A Matter of Time (The Angel Sight Series) Read online

  Book 3 in the Angel Sight Series

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Copyright © 2015 Lisa M. Basso

  A MATTER OF TIME by Lisa M. Basso

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Month9Books, LLC.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by Month9Books

  Cover designed by Stephanie Mooney

  Cover Copyright © 2015 Month9Books

  To Randy,

  For all the ways you love, inspire, and support me. Without you none of this would have been possible.

  Book 3 in the Angel Sight Series

  Chapter One

  Rayna

  Trapped.

  Tortured.

  Alone.

  The walls no longer closed in the way they once did. Now they only screamed; the jagged, shattered sound of souls and wills being ripped away.

  I used to cover my ears. Now, even when the screams stopped, they never truly quieted.

  The door to my cell swung open with its own scream. I blinked through the light, using my hand to shield my eyes. A tall figure silhouetted with black wings stood in the doorway. “The Prince wants to see you.”

  My vision tunneled and my empty stomach shrank.

  This place was Hell.

  Hell.

  Welcome to my Hell.

  Chapter Two

  Kade

  Churning in my stomach, electricity zipping beneath my skin. Anticipation. The nights of waiting just beneath the surface—touching the rock that separated Earth from Hell—were about to be over.

  Lucien smirked as he paraded through the arch of human skulls that made up the gateway like he was some kind of god—which I suppose he was. The son of Lucifer may have kept us waiting for more days than I cared to count, but we’d waited less than the sixty-six days it had taken us to climb up the nine circles. The soot and fatigue that all seven of us waiting Fallen wore wasn’t apparent on his skin. I wondered how that could be, how the long trek from the center of the ninth circle all the way up toward the surface could leave him so untouched.

  Those curiosities melted away the second Lucien touched the rock above our heads. His silhouette vibrated, contorting into something both larger and smaller. Earth and rubble crumbled at his touch.

  This was it. They weren’t BSing when they said there would be rewards.

  Lucien’s voice echoed a language I thought long since dead, and the ceiling above us cracked. The veins stretched, gaining momentum. Slivers of light beamed into Hell. Moments later the whole thing came tumbling down, leaving a hole wide enough for two semis.

  The six other Fallen wasted no time, climbing out of Hell and back into the thriving life of Earth. The shaking of the topside tree limbs slowly subsided. The twinkle of honest-to-God stars shone high above them. The wide-eyed grins and moments of crazed satisfaction on my fellow travelers’ faces must have mirrored my own. I watched as they enjoyed the sights, sounds, and smells—all of which were too bright, too loud, and too pungent.

  Lucien took one of the Fallen’s offered hands and climbed up the hole. He turned, pushing the Fallen—I think his name was Orias—back into Hell. The Fallen slammed face-first into the spires atop the skull archway.

  “Help your brother, Orias. He’s obviously in need.” Lucien tapped his foot and spat an Ancient Greek word that roughly translated to useless.

  Orias jumped to his feet and offered his hands to me. I shoved his shoulder and jumped to grab the ledge that was half Hell and half Earth. The electric jolt of touching something living almost made me lose my grip, but I managed to keep my composure—I hoped—and hoisted myself up.

  The second my fingertips scraped over the grass, my cursed heart thrummed against my ribcage. Freedom. The world darkened, twisting into blacks and grays. With the hunter’s black over my eyes, my instincts rushed to the surface of my skin, pulsed in my veins, and screamed in my ear. Run.

  Escape.

  And beneath it all, in the forefront of everything, always was the need to feed. The desire was more prominent now that humans were closer than they’d been in years.

  I closed my eyes and growled low in my throat to drown out the thundering sounds, each louder than the one before.

  Control. I needed to control my instincts before they gave too much away.

  “Do you smell that, gentlemen?” I opened my eyes. Lucien stood in front of us. He was taller than I remembered, maybe because I was on my knees, and depth perception with hunter’s vision wasn’t always the most accurate. His arms were outstretched, his head tilted up toward the sky.

  Against my better judgment, I sniffed the air. The scent of perfumes, colognes, sweat, blood, and tears. The scent of flesh. Years. It had been years since I allowed myself to enjoy the pure scent of human. Now, with the aroma firing through my brain, sparking parts I’d long ago shut down, I wondered why. Why ever deny my heightened senses the sweet smell of humanity? I inhaled again, this time with my eyes closed. Every muscle in my body tensed, ready to bolt for the nearest meal.

  But there was a reason I had held back for so long, one I was either forgetting or ignoring. I had switched this crazed part of me off for something. A good reason. The way my cursed heart beat—with my senses taking priority—made it difficult to remember why I wanted to keep a hold of myself instead of letting go the way everything inside me begged to.

  Something fragile. Important.

  What was it?

  One of the Fallen cupped water from a nearby fountain and splashed our faces one by one, washing the grime and dust from our skin.

  “It’s time.” Lucien spoke and we listened. “Let the hunt … begin,” he hissed.

  The seven of us dashed in the same direction, leaving Lucien behind.

