d come to accept meat. His mind rebelled, but Hunter adapted.

  Adaptation appeared to be his single greatest strength. During quiet moments, Rex noticed grief. Sometimes the angel would begin to sing, then stop abruptly as his husky, whispery voice emerged. He’d probably damaged his voice during the fall. A darker part of Rex wondered if they’d taken Hunter’s voice before expelling him from his world. Nevertheless, that husky voice had a strange beauty all its own.

  “What is this for?”

  He’d plucked a bunch of dried herbs from the rafters. Rex watched as Hunter examined them, finally pinching a leaf and smelling.

  “Do you like it?”

  Hunter wrinkled his nose and sniffed once again.

  “Aye. It smells…fresh.” Hunter was unconsciously mimicking Rex’s Scottish accent.

  “That one’s lavender. It’s used for medicine and sometimes cooking. And for the fragrance. Some lassies use it for perfume or for purifying the air. And sleep. It helps with sleep.”

  He took a sprig from Hunter and crumbled it over the stone floor. “As we walk, the fragrance will release.”

  Hunter carefully replaced the bundle and brought down another, going through a similar routine of smelling and testing. He liked the mint but didn’t care for the yarrow. Lavender was his favorite.

  “Some you can eat. Some you shouldn’t?”

  “Aye.” Rex turned away from his mortar and pestle, showing Hunter how the plants were sorted. Since the angel showed a distinct affinity for plants, he might as well teach.

  “Rex, sometimes people come here to see you, but you hide me away. Why?”

  “Here, Hunter. Crush a few leaves of this into the stew.” Rex pulled a stool over by the fire and propped his bum against it. “They come to me because they are ill, and sometimes their illness causes them discomfort.”

  “Physical?”

  “Yes, but sometimes they are embarrassed.”

  “Why?”

  Rex thought back through the years—to the women who wanted to avoid pregnancy, the men with ailments brought on by excessive drink or by sexual impropriety. Silly accidents and outright tragedies.

  “Sometimes their ailments are very personal in nature. Sometimes they ail due to their own behavior.”

  Rex fingered his chin as he watched Hunter move about the cooking area of the small cottage. The angel was tall, and while initially clumsy, had quickly adapted to his body of flesh. Hunter now moved with fluid grace and economy of movement. He’d been with Rex nearly a month, and his language skills were phenomenal. Hunter quickly absorbed all there was to learn. It was probably time to introduce him to the locals at the village.

  Still, there was the issue of his appearance. Once they’d washed the dirt and mud away, the angel had been revealed as heart-stoppingly beautiful. His auburn hair glowed like dark flame in the sunshine. His milky skin took on a golden hue in the sun. Hunter’s face was near perfection, with eyes the color of cobalt and high and chiseled cheekbones. An angled jaw and strong mouth saved him from being too lovely. Still, he was a sight to behold.

  That first day as Hunter had stepped from the bath, Rex’s heart had constricted in his chest. His cock had hardened at the sight of the angel, though Rex rarely felt attraction to men. Given his nature as a ghillie dubh, it went against his fertile nature. Attraction to one of the Fallen was not only unwise, it was quite possibly dangerous. But still his body stirred, and when he thought of the pull of the moontide, his heart sank in his chest. How would he deal with this attraction at the peak of his sexual need?

  They’d sat before the fire for hours, not speaking, as Rex carefully combed and braided the silken length of the angel’s hair. Even
among his people, few could boast such beautiful hair. He never let his own grow, as it curled into a wild, tangled mess. He envied Hunter that crown of silk and found that tending it had become one of his favorite tasks.

  Initially, Hunter had been curiously blank, but now personality was beginning to show, and slowly, Rex’s fears about his development began to stir. Fallen angels were notoriously unstable. Hunter was always watching, listening, absorbing the environment in which he’d landed. Thus far, he’d shown no indication of impatience or anger, merely curiosity. He displayed no affection, though some compassion for others had begun to glimmer in his eyes as Rex explained about the people who visited his farm.

  “Rex, are there others like me?”

  He hesitated before answering, “A few. Yes, there have been a few.”

  Hunter sat at the table, carefully slicing another root with a sharp knife. “I thought so. You knew to come and find me, as well as how to tend my needs.”

  As Rex watched, every slice grew more precise and confident.

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “I often watch the sky. That night, many stars fell, but your light didn’t burn out. Instead, the sky grew bright with your fire. You were not difficult to locate.”

  “How long was I underground?” Hunter’s focus remained on the knife.

  “Just a few hours, I suppose.”

  He paused in his task, looking up at Rex. “I’d have supposed it to be longer. It felt much longer.”

  “Time can be a funny thing, Hunter.” In the angel’s altered reality, he may very well have been buried for years.

  Hunter returned to his work, shifting his back uncomfortably. His wings were recovering well. First, the bones had knit and the membranes healed. Now feathers were beginning to emerge. They shimmered white and gold and promised to be stunningly beautiful. It was rather sad that nobody would see them. He’d have to learn to keep them hidden for the rest of his days.