The First to Fall: A Fallen Novel (The Fallen Series) Read online

  The First to Fall

  A Fallen Novel

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE FIRST TO FALL

  First edition. June 6, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Tanisha D. Jones.

  ISBN: 978-1533742872

  Written by Tanisha D. Jones.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  By | Tanisha D Jones

  For: | A.H., W.W., C.J. M.W. | & those who believed in me

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  Before she found him, she loved another, | Before she met him, she was already his... | Discover Celeste’s story

  Coming in August 2016

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  About the Author

  By

  Tanisha D Jones

  For:

  A.H., W.W., C.J. M.W.

  & those who believed in me

  When I no longer believed in myself

  PROLOGUE

  He attempted to sit up and slowly realized that he was not in the comfortable California King sized bed in his luxurious penthouse suite; he was actually on the floor of the suite's living area. It took a moment before he could focus. The room was dark and empty and he supposed his band mates had gone back to their own rooms with their own groupies. The room smelled of stale cigarettes, old liquor, sex, marijuana and the faint hint of electricity. He smelled rain somewhere far off, but coming soon. As he thought it, lightning cracked the night sky in two.

  There was an uncomfortable feeling of damp warmth beneath him. Groggily, he rolled over expecting to find- he didn't know what. Perhaps the beautiful young groupie he'd enticed into his room had too much to drink and had relieved herself in his bed. It wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened. He actually preferred urine to some of the other fluids and pseudo fluids he'd woken up in.

  He stared out over the penthouse's patio. The dampness was still there, on his back making the white t-shirt he wore stick to his skin. There was no acrid smell of urine, he noticed. This was something else, something sweetly metallic, and sticky. His first thought was the little tramp vomited on him. Wouldn't be the first time, he thought. As he moved, he felt stiffness in his neck, a slow burn started when he touched the spot and he felt a small raised welt just above his jugular.

  "Shit," he mumbled to himself. What had he done tonight?

  Slowly, he moved to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes as he went. As he passed the bedroom, he noticed a body on the bed. She was tall, tanned and lean, her perfect nakedness exposed. Her hair was long and startlingly blond against her dark skin.

  "Brittney," he mumbled as he stripped off his pants. The name fit her, he thought. She was an enthusiastic and creative girl, with bright emerald green eyes and a full pink mouth. He could forgive her of a little vomit, he thought as he turned on the bathroom lights and started the shower.

  He walked into the sauna, head throbbing and sat on the marble bench at the back of the massive marble and glass coffin. He reached for the shampoo and for the first time looked at his hand. It was covered in thick, dark clotting blood. A little panicked he stood and looked at both hands, a scream of nervous horror stopped in his throat. He inspected himself, running his hands over his chest in search of a wound, but found nothing.

  Around his feet, rivulets of blood ran and swirled down the drain. His heart raced as he stumbled out of the shower and screamed when he saw the bloody footprints leading to the shower stall. Wet and naked, he immediately lost his footing and began sliding on the white marble floor. He reached out to save himself from the inevitable and painful fall, but landed with a thud on his back, his right ankle snapping loudly.

  He screeched as the pain ricocheted through his body. Through his pain, he saw something move in the darkness of the bedroom. Brittney. He had woken her.

  "Babe, call 911. I think I broke my fucking ankle," he groaned in a slight southern accent. The form moved again, in the shadows but never answering.

  "Britt?"

  The figure darted quickly to the right and then back to the left. He felt a chill right down to his bones, the pain in his ankle forgotten for now as fear took over. He focused on the darting thing. There was no way a person could move at such rapid speeds and at such an odd angle Whatever it was it moved closer, a soft skittering sound accompanying its erratic approach.

  "Who's there?" He croaked, his throat suddenly dry.

  "Nicholas." It spoke in a soft whisper and in a voice that was neither male nor female and heavily accented. The hair on his arms rose, his body was covered with goose bumps. He would run if he could; the pain in his ankle had subsided to a dull throbbing ache.

  The figure moved closer, slowing its erratic pace as it neared the open door.

  "What do you want?" Nicholas screeched in a voice he barely recognized as his own. He reached for the vanity counter and slowly pulled himself to his feet, placing all of the weight on his left foot. As he did, he looked at himself in the mirror for the first time. His naked muscular body was slick with blood and water, his crisp blues eyes were wide and his suntanned face was pale, lips tight and drawn into razor-thin lines. His spiked platinum hair was matted with blood, water and soap.

  The creature moved into the room, its long blond hair shrinking into an angelic heart-shaped face, darkening into a spiked pixie cut as did the sweet blond thatch of hair between its thighs. He watched in something close to shock as startling emerald eyes turned an unexpected shade of silver gray. The large voluminous breasts deflated to the firm pert breasts of a young girl, natural and surprisingly womanly. There was a sickly sound of cracking bones, and he could do nothing but stare in paralyzing terror as the once five foot seven beauty Brittney morphed into a four foot eleven elfin – thing . He glanced lower and realized that this girl thing also had a very large and very erect – penis, and he groaned in confusion.