  The grass, so soft, giving way beneath our feet, reminded me of the way flesh did the same under the right touch. But it hadn’t been so long since I’d touched flesh.

  I couldn’t understand why, if I’d had access to flesh in Hell, I hadn’t taken it. Instead I’d allowed myself to fester in the dark underbelly of my mind.

  Wind whipped over my face, carrying with it more scents and sounds. All of it screaming life, pulling my thoughts toward the present. Our wings silver and brilliant, even under tree cover, illuminated the way. Not that the dark bothered us when black veiled our eyes.

  After what felt like twelve eternities, we reached a clearing.

  “Remember,” Lucien’s voice came from behind us, pulling the group to a stop. “Never be seen feeding. Lure your prey to you away from prying eyes.”

  Side by side, my brothers and I strode across the wide concrete walkway separating the park—where we entered this world from—and the concrete jungle of a vibrantly alive city. Lucien’s words brought back so many memories. Feeding off souls in public bathrooms, bedrooms, and alleyways. The thrill of the hunt, the passion that sometimes came from the ladies. Warmth built in my stomach, throbbing deeper. Now wasn’t the time for passion, it was time to sate an eternity’s long hunger. My throat had never been so dry. I feared if I didn’t swallow soon it would crack and bleed.

  Some of the others bro
ke off from the group, but the majority of us stayed together, walking several blocks into downtown Tokyo. Brushing arms with the living spurred tiny thrills through me, especially knowing one of them would be my dinner. My salvation.

  Several more blocks away from the park, the group split again.

  This was it. Choose one, reconvene for safety.

  The humidity was thick, but not as thick as the masses of people or the scents of local delicacies from street carts. I blinked away the hunter’s vision and allowed my sight to adjust to the brightly lit colored signs blinking off almost every building.

  The first woman that dared made eye contact with me, the gaijin, was a petite woman maybe in her thirties. Unlucky for her. I changed direction, sliding in the crowd beside her, throwing out a sly smile. To my surprise, she didn’t giggle or turn away, which was the way I remembered Japanese women from my last visit a very long time ago. Instead this woman met my eyes and smiled back at me. Too bad for her. If she had ignored me, she might have lived to see the sunrise.

  I kept pace beside her for several more blocks, flirting with only my eyes and lips. The longer the exchange went on, the less bold she became, avoiding my advances. When I tried to hold her hand, she jerked away, shock widening her eyes. I could smell fear on her skin. My eyes flared black and I jerked her into a small side street.

  She tried to scream. I slapped my hand over her mouth. With my influence graying my vision, I whispered shizuka, an order to calm her. She didn’t make another sound as I towed her toward the side street where the other Fallen and I had parted. It didn’t take long to find them. The draw one Fallen felt to his brothers demolished any distance standing in the way. Lucien had found us as well. He stood in the street, attracting the attention of pedestrians and angered motorists alike. Once in the alley beside my brothers, I slammed the woman’s back against the wall and coaxed her small mouth open. As the warmth and power began trickling in, the part of my brain I tried to turn off reminded me of a similar moment.

  A young female, not much older than a girl, with long, dark hair, greenish-hazel eyes, and a few faint freckles looked up at me through the steam of a shower spray. Her clothes were soaked, making her gray pajamas practically see-through. But I didn’t look at what her body had to offer under those clothes; instead I was focused on her face and her words.

  “I want you to. You need it to survive.” Her voice. Soft, like a whisper, but still forceful.

  “I can get by without it,” I told her, brushing a wet lock of hair behind her ear.

  “This isn’t up for discussion,” she argued, pulling me down by the back of my neck.

  In that moment it took everything I had not to keep from feeding on her, but to keep from … kissing her. I turned my head away, shirking her surprisingly strong grip. “Not. Gonna. Happen.”

  Well at least I sounded like me, because I sure wasn’t acting like me.

  “Kade.”

  When I looked back at her, my vision was gray. She didn’t flinch or so much as blink at my black eyes. Her fingers gripped my gray shirt. Thick drops of water rolled off my nose and chin and onto her. She tilted her head up to me, the long ends of her hair tacked to the concrete wall behind her.

  I pushed off the wall, but the girl’s grip wouldn’t give. I closed my eyes, gripped my hair with a tight fist. “I can’t. Not to you.”

  Her fingers brushed against my cheek. I flinched and shirked her touch, turning further away. The girl was tenacious, circling around to stand in front of me, her hands around my waist. The touch was light, yet fiercely intimate. The way my throat burned with thirst, but my pulse pounded like a nervous teenager, was enough to drive me off the edge.

  “We have to stick together.” She pressed her body against me and wound her arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides. “Just promise me if you need it, you’ll come to me.”

  I didn’t dare open my eyes, or touch her. I just waited for her to leave. Listened to her grab a towel and leave the room. The second the door clicked closed, I slammed my fists against the concrete wall. “Not even if it means my life, Ray.”

  I swallowed my last gulp of the Japanese woman’s soul and returned to the present. The woman in my arms slumped to the floor, dead.

