Angel in Chains (The Fallen #3)
Author: Cynthia Eden

CHAPTER ONE

Living in hell sucked.

Azrael, once the most powerful Angel of Death to grace the golden floors of heaven, hunched his shoulders against the sharp wind that blew off the Mississippi River and funneled into the twisting streets of New Orleans.

He’d fallen six months ago—fallen and burned—and he still hadn’t gotten used to the stench that could fill the alleyways. Especially during Mardi Gras.

Why did humans worry so about dying and facing the devil in hell? This mortal realm was hell to him. With the voices, always crying out, the bodies, always too much, the sins—

Everywhere. No matter how hard he tried, there was no escape from the mortal sins that surrounded him.

More than enough sin to tempt an angel whose wings had burned away when he fell.

“Help me!”

The scream broke through the night, close, and Az’s head whipped to the left. Over the odor of rotten garbage, stale cigarettes and old booze, he caught the scent of . . . fear.

And animal. Not just one beast, either.

“Stay away from me!” The voice again, a woman’s, and now he could hear the fear mixing with rage in her screamed words.

Even as hard, biting laughter floated to his ears, Az found himself heading toward the mouth of another alley. Heading toward the sound of her screams.

As he rounded the tight corner, Az saw the men first. Three of them. Big, hulking guys who’d closed in on their prey. Az couldn’t even see the woman, but he knew she had to be in the middle of the half-circle of men. A brick wall waited behind them, trapping her. There was no place for her to flee.

Az entered the alley and waited.

The cold whisper of Death hadn’t come to this place. Not yet. If it had, Az would have felt the presence of another Death Angel. He always could sense his own kind, even if he wasn’t ruling the cold bastards anymore.

But Death wasn’t there. So the woman wasn’t about to die, at least not yet.

Just then, the woman shoved through her attackers, and he saw her face. Wide, desperate green eyes, pale skin, dark red lips and—

“Help me!” She yelled the words at him.

Az didn’t move. For thousands of years, his job had been to watch those who were dying. To wait until the last moment—and only then had he been allowed to touch. As a Death Angel, his touch killed. It took the soul straight from the body, and he carried that precious burden to the realm that waited beyond this world.

His job . . .

No longer.

He’d watched innocents die. Seen them slaughtered in times of war and peace. Seen murderers walk the earth, killing over and over, and he—

“Asshole, help me!” She snarled at Az, and he blinked. “Don’t just stand there staring,” the woman snapped. “Help—”

A guy with black hair and a leather jacket grabbed her around the stomach and hauled her back against him. “He knows better than to go gettin’ involved, Jade.” A heavy drawl coated his words. “Knows that if he tries playin’ white knight . . .” The guy looked up with a crooked grin that flashed too-sharp teeth, “he’ll get himself killed.”

That was when Az noticed the claws that had risen to wrap around the woman’s throat. Not normal human fingernails. Instead, two-inch long, razor sharp claws sprang from the man’s hand.

So not just regular mortal jerks. “Shifters,” Az muttered as he rolled his shoulders. Interesting. Perhaps the night had just picked up for him.

All three guys were sporting claws and toothy grins. But the woman—no, no sign of claws or fangs from her, and she smelled . . .

Like strawberries.

He frowned. He’d recently developed a taste for the sweet fruit, and even ten feet away, he could catch the female’s heady fragrance.

His body tensed.

“Back away!” Another man snarled. This one had a dark, tribal tattoo that snaked up his arm and the side of his neck. “Back away or start bleeding.”

Az didn’t back away. He kept his hands at his sides. Finally, a challenge. And here he’d been bored for days. “Let the woman go.” His voice rang out, calm but strong.

The tattooed shifter laughed, then he charged right at Az. Az held onto his control—careful, careful—and when the shifter swiped out with his claws, Az tossed a ball of fire right at the fool.

The jerk howled in pain and dropped to the ground, rolling as he tried to put out the flames.

Fried shifter.

The woman stared at Az with eyes gone even wider as her lips parted in stunned surprise. He almost smiled. Poor little human. The humans never realized just how dangerous their mortal world was.

They truly were lambs out walking blindly with wolves. Or shifters.

“Duncan, f**k!” The shifter still holding the woman stared in shock at his burning friend and then glared at Az. “You just asked for death.”

Az didn’t stop his smile from spreading this time. “No, you did.”

The shifter threw the woman against the nearby wall, and Az heard the sickening thud as her head hit the bricks. Then the leader and his backup dog both charged at Az. Az thought about playing with more fire, but he opted to get his hands dirty this time. He punched out, striking so fast he knew the shifters wouldn’t even be able to see the movements of his hands and body, and in seconds, they were on the ground, bleeding and broken.

He dusted off his hands. Hmmm . . . He hadn’t even gotten blood on his knuckles. Perhaps he was getting better at this business of physical fighting.

When he was sure they weren’t about to rise, he stepped over their prone bodies and stalked toward the woman.

He hadn’t just watched this time. The knowledge sank into him as he approached her. An innocent hadn’t died while he looked on. Az reached for her. A faint line of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Gently, because he could show gentleness, he wiped the blood away and gazed down at her.

Humans were too weak. They could be broken and killed far too easily. He knew. He’d killed thousands of them in his time.

He lifted her into his arms and her head rolled back against his shoulder. The scent of strawberries was stronger, and a strange ache burned in his chest even as a rough tightness filled his body.

Her lashes cast dark shadows on her cheeks, and the flickering glow of a streetlight fell through the alley and hit the black curtain of her hair.

Holding her carefully, he turned toward the alley’s entrance. Police sirens screamed in the distance, and, though it was already nearing dawn, he could still hear the drunken laughter that floated on the breeze.