Chapter 1 #2
With the shackles off my ankles, my legs feel lighter than they have in a long time, and I sense a faint tingle of power deep inside me.
Still, the heavy iron keeps my hands restrained, taming me.
I follow the guard down the dimly lit hallway, passing many cells along the way.
Murmured curses reach my ears, and I know every prisoner inside is talking shit about me as I pass.
I didn’t have the best reputation in this place—punching everyone who speaks to you will do the trick.
I peek into every other cell we pass, and what I find in each one makes my skin crawl.
“Careful of the Grim,” a woman shouts through the bars. “He’s coming for us all. Especially you, you skank.”
“Back at you, Marge,” I spit back. “Enjoy rotting in here.”
“Bitch.” She lunges at the bars that hold her, punching the metal with force. “Bitch!”
What a sweetheart.
Women are confined behind metal bars, and some manage to conceal their true selves because the shackles weaken our powers.
It’s easy to hide from humans, who see only the surface and rarely look deeper.
In fact, we’ve lived alongside them for centuries without major issues.
Whether humans realize it or not, the iron shackles freeze our abilities—like ice spreading over a lake.
With them, we’re prisoners within ourselves—unable to remain superior to humans, which can drive us insane.
I continue down the hallway behind the guard, each step bringing me closer to the limited freedom I’ll have once I’m back at the Lyre Order—the prison of my own making.
The Order of Angel Assassins has existed long before my time, and I did everything I could to avoid being recruited into its ranks.
Our city has two main groups of Angels: the Lyre Order of deadly assassins, and the Ren Order—our city's peacemakers. Each order consists of half-human, half-angels who are doomed to live among mortals due to the “half-breed” status bestowed on them by full angels. We are forced to do the higher angels’ dirty work until the Grim Reaper comes to take us across the black lake.
Much like the half-breed angels, there are opposing hybrids.
Demons roam the mortal lands and are organized into two sections within the city—the Jade and Kaa Orders.
We manage to coexist in a fragile harmony, assuming we keep out of each other’s way.
I’ve been waiting for the bomb to drop between the two for many years.
I was desperate when I finally decided to join Lowell Lyre and his Order, committing myself body, blood, and soul.
My mortal father, James, had just died, and after seeing my full angel mother refuse to help, speak, or associate with me, I had no problem taking the blood oath.
I had made poor choices in my life, and I knew becoming part of the Ren would be worse for me than the fate of joining the Lyre.
Being a peacemaker is the opposite of me in every way imaginable. I joined the opposing Order and quickly made a name for myself—a name that many fear—one they call me in the outside world.
“Hey,” the guard spits, pulling me back into reality.
I lift my gaze to meet his and narrow my eyes. “What?”
“I said move.” He flashes a look of annoyance. “Can’t you fucking hear?”
The guard shoves me forward through the final threshold, and I stumble ahead, thankful I am no longer wearing ankle shackles.
A large desk sits in the middle of the room, and a weary human awaits us.
The room is brightly lit with fluorescent lights, and I squint my eyes against the stinging contrast to what I’ve become accustomed to over the past year.
“Morning, Stan,” the guard accompanying me says to the white-haired man behind the desk.
“Morning, Riggs,” the man responds.
Riggs.
Oh, shit.
I know that name well, and I knew this man’s father, Sam.
I glance up at the towering guard and study the features I’ve seen in photos: perfectly styled sandy blonde hair and a sharp jawline—exactly what my folders showed me that night.
My gaze travels, and I notice his frame.
He’s tall—maybe six foot, three inches tall—and toned to perfection.
This is Riggs Haber, the police chief of Halcyon City.
He is mortal, and some argue he is as dangerous as the angels and demons that walk among them.
He’s younger than I remember—no older than thirty-five—and I raise my brows.
Riggs runs this city with ease and takes pride in ensuring the rules are followed, but everyone has a price, and somehow Lowell Lyre has found his.
If Riggs only knew what he was truly up against, I don’t think he would be so cocky.
However, if Riggs is anything like his father, maybe I’m wrong.
“Who do you have for me this morning?” Stan asks as Riggs lowers his hand from my bicep, leaning over the desk to grab a piece of fruit from the tray.
My mouth waters.
“Someone I’m upset to see go,” Riggs scoffs. “I was really hoping this one would sit in jail for the rest of her life.”
Stan chuckles, and my patience wears thin as I listen to these two men speak as if I’m not standing right next to them. I clear my throat, and Riggs cuts his dark eyes in my direction.
“Mara Castten,” Riggs speaks again. “Lowell Lyre called this morning, and, well… she is being released for good behavior.”
Stan laughs again, saying, “I doubt that.”
Riggs shrugs. “Can you collect the things she arrived with? Her ride is here.”
The old guard stands from the desk and disappears through a door in the back of the room. Riggs turns his gaze to mine, and I barely manage to hide my aggravation.
“You know I’m a person, right? You can treat me with at least an ounce of decency,” I chime in.
“I know exactly what you are, Mara, and you will never have nor earn my respect,” he responds. “But I owe a favor to Lowell, and for some reason, he’s using it to pull your sorry ass out of here.”
