Fragile Fury - (Glass Angels book one)

Fragile Fury - Prologue

So, I said I would do a prologue, to help explain bits and pieces of the rest of the story.

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Copyright © 2010 Alice Blake

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Prologue

MOONLIGHT SHIMMERED FROM HIS WINGS LIKE SILVER.

He'd never walked the Mortal's world before. He'd never stepped outside of Heaven, but as he walked along the beach with the waves lapping at his feet, he couldn't help but wonder why it was forbidden. The Mortal's world was so beautiful, and the humans - or rather, the human women - they were something else.

He wanted what no angel should want from them. He lusted after them. For their bodies, their flesh, their gasped breaths. The angel knew the consequences, but he didn't care. He seduced the first human with some difficulty. He didn't know what they wanted or needed. But the angel showed the woman his wings, glorious and white, soft as silk. She brushed a hand along them, whispering in amazement at his beauty. His desire - a burning desire - increased, and he took her. Pure bliss ran through his veins. Her moans excited him until he bellowed a feral roar.

The woman beneath him stared in wonder at his blond hair curled under his chin. The angel was glowing; his sculpted chest glistened with their sweat as he breathed heavily. The angel thought he knew of Heaven and thought he knew bliss, but it was nothing compared to the Mortal woman. But she didn't steal his heart; he knew the damage love could cause his race.

He left the woman's bed, and she didn't call him back. She forgot all about him. Angels could do that. Make you forget things, bad things, and good things. Forget all things. He knew his wings would be stripped from him, because he had lusted, he had sinned, but he didn't care. The angel walked for miles, before taking to the skies. He was a magnificent sight. He took more women before the night was through and returned to heaven with a satisfied smirk. He would lose his wings, but he would forever be an angel in their memories.

The Avenging Angels were upon him as soon as he crossed into Heaven. They beat him black and blue until his angelic glow was lost. They ripped his wings from his back, leaving him to bleed across his scattered feathers. His pearl white eyes saw only death approaching, before the Angel of Mercy appeared. She picked his broken wings from the floor; and a spindle of black smoke wove around their snowy white feathers. The angel gasped. Now, he felt pain.

The Angel of Mercy turned his wings black as midnight. They were the wings of a raven. She walked to him, commanding him to his feet with a gesture. His clothes were gone; he was bare in front of her. He closed his eyes, feeling her turn him, and survey him. He felt his wings repositioned and the darkness they held burned into his skin. The angel screamed and screamed, until he was on his knees. When he thought it was over, the Angel of Mercy slashed him, and plucked some of his black feathers. She stored his blood - lots of it, along with his feathers - in a little box, with gold pictures of animals and nature painted on to it. She named the box, and said it was to be given to a girl. And should she open it, all the bad things in the world would spill out.

'The Blood of The Cursed Fallen,' she had said, 'will be a blessing to the hidden world, it will cure and heal and protect them. But for the Mortals, it shall hold your curse. It will kill and bleed them dry of everything they own. Your blood will plague them, Xaphan.

And Pandora will open her box. I will make sure of it.'

He couldn't understand why the Angel of Mercy had hurt him. Why had she blackened his wings with his sins? That wasn't what she was supposed to do.

'You shall be the first Fallen Angel, Xaphan,' she said. 'You will roam the Mortal world as you wish and God and Heaven will have no business with you. You are banished from here.'

With a swift kick of her foot, she sent him falling from Heaven. Tumbling and turning through the clouds.

He stretched his hand out in front of him bracing for the impact, but it never came. His wings spread out, lifting him to the skies. The power he felt came from his raw sin and evil passed through the black wings into his blood. He knew at that moment what he was. He was a demon. A demon banished to earth. The Fallen would claim the unseen world as his own. He would be both feared and envied by his enemies. He would command and protect his followers. That was what he would do.

Hundreds of years later, The Fallen stepped once more from the hidden world in search of a Mortal woman. He hadn't had a taste of a Mortal since he had fallen, and he was thirsty for one. He didn't know that he could no longer sleep with Mortals without repercussions. He found a mortal and ravished her, though this time something was different. There was a sparkle in her sapphire eyes that seemed to curse him. He couldn't leave her. She infected him like the sin of his wings infected his blood. He had to return to her. The Fallen Angel had felt love for a mortal.

The next time he saw her was by chance. He smelt her; her smell of roses and honey, but he smelt something else too. A smell he didn't know, so he approached her. She had forgotten him, but her stomach hadn't. She was pregnant. That was what he could smell. He looked at the woman, searching her eyes for something that he never found. They were coal black, as dark as his. The Fallen knew without a doubt that he had got her pregnant, and he knew what the baby would be. She would be a Nephilim; half mortal and half Fallen Angel.

And now a man was with his woman, a man The Fallen did not like. He couldn't resist the need to see the future of his child. So with one touch to the man's arm, he saw what would become of his daughter. He saw what the human would do to her, beating her and touching her in ways that even made The Fallen sick. But he saw her, when she turned eighteen. He saw that his powers would take over her mortal form. She would be raw and more powerful than him. He had smiled at that thought. He was proud of his unborn daughter, he was proud of her strength, of her beauty, and the guiltless feeling she enjoyed when she killed.

Before he left and walked away from the mother of his Nephilim child, he touched her cheek with a gentle brush of his poisoned lips. She would die the day his child was born. As he closed his eyes, savouring the feeling, a name flashed before him. He saw the name of his child, the name of his daughter. The three words he would need to find her, when she came of age.

Annabelle Fury Hamilton.

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Alice......x