In a hidden world where angels and demons clash, Cecelia White's life takes a thrilling turn when she discovers her connection to a powerful relic, the Angel Key. With her best friend Evie by her side, Cecelia is thrust into a supernatural conflict...
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As he locked the club's door and punched in his security code on the touchpad, Christoph noticed a familiar black Mercedes GL cruising by. Those creeps. His eyes followed the SUV, suspicious of the figures behind the illegally tinted windows. They can't take a hint, he thought. The vehicle rolled past slowly, probably staring him down before it sped off abruptly. "What the hell was that about?" he exclaimed, scratching his head.
Nearing his home, he reached for his keys as he turned the corner to his block. The sight before him made his heart leap from his chest. His fireproof front door was torn to pieces, remnants hanging from the hinges and scattered across the yard. His first thought was Shit.
"Cecelia," he choked out, racing inside the building and drawing a set of throwing knives from his inner coat pocket. He practically flew up the stairs, skipping five at a time until he reached the living room door.
The room was a war zone. Signs of a violent struggle were everywhere—overturned couches, a smashed TV, holes in the walls, a coffee table in pieces, and shattered beer bottles still leaking onto the carpet.
This was fresh.
He bolted to the guest room. The window was open. Maybe she got away down the fire escape, he hoped but knew it was doubtful. He searched under the bed and in the closet but found nothing. He left the room and headed for the library. If anywhere could be a safe hiding spot, that would be it.
Entering the library, he saw the chaos Cecelia must have caused while trying to hide. The smell of sulfur hung thick in the air. Why did I let them go back without me? This is my fault. He frantically shifted debris, straining to hear any sign of life.
It was eerily quiet.
Then he heard it—the faintest thud of a heartbeat, barely there but it was something.
Before his mind could command his body to move, he was there, lifting a bookshelf and looking down at... No, no it couldn't be.
Not Erik.
It was like walking into a nightmare.
Lying beaten and bloody on the floor was his best friend. He wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. His once warm skin had turned unnaturally pale and his lips were blue.
"Erik?" No response. He shook him. "Erik, wake up." Nothing. His hands were coated in gold blood.
"No." He brought his left hand back and slapped Erik across the face.
"Wake up!"
Nothing.
"DAMMIT WAKE UP!"
But Erik just lay there.
This isn't happening. This isn't happening. I don't know what to do. Sam. I'll call Sam. Sam will know what to do.
He reached into his pocket for his phone and dialed.