  It had large cat-like eyes that studied him as he tried to pull himself away from its approach. It smiled, wrinkling a small upturned nose .Its natural rosy blush and skin as white as pure alabaster made it seem beautiful in a sickening way. Nicholas found himself staring into those large eyes, and calm, sensual warmth came over him. It touched his cheek with feather soft fingers, and Nicholas' own body went rigid. He closed his eyes and was bombarded with so many images of his life and of so many lives that had been taken before him.

  "You are one of ours, Nicolai." Its soft breath caressed his neck, and he became erect. "You are mine." Its lips touched the skin just beneath his ear and he jerked as his body reacted. He groaned as he exploded his seed onto the floor.

  ***

  His housekeeper found him the next morning, alone, lying in a pool of his own blood on the bathroom floor. She shrieked at the sight of his pale naked body, the strange angle at which his ankle was turned and the gaping wound in his neck. The bright blue eyes that had graced many magazines were now clouded and dull, staring endlessly at nothing.

  By 10:00 a.m. the news hit. At 10:01 a.m. the world began to grieve one of its biggest pop stars. The coroner ruled it a freak accident; that he'd slipped getting out of the shower, broke his ankle and bled to death from an
injury to his neck. There were no signs of foul play, just a sad, simple accident. Other than the gash in his neck, which the coroner attributed to a broken beer bottle found in the living room near a blood stained carpet, and broken ankle, his body exhibited no other injuries.

  Nicholas Skylar, or Nicky Sky as he was more popularly known, was dead. He was twenty-nine years old.

  Three days after his death, a public memorial service was held to honor him. The streets outside of the St. Louis Cathedral were packed with sobbing, somber fans and curious onlookers, most donning his signature color, red. Inside was a who's who of the rich, famous and fabulous. As his coffin exited the sanctuary, the cathedral bells rang and two dozen snow white doves were released over the crowd. A brass band led a second line processional through the city streets as hundreds celebrated his life.

  Four days after his untimely death, Nicky Sky woke up.

  ONE

  The silence was overpowering, almost claustrophobically so. People in white lab coats moved through the foyer of the funeral home like the specters of ancient souls, drifting in and out of his line of vision, blurring at the edges. There seemed to be an absence of color to coincide with the complete silence. Everything was painted in sepia tones that seem to bleed at the edges, making everything surreal. Detective Elijah Cain felt as if he were moving through oatmeal, as he forced his way across the foyer to the only spot of bright color in the place.

  Standing at the far end of the foyer, beneath an ornate archway, a speck of bright red waved to him. As he trudged closer to the speck, he realized that it was a red shirt he was seeing, worn by his partner and best friend of ten years, Riley Quinn. While the rest of the room was devoid of color, Riley was an over-saturated Day-Glo rainbow. His eyes were vibrant electric blue, his tanned skin glowing a vibrant golden brown, his shirt a shock of candied red, and his hair a halo of gold ringlets. When Riley opened his mouth to speak, the sound was distorted and muted, and Eli couldn't help but stare at the unbearable whiteness of his perfect teeth.

  Riley took Eli's arm and suddenly, they were speeding through the house, their surroundings becoming a haze of blurred colors and sounds. He didn't feel as if he were walking or even running, it was more of a swift glide, as if they weren't touching the ground at all.

  They came to a sudden stop in a room that didn't quite fit. For a split second, everyone in the room appeared frozen, before suddenly bursting to life, moving and speaking in hushed tones, in a large white room, at the center of which sat a bed on a platform. People hovered near the bed, taking photo after photo. The only color in the room, aside from Riley, whose colors seemed to vibrate, were the bright turquoise drapes that hung at tall windows on either side of the bed.

  "Here," Riley said and motioned towards the bed. Anxiously, Eli approached to see the body. She lay perfectly still in the center of the bed, the plush comforter laid perfectly across her, as if she'd been tucked in. Her skin was the color of caramel, smooth and rich, her face heart-shaped with perfect full lips. Long jet-black hair was pulled over one shoulder in shiny perfect waves laced with tiny purple flowers. She appeared to be asleep, except for the gaping wound in her neck.

  With a wound that deep, she should’ve been soaked in blood, but there was none. Not a single drop in the pristine room. As he moved closer, Cain could smell the lavender, from the flowers, he assumed. He stared at her for a long, silent moment. She was stunning, a beauty who had died far too young. The light caught on the silver of a chain around her neck with a silver pendant that lay between her breasts. He stared at the unique jewelry and a shiver went through him. The pendant was a heart surrounded by a circle; lying over the heart was a triangle which shared its peak with the dip in the heart and stretched to touch the outer edges, the outer rim of the circle was bordered by stylized tribal wings. As Eli leaned closer to look at the necklace and the jagged wound at her neck, her hand grasped his wrist with surprising strength. Startled, he took a nervous step back as her eyes opened. They were the same vibrant shade of turquoise as the curtains, the same shade, he thought, as his own.

  "Elijah," she called in a disembodied, almost hoarse voice.

