Angel's Fire, Demon's Blood

Angel's Fire, Demon's Blood

Tamela Quijas

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Lucien D' Angel is a celebrated paranormal detective with a lucrative television show and numerous best selling books pertaining to the world that may exist beyond the human experience. He's managed to keep the proverbial low profile over the decades and has purposely stayed out of the public eye, due to a secret that he harbors. His life was perfect. Low keyed, private (except for the television shows) and orderly.

That was, until Evangeline Keegan enters his life and disrupts the perfect facade that he had erected over the centuries.

 
PUBLISHED BY: Wild Horse Press
ISBN: 1441472770
PUBLICATION DATE: 2009
WORD COUNT: 93749
SEXUAL CONTENT RATING: 2 2
EBOOK READER RATING:
CATEGORIES: Romantic Fiction, Contemporary, Paranormal, Science Fiction
KEYWORDS: Tamela Quijas, curses, immortals, paranormal investigator, investigative reporter
 

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EXCERPT
COPYRIGHT Tamela Quijas/2009

Autumn

Twenty Years Ago

...Within the face of every daemon, there may lurk an angel, for every daemon seeks salvation. Bear with me, dear reader, for I shall regale you with a tale of such an unfortunate...

There is a deep and profoundly inherent fear instilled in every man during the early stages of creation. This fear, or self preservation, is an integral part of every living being. It is the source which makes each individual unique.

Whenever Lucien opted to traverse the busy thoroughfares of any country, the masses of humanity had the foreknowledge to avoid him. These self same individuals would oftentimes tremble in unaccountable fearfulness at his appearance. The sensation would vary by certain degrees but, upon careful consideration, the results were the same.

Encroaching into the presence of the lone man was equivalent to traversing a barren tundra in the furthest most regions of the world. The freezing climate lacked comparison to the sudden and incomprehensible chill that would assail an individual. In contemplation, there wasn't a word available in the human language which could define the essence seeping from his very core.

The frozen northern clime had the Aurora Borealis, a vibrant band of lights which would shoot eerily across the savage purple darkness of the winter skies. To the modern observer, the cause of the lights were easily and intelligently explained. In the heart of the ancient past, there were fables of magical moments, all pinpointed to the arrival of the lights. Ancient fables woven by old women and told to their grandchildren.

There were age old tales which were thoroughly threaded and knotted into the very existence of Lucien D'Angel, as well.

The presence of the Northern Lights were rumored to contain an unearthly power. There was some sort of unspoken sensation, as well, beaming from the form of the lone man. This consciousness appeared to wordlessly inform the living to avoid physical contact with his presence, effectively pushing everyone away. The actual extent of the unearthly perception seemed more of an unexplainable force.

There was, as well, not any denying to the soundless and unfathomable flow of energy radiating from Lucien’s tall body. The vibrant source flowing from him could have been likened to an underlying agitation that would seem to egress before magnifying and then spilling from his lean length. This impression contained a forcefulness which vibrated in great and unseen waves, more akin to an electrical surge of static. The burst would increase tenfold before spiraling upward and outward, reverberating into the silence of the still air.

There were other things, unspoken and dark, about Lucien D'Angel. There was an awareness that governed the sense of something far more fearful. There was what could only be described as an unaccountable prickling of dread that would besiege many a human psyche while in his presence. Numerous individuals would scurry away from him in marked anxiety, their easily read demeanor similar to a startled deer. Momentarily blinded, each would grasp their material possession tighter to their chest. Their heartbeats would thunder clamorously within their fragile breasts. Perhaps, in the insanity presently clutching at this world, they assumed it was material belongings he sought.

They were simple fools.

It was best humanity avoided him as if he were evil personified, Lucien reasoned. He couldn't deny the suspected charges, nor could he hide from what he truly was, a creation of evil. Whether it was the vileness lurking within his genetic pool, the chill which spilled from his form or the sense of impending death, he knew he was alone in a world bursting at the proverbial seams. Eternally doomed to suffer in solitude.

It wasn't a requirement for him to move aside to allow free passage. Unseen hands appeared to repel the human forms from his presence. It was unnecessary for Lucien to warn the crowds with even a burning glare. There was an untouched space of nearly two feet in circumference about him. It was the avoidance of the simplest of human contact which tore more deeply at him. Humanity rushed past him, year after year, century after century. He was viewed as nothing more than a diseased appendage.

Lucien had long forgotten the simple feel of a human touch and the contact of warm skin against his flesh. It wasn't precisely as he preferred his life to remain. He was forced to endure life due to a series of unfortunate circumstances not of his own making. He was eternally damned to a life of solitude and regret.

Just as living souls diligently avoided him, Lucien fervently abstained from human contact. He had forced himself to restrain the insatiable desire to gain knowledge of the innermost workings of the human mind. The curse filling his soul and the horror of the daemons he had chosen to avoid prevented him. It was far better for him not to know the frailties filling the human heart and mind. He had merely chosen to reside among the masses for his own safety. He had concealed himself in the safety of the shadows evident in the cities of the new world, realms which had become an over-populated excuse for life and survival.

He wished the matter of his own existence and place of refuge would've been more different. Lucien would've chosen elsewhere to reside, far away from the temptation of what he could never enjoy. Although, in the sprawling expanses of this magnificent mass of concrete and shimmering glass, he had a semblance of security. He was as anonymous, the essence of his own existence failing to gain too much notice to anyone.

Here, he was concealed from Julian's ever vigilant eye.

Centuries of dedicated self preservation had taught him to avoid his brother with a fanatic diligence. As was his norm, Lucien often remained sequestered behind the silent walls of his apartment and ignored the brightness of the daylight hours. He preferred the city streets during the lateness of the evening. At that time, his defining features were not as apparent to any whom might be purposely seeking him. There was an unspoken sanctity in the depths of the shadows that lingered during the night, an obscurity peculiarly consolatory to his tortured soul.

Today had been different.

 
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