  Rayna. The reason I had kept myself in check for so long. The reason I had been trapped in Hell in the first place.

  Laughter of the Fallen around me faded into nothing but the past as I looked down at the bodies piled at our feet.

  Chapter Three

  Rayna

  I didn’t know how much more of this hell I could take. The blade slashed my arm for the fourth time in the same place, cutting almost to the bone. The scream exploding up my throat finally found a voice, one that ricocheted off the cavern-like walls of Lucien’s torture room.

  “Come now, Rayna,” Lucifer’s only son cooed, wiping the flat side of the knife against my cheek, leaving a trail of my own blood, still hot from my body, in its wake. “Why not be reasonable today? All I’m asking is that you use the power I gave you. It’s not that hard. I’ve seen you do it before.”

  Turning my face away from him, I pulled my chains taunt to help ease the painful transition of my muscles mending themselves, the fibers stretching to reconnect. The process had been slower lately, causing so much more pain than before.

  I’d lasted so long already, years by my count. I wouldn’t give in now. Or ever. If I did, the next step would be him forcing me to kill angels with the blast of energy I’d shot out of my gray wings only once before. I licked my lips, wet with blood. I had been biting them to keep from screaming.

  I drew my gaze up to meet his in the dim light. “Is that all you got?”

  Lucien’s lips tightened. “I will bleed every last drop of my essence out of you. We’ll see how bold you are with only human resistances.”

  Lucien replaced the knife on the rack hanging along the blood-spattered wall, which was lined with every hand-held weapon known to man, all of which had found their way under my skin at one time or another since I’d come to Hell.

  “That really is too bad, pet. I didn’t want to have to do this, really I didn’t … ”

  I choked back the wave of terror that rose up my throat. He only said things like that when he had something truly horrifying up his sleeve. Last time, he introduced a bed of nails and several sets of fifty-pound weights.

  He pirouetted to the door—despite the cave-like ambiance of the room, Hell was mostly large, open spaces with high ceilings and the occasional dark corners designated for torturing—and turned the knob. I gripped tighter to the chains wrapped around my wrists and tried to school my face into a blank mask. A tall, wide-shouldered man lurched inside. The door closed behind him, and the telltale click of the lock sliding into place on the other side of the door weighed heavy on my shoulders.

  The newcomer took one more step into the room. The flickering sconces along the walls didn’t throw out enough of their orange light for me to distinguish anything but the whites of his eyes and bared teeth. He was grinning. “It’s good to see you again, Rayna.”

  My poorly gathered tough-detainee demeanor slid off me like the last drops of blood from my healed arm. That voice. Deep, dark, shadowed. It couldn’t be.

  Lucien dragged his heavy chair into the center of the room. With its high back and luxurious red velvet cushion, it really was more of a throne. He didn’t take his seat like royalty though; he dropped into it from the side, kicking his legs over one arm. “She’s all yours,” he said. All he needed now was popcorn.

  Heavy steps plodded into the room, thunks followed by the eerie rattle of a chain. I kept my eyes low, a risky move since I’d learned down here that it showed weakness. But better weakness than the fear.

  “You aren’t glad to see me?”

  More footsteps. Growing louder. Until only stained brown boots stood in my eye line. The leather he wore creaked as he leaned in close. Closer. Too close. I shut my eyes.

  “Shocking,” he
whispered in my ear, his breath blowing my hair back. The last time that voice had whispered in my ear we were on top of the Golden Gate Bridge.

  He chuckled, and the chain dragging beside him clattered. In one swing his weapon crushed my shoulder. My bones shattered. The spikes on the ball and chain shredded my skin and bore into the muscle. White-hot pain exploded across my body. My breath wheezed out. He wrenched the cursed weapon from me, and then creaked and rattled away. The chain clanked against metal, probably him throwing it over the weapon rack.

  I swore the shaky breath I took next would be my last sign of weakness. At least until this session was over.

  “I don’t know why I’m surprised,” I said, opening my eyes. “Of course you’d still be down here. Where else would a Fallen failure with no wings go?”

  The wingless Fallen’s back was to me. Lucien, in his throne, quirked a brow and swiveled his head around toward our visitor. The unmistakable sound of the broadsword leaving the rack rang out. My will sank. The Fallen came at me. With his hand on my uninjured shoulder for leverage, I looked into Azriel’s eyes as he ran the sword through my already crumpled shoulder.

  The surging pain exploded out of me in the form of more pointless screams. He hiked the blade higher, using his weight to his advantage.

  If Azriel was anything like Lucien—and I would bet my life on the answer to that being a resounding yes—then I was in for a long session.

  I pinched my eyes closed and started to drift away the way Kade had taught me so many nights ago. Sometimes not having a memory to focus on before taking a mental vacation could be problematic, but not for me. Not when the old memory bubbling up took me to a time when I was curled up in bed with Kade.

  His hand ghosted over my midsection. My blood boiled beneath his touch. His fingers brushed aside my gray cotton shirt—Hell’s uniform for prisoners in the ninth circle—exposing the skin of my stomach. He squeezed.