  ***

  Startled, Eli hit the polished hardwood floor with a resounding thud. Immediately, he sprang to his feet, taking a defensive stance. As he scanned the room for, he didn't know what, he exhaled and shook his head warily. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, and he was dripping in sweat. He touched the oddly shaped birthmark on his chest absently as the room around him came into focus. He was in his own bedroom, the early morning sunlight streaming in through the blinds at the windows. Sighing, he ran a hand over his wet face and grimaced ruefully.

  He heard his name being yelled from the doorway and he spun on his heel, prepared to strike, as Riley entered the room. Riley stopped. Standing a full eight inches over Riley's 6 foot frame, even in his underwear, Eli was formidable.

  "Calm down underwear Ninja. I've been outside yelling your name and banging on the door for like five minutes. What's up? And put some pants on." Riley moved further into the room. Slightly irritated by his own body, Eli stalked into the bathroom.

  "Grab the phone," he mumbled as he closed the bathroom door. Riley looked down at the black cordless phone resting silently in its cradle.

  "Phone's not ring-" As he spoke, the phone sprang to life with a pleasant singsong ring.

  ***

  Eli jumped into the shower, letting cold water hit him full blast. Lathering himself quickly, he felt his wrist. Her touch was there, like a brand on his skin. He could still smell the lavender and see those eyes. He'd never seen eyes like that in anyone. Except, of course, when he looked in the mirror.

  He jumped out of the shower and looked at himself in the mirror. The eyes. That was what was bothering him; she had his eyes. The same bright turquoise eyes, lined with thick overly long dark lashes. The face was different. Her face was heart-shaped and feminine; he had a distinctively square masculine jawline. They both had dark hair and his skin was more of a deep chocolate. But the eyes. He looked down at his wrist, half expecting to see a hand print there. But there was nothing.

  He stared at his reflection in the mirror. More to the point, he stared at the raised mark on his chest, the one that looked like the pendant he'd seen around the dead woman's neck in his dreams. It was as long and as wide as his thumb and on first glance it looked like a tattoo. He'd tried several times to have it removed, but it always remained. Shaking his head he slipped on his shirt; it was just a birthmark, he'd been assured. Just an oddly shaped birthmark.

  "Just a dream Elijah," he said to himself as he dressed. "Just a very wild dream."

  "Are you talking to yourself again?" Riley called from the other side of the bathroom door.

  He was standing with his ear pressed to the door and when the door swung open, he had to jump back. Eli stood in his usual uniform of charcoal gray slacks, crisp white shirt, and a burgundy tie. His usually jovial smile was replaced by a furrowed brow.

  "E, are you okay?" Riley asked his friend.

  "Another dream," Eli mumbled. "Same dream, same girl, only this time, she opens her eyes."

  "Really?" Riley's curiosity was piqued. For nearly a year Eli had been haunted by dreams of Angel, as they had dubbed her. "What did they look like? Were they gross and bloody?"

  "No," Eli looked at his friend with a pained expression. "They were exactly like mine. And she spoke, and she reached out and grabbed me. I swear I can still feel her fingers around my wrist."

  "What did she say?" Riley seemed to hum in anticipation. Eli sat on the edge of the bed and put on his shoes.

  "She said my name."

  "That's it?" Riley tried but failed to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

  "Yep." Eli shrugged and sighed. Once he finished putting his shoes on, he looked at Riley and noticed what he was wearing for the first time, a bright red shirt and blue jeans. He found it a bit odd, since Riley hated the color red. He'd onc
e told Eli that since he'd become a homicide detective, the color red always made him slightly nauseous. Yet, there he stood wearing the brightest candy red shirt Eli had ever seen.

  "New shirt?" He ventured. Riley looked down at the shirt and made a face.

  "I know what you're thinking. I still hate the color red. But Adam came over last night with a gift and red is his favorite color. It was a peace offering after our last fight and-"

  "And you'd wear a pink tutu and fairy wings up and down Bourbon Street if it guaranteed you a little piece of ass," Eli quipped.

  "Not like you haven't seen it before." Riley laughed before following Eli out of the bedroom and down the stairs to his modest kitchen. It was bright and airy, thanks to Eli’s grandmother's decorator. He'd refused the floral wallpaper and marble floors, but had succumbed to the granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances.

  Though Riley wasn't flamboyant or feminine in any way, he was out and proud. He never made excuses or hid who he was, even in the academy where the other recruits had given him hell, isolating him, bullying him whenever they could. Eli had been singled out as well, being taller and larger than everyone else. He also never smiled or joined in on the jokes or games. He was intimidating. Some had tried to become friendly with him once they realized that Eli had a photographic memory and was a crack shot, but that had been short-lived. The first and only person to make the stone faced recruit laugh out loud had been Riley Quinn. Riley had not been afraid to approach him and had balked when Eli had grumbled for him to go away.

  "Not gonna happen big guy," Riley said as he plowed into his lunch. "I would like to actually eat my lunch today, not wear it. And nobody is going to mess with me if I'm sitting here,” Riley said around a mouth full of chili. Eli had looked at Riley, then at the group of burly young men staring at Riley with open disdain.

  "You haven't been eating?" Eli asked in a low voice.