Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
“Hell yes.” Bara smiled his disturbingly cold smile.
Gabriel took the quill from his pocket and handed it to Bara. Bara kept smirking as he dipped the tip into his own blood and signed his name on the dotted line.
One by one, spurred on by Bara, the Fallen stepped forward to sign their names. Michael was last. Gabriel feared his reaction most. He didn’t know what he would do if Michael chose to leave. Michael’s cheeks were flushed as his eyes drank in the sight of the blood spattered all over the desk and contracts. His breath was coming in short, sharp pants. Then he stepped forward, the vial of Luke’s blood hanging around his chest, right over his heart. The attack on Luke, Gabriel realized then, was the genesis of the Fallen. The sin that set them on this dark and painful path.
Michael dropped to his knees before Gabriel and held out his hand. Gabriel didn’t take his eyes off his brother as he sliced the blade down his palm. Gabriel almost fumbled the knife when he saw Michael’s upper lip curl into a whisper of a smile at the sight of his spilling blood. But Gabriel found his voice to ask, “Michael, do you pledge yourself to the Fallen, abiding by our commandments?”
“Yes,” Michael said, taking the quill and signing his name in blood. As he dropped the quill, he ran his tongue along his wound. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep, gratified breath. Michael got to his feet, and Gabriel faced his brothers, now sworn in blood to their creed. “I know this doesn’t need to be said, but the staff here are off-limits. You all have self-control and have shown over and over again that you can hold back your urges when necessary. You have read the rules of the Fallen. The people in this house are our family; anyone who enters is not to be harmed.” When his brothers silently nodded their heads, Gabriel calmed and said, “Patrick will show you to your bedrooms. The house is yours as much as it is mine. Dinner is at seven. It’s a requirement that you be there every night.” Miller had explained that, although it seemed arbitrary on paper, the evening meal was important to strengthen bonds, but mostly to help his brothers hold onto their humanity—no matter how little of it remained.
Gabriel led the Fallen back up to the first floor. The staff were there to greet them. The greetings from most of Gabriel’s brothers were cold, but he saw no hunger in their eyes. Gabriel found that he could finally breathe. As his brothers were led to bedrooms, filled with closets of clothes and anything else they could need, Miller came to stand beside him. “They pledged?”
“Yes,” Gabriel said, fighting a smile. “Every last one of them.”
“They trust you,” Miller remarked.
Gabriel nodded, his heart expanding at that fact. Closing his eyes, Gabriel prayed to God that he had the strength to be the leader his brothers needed. And that when his judgment came, God would not smite him for the crimes he would commit protecting killers. He had created rules for his brothers, but he had also created rules for himself. Like the priest he was always destined to be, he would pledge himself to God and his brothers. He’d live a chaste life in exchange for the sins that he would aid and abet. For every kill made by a brother’s hand, he would take from his own flesh in sacrifice.
Blood for blood.
Flesh for flesh.
When Gabriel opened his eyes, he walked into his grandfather’s study, the study that was now his. Sitting behind the desk, he took a deep breath and gestured for Miller to sit. “Do we have the trainers ready?” He’d already begun planning the training sessions for the Fallen. Miller opened the black book that was his grandfather’s very own version of a bible.
“Ready,” Miller replied. And so they began making schedules for each of the Fallen. How to kill quickly and efficiently, how to remain undetected when walking around the city in broad daylight. Their work led them deep into the night, a bottle of whiskey on hand to see them through the hardest parts of the job—how to secure the victims, and how to dispose of the bodies.
Gabriel felt part of him die as he discussed such topics with faked neutrality. But he did it, with a little help from the whiskey by his side.
When Miller left Gabriel alone, Gabriel turned and stared up at the painting on Jack’s wall. At Jesus, at the archangels shielding him from evil. The swords in their hands and the wings spread wide. Gabriel ran his hand down his chest, over the scarred upturned cross. He reached for the black book on the desk, found the contact he was looking for, and made a call. The Brethren had given them the brand in mockery. Gabriel would change that into something new—a brand of strength. One of unity and faith.