The Fallen One (Sons of the Dark Mother, Book One), страница 1
THE FALLEN ONE
Sons of the Dark Mother
Copyrighted © August 02, 2012 by Lenore Wolfe
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals are entirely coincidental.
Triquetra Press Publications
First Edition August 02, 2012
Copyrighted © 2012 by Lenore Wolfe
All rights reserved.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BY LENORE WOLFE
To Elisa and Isabelle
Best-selling author, Lenore Wolfe’s best seller, Dark Warrior: To Tame a Wild Hawk
“It was emotional, beautiful, and even suspenseful. A fabulous read!”
The crisp air bit their noses. The gravel crunched beneath their feet, mixed with clean, white snow that at any other time would have had them playing and laughing with glee, leaving a trail of footprints in their wake. Today, an ordinary day, like any other day—a day that should have been light and happy, like any bright, sunny dawn, on any clear, cold morning.
But these children weren’t laughing. Even to a child, something didn’t feel right.
Their older brother always walked them to school and took himself off to class. The three girls glanced at him now, almost in unison, beneath the dark, curly lashes of their matching yellow-green-gold eyes.
The charge in the air felt almost palpable for children as sensitive as these. Something in the air didn’t feel right. Something didn’t bode well—for any of them.
Their brother’s name was Justice. And perhaps it was fortuitous that his parents named him so, for nothing would prove this better than at this place, in this particular alley, at this particular hour. On this day, Justice would live up to his name. And in the years to come, he struggled with the responsibility that went with is choices, as well as with the monster who lived inside of him. But this couldn’t be helped—any more than what was about to happen.
At fourteen-years-old, Justice stood well over six feet, a stout, muscular youth, his dark skin made even darker by the sun. To his three little sisters—he was their knight in shining armor. They knew he’d do anything for them. His loving heart, much too big—too big for the burden of what would happen. He carried too much responsibility, for a boy his age. Yet he shouldered this responsibility with his enter being, for he didn’t see their beautiful faces with anything but love. He was all his sisters had now.
He was a mellow boy, especially with his sisters, but not with anyone who might represent a threat to them—like the gang members who threatened his sisters, on more than one occasion, to get to him.
Then—Justice was anything but kind.
The gang had a thing for him because of this. Still, as much as they tried, they never quite managed to settle the score. Justice didn’t make an easy enemy. Still, with each beating he delivered, they became more determined.
For that reason, he had an idea they’d be waiting for him, now. It wasn’t the first time. Every single day, he waited for their next attack. Somehow, he also knew that their next try—would be their last.
He’d annihilated their asses before, only to have them multiply, and still he’d beat them back. Anyone else would have left him alone after that. Justice knew their vendetta against him had only become more fueled with each successful lesson he’d been forced to teach—that each of these lessons caused them to hunger for his blood, only more.
True to form, one of the gang members stepped out in front of Justice, and his three sisters, before they reached the end of the alley, lightly tapping a good-sized, tire-thumper bat against his leg.
Justice tensed. Pure, raw adrenaline filled his veins, racing like fire on gasoline, fueling his anticipation. His fists balled in anticipation, he growled to his sisters to run, the way he did every time these gang members came for him, not taking his gaze off them, as they stepped into the alley, one by one.
Wide-eyed, his sisters didn’t hesitate—shaking—their small feet taking to flight, like the wind, as they had every other time, before. And like every other time, it didn’t occur to them that their brother wouldn’t come out of this okay. After all, he was their hero. Nevertheless, you as they were, they couldn’t know what each of these thrashings did to him. Nor could they know what this day would cost him, or how he would suffer for what was about to happen….