Free Crimson Reign by J.T. Cheyanne, V.L. Moon Page B

filled the sky. With his decent, the crystal clear tears flowed unabashed from the ethereal eyes of the Creator. His celestial offspring and warrior elite left the right hand side of the Lord of Creation to walk among mortals, or so it was said. It wasn’t until many years later that Arial learned the true reasoning behind Laziel’s descent to earth.
    Although well aware of the other’s presence, Arial avoided the majestic Seraphim. Memories of the celestial’s past exploits combined with knowledge of the immense power held within terrified Arial. The Seraphim’s supremacy was extreme; due care and caution were paid to the likes of the Seraphim angel. Rumor became rife with intrigue. Stories unfurled through the bowels of Hell and the preternatural community on Earth. Laziel brought with him a new vampire, one of savagery and cunning grace, who was destined to rise to power. Rumor became fact when the usurper tore out the throat of the previous King to take a throne he apparently saw as rightfully his.
    None of it should have peaked Arial's radar. To him, vampires were a blood thirsty race, and not just because they craved the high-quality substance that beat in the veins of the humans they fed upon. His distaste spawned from their thirst for power and wealth and their need to dominate that ran through the race like a river of greed. Compelled to rule, they infiltrated high ranking positions all over the world. Arrogant beyond measure, they thought themselves above and beyond all other races or the law. Hell, if truth be known, they were the law. For Arial, his only interest in the race came into fruition the night he'd been called before the then acting Pope.
    Upon receiving orders from his Holiness, Arial took to the streets. Starved and in need of sustenance, he'd trailed the foul stench of his meal for nearly three miles before the scourge of a demon realized it was being hunted. By that time, Arial was ravenous with hunger and leapt at the demon before it descended into Hell through one of the many portholes that adjoined each realm. It’s delicious scream of fear and pain sweetened the ripe bounty of Arial's loathsome curse, but never rid the Fallen of his disgust on having to feed.
    Coated in the foul stench of sulfur, Arial exited the alley where his evening meal lay in a crumpled heap of fine white ash. Ridding himself of the black oily residue lining his mouth, Arial came to a stop at the sound of a fight. Homing in on the grunts of anger and the hard smack of flesh, he'd not taken two more steps when the line of Arial's spine chilled from the overwhelming sensation of excitement and fear.
    On turning left from the alley mouth, Arial took the next turn east where the looming darkness of shadows danced in the throes of what appeared to be quite a battle. Surrounded by Nephilim, a male of considerable size and form stepped from the veil of night’s embrace. Baring fangs that glistened with the blood of its kill, and seething with scorn, the mountainous male tore through flesh and crunched through bone as he ravaged the feral harbingers of death to his race.
    His eyes glowed crimson red as he spat out the repugnant taste of the Nephilim’s flesh. Every twist and lunge, every stab and thrust was directed with all the skill and grace born from the training of an archaic race. Yet, an angel he was not. Confused by the familiar memory of the warring male’s age old dance of hand to hand combat, Arial watched, lost to his own surroundings and beguiled by the one man war the vampire raged. The command and mastery of his movements flowed like the edge of a sword; graceful yet deadly precise. The male bore a semblance in skill to one Arial knew. The only one of its kind, neither woman nor man but celestial of the highest rank and most noble of command.
    Arial had fought side by side and trained in his ways, until the day his father conveyed upon him a great gift and delivered him unto Hell where he was sanctioned with