I huff a laugh. “Do you always do everything you’re told? I didn’t take you for that kind of guy. Or should I say, bitch?”
Riggs leans down, inches from my face. “Watch it, you damned hybrid. Remember, you don’t belong in my world or theirs. You. Are. Nothing.”
The words cut, but I don’t show an ounce of weakness. He’s right, though, and I’ve felt that way my entire life. I shift, moving even closer to his face.
“You know that isn’t true. Take these handcuffs off, Riggs.” I narrow my eyes. “I dare you. We can finish what I tried to start.”
He grins, and the far door opens as Stan joins us once again in the spacious room. Riggs begins to say something as Stan approaches, but he pauses. Hatred dances in his eyes like wildfire. I knew he hated our kind, but this is a deeper hatred—a deadly one.
“I didn’t find much,” Stan says, sitting back down behind his messy desk. “A shirt, pants, and a necklace. You travel light, my dear.”
I extend my hand, but the handcuffs hold me back.
I cut my eyes to Riggs, and he responds with a sigh.
Keys jingle as he unhooks the bunch from his waist, searching among what seems like hundreds for the correct one.
Before long, he finds the right key and inserts it into the lock that keeps me bound.
With the click of the pawl, the handcuffs drop from my hands.
The iron leaving my body allows a woosh of air to fill my lungs that I haven’t felt in nearly a year.
My senses heighten—my eyes are clearer, and my hearing improves instantly.
My body feels stronger, and the urge to morph into my true form bangs against my mind like an animal in a cage.
Riggs makes a disgusted face, clearly understanding what is happening to me.
He has worked alongside Lowell and the leader of the Ren Order for years in ways I cannot imagine.
He is knowledgeable about angels and demons, but until he experiences what it’s like to be one, he will always remain in the dark.
I grab my wrists and squeeze each one, reveling in the weight of the handcuffs lifting from my skin.
I lower them, knowing my magic is slowly healing every minor scratch, cut, or imperfection on my body.
I don’t break my gaze from Riggs’ face, and I can’t help but twist my lips into a grin, feeling myself become stronger.
“Sign here, Miss Castten.” Stan pushes a piece of paper forward. “And you are permitted to leave.”
I stare at the papers, indifferent to the text, and sign my name with the red ink pen Stan offered. The ink bleeds into the paper, mirroring blood spilling, and I forcibly push the page back to him once finished.
“You are a free woman, Mara,” Stan says.
Riggs huffs. “Hardly.” He gestures toward a door on the right side of the room. “You can change there, then get the hell away from my jail before I change my mind.”
I don’t hesitate to grab the bag of items and rush into the adjoining room.
Another fluorescent light momentarily blinds me as I click on the switch, and I quickly lock the door.
I’m alone once more, and this time I’m not in complete darkness—though I wouldn’t mind the cover.
A mirror hangs above a small sink, and for the first time in almost a year, I gaze upon my reflection.
My long, white-blonde hair is matted in spots, and my blue eyes appear worn, exhausted, and dull. My cheekbones are gaunt, and my once sun-kissed skin has lost all color. The prison seems to have drained my vibrancy—as if my body is deteriorating from the solitude and days of darkness.
I run my fingers through my hair, tidying up what I can, and scrub my dirty hands.
Before my world fell apart, I took pride in how I looked.
I always kept my nails manicured and indulged in self-care.
Now, I look as if I’ve been in a darker place than the demons below.
I take off the gross uniform and toss it aside with a loud thud.
I pull my old shirt over my head, quickly followed by my pants, then pause. My necklace sits in the pocket.
The last thing my dad ever gave me is the delicate pendant I hold in my hand, admiring its stunning craftsmanship.
It’s a round, single-stone black diamond pendant on a gold chain.
I glance in the mirror again to help me position the jewelry around my neck.
It hangs lower than my collarbones, resting gently between my breasts.
I stare at the stone, a rush of energy flowing through me as the jewel touches my skin—as if it's happy to be back around my neck. I’ve never been able to explain it, but I feel my father with me when I wear it.
I never felt like he truly left when he died.
I waste no more time, swinging open the door and stepping into the spacious front office of the prison. Only a few steps separate me from the outdoors—somewhere I haven’t been in too long. I ignore Stan’s final goodbye—his politeness feels foreign—and push against the glass door.
The blinding sunlight instantly warms my pale skin, and the fresh air awakens something within me I believed was long dead.
I cross the parking lot filled with various vehicles, searching for one in particular.
Even after all this time, I would recognize this car anywhere.
A black 1970-something Chevelle waits for me in the last spot.
I move my hand over my brow to shield my eyes, and that’s when I see him.
A tall man, dressed in all black with dark shades that cover his eyes, scans the parking lot, as if every second he spends here makes him increasingly uncomfortable. Yet no mortal would ever pick up on that.
Shaw Durante smirks, leaning against the hood of his car with his arms crossed. His bright smile is nearly as blinding as the sun as I step toward him.
It’s time to go home.
Back to the Lyre Order, where I know everything will change.
Including me.