Free Phoenix Contract: Part One (Fallen Angel Watchers Book 1) by Melissa Thomas

Chapter One

     
    He’d always had the worst of luck, and the day he died was no different.
    Thrash stared into the chasm of space between the building roof and city streets, contemplating the eighty-story drop. It was a long way down. The city’s lights glimmered against darkness, millions of fluorescent stars. Surrender did not come easily to him, and it tasted bitter in his mouth. He’d spent his life training to fight, but what could he do against an enemy that could shape shift at will?
    Six-foot-six and muscular in the manner of body builders, Thorton David Aston III or Thrash to his friends, was an albino. He was born without skin or hair pigment, his skin perfectly pale, his hair white. He rivaled the city lightscape for its clean brightness. He disliked the attention his condition attracted, so he’d cropped his hair short and dyed it metallic blue.
    Thrash’s athletic body thrummed with tension. Perspiration beaded on his pale forehead and made his palms clammy.
    The Soul Eater was coming for him.
    He ejected the empty, then shoved a new magazine into his Beretta and loaded a round into the chamber. The sleek semi-automatic firearm with a matte black finish had the capacity of fifteen. He’d unloaded the contents of the last clip into the demon chasing him, but the bullets hadn’t even slowed the creature down.
    “If you had wings, you could fly away,” rasped a gravelly voice.
    The demon’s malicious chuckle sent a bolt of pure fear through Thrash. He pivoted to face the ancient evil that had stalked him to the rooftop.
    “If I had wings, I wouldn’t have taken the elevator.” Thrash’s features twisted into a grimace.
    The demon’s taunt about lacking wings was insidious, a shot at Thrash’s divine heritage. Millennia ago, fallen angels had mated with human women, producing the Nephilim. Thrash, more than most, knew what it meant to be born damned.
    “You could just have made this easy on yourself and given me the sword when I asked.” The Soul Eater spoke from a grotesque orifice which protruded from its gelatinous surface. The demon’s pitch-black body flowed toward Thrash as one continuous mass, a moving carpet of hell-born ichor.
    “I’d rather die than betray my oath.” Thrash remained steadfast in his loyalty to his duty. Honor may have cost him his life, but it was a risk he’d accepted when he became an Alastor.
    “Oh, that’s pretty much a given at this point.” The demon’s advance momentarily ceased as it savored its victory, indulging in gloating at the expense of expediency. “Poor, poor Nephilim, half human, half angel. Heaven won’t have you, and hell is your only certainty. Yet, you’re so anguished over the fate of your damned immortal soul.”
    “Ramiel, I pray to you, protect me,” Thrash gasped beneath his breath.
    The Soul Eater oozed closer, and Thrash made his impulsive decision. He didn’t have time to shove the Beretta into his mouth and fire a shot before the demon reached him.
    “Ramiel can’t save you now. Even God can’t save you!” The Soul Eater’s black maw gaped wide. “You’ll spend the rest of eternity dissolving inside my belly, boy. Is that really so different from the hell that awaits you if you step off that ledge?”
    “Better to burn in hell!” Thrash shouted.
    He turned and sprinted for the edge of the building, gathering his athletic body for a powerful leap which propelled him into open space. The demon lunged for him, but the writhing black finger-tendrils passed through empty air.
    Thrash plunged into the free fall, spreading his arms and legs wide, adopting the pose of a skydiver. Driven by the down rush, his trench coat whipped around his form, generating a steady beat in his eardrums. His rush into freedom empowered him with a consuming sense of elation. Having escaped the demon’s greedy grasp, vast relief filled his soul, and he had no worry for the certain death awaiting him at the end of his journey. He’d always known