Half-Light, Angel Wings

By Misty MacAllister

Cord Ferguson Lynch was once mortal. Then he was murdered. Now he's damned. Brought back for vengeance, Cord hunts the Fallen - angels and daemons that prey on the living world.

But when he finally hunts down a lead that will take him to the monsters that killed him and his family, he finds a different kind of angel altogether.

"HALF-LIGHT, ANGEL WINGS" is a story in the Half-Light Series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Misty MacAllister
• Release date: Oct 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370756827

Misty MacAllister

Misty Macallister is a self-published writer, currently living in Houston, TX. She got into photography and modeling when she started making her own book covers for her erotica stories. You can find out more about her on her website, or you can follow her on any of her social media platforms. She's always open to questions, suggestions, etc. on her Twitter, Tumblr, or Instagram.

Book preview

HALF-LIGHT,

ANGEL WINGS

Misty MacAllister

MM Books

HALF-LIGHT, WITCH’S KISS

Misty MacAllister

Copyright © 2016 by Misty MacAllister

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission of the author/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to individuals known or unknown to the author are purely coincidental.

If you have any comments, suggestions, reasonable/unreasonable requests, marriage proposals, or if you’re just lonely, feel free to send an email to [e-mail]

Urban Fantasy, Angels and Demons

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter One

The scorching, soul-parching winds of the Half-Light roared over them making Cord’s manifest darkness beat and flutter like a flag torn loose in a tempest.

Where? Cord growled, the menace in his voice carrying over the roaring storm through power alone.

Pity, Stark whined, covering his scared face with three of his long, white hands.

Pity? Cord spat. Have you ever shown pity, daemon?

Mercy…

Cord cut the daemon off with a swift kick to his osseous chest. Stark let out a long, wheezing grunt and scuttled backwards like some horrid insect. The daemon’s multi-faceted eyes were darting wildly for escape, but there was none to be found in the darkness Cord had thrown around them.

Tell me, daemon, Cord demanded, pulling his darkness closer and letting it grow thick until the air was heavy with it.

Stark pawed at Cord’s boot and made a miserable sound, like a mewing kitten.

You’re pathetic, Cord snarled.

Stark was the worst sort of daemon, one of a thousand insignificant hellions that constituted the brunt of Lucifer’s legions. He and his ilk had been unleashed from Perdition. The daemons crawled through the Half-Light and slunk into the living world to prey on innocent souls.

Why does your kind always choose a form like this? Do you think anyone’s impressed, scumbag? Cord growled, kicking away the pawing tentacle. Why am I even bothering with you?

Cord had dealt with some bad boys when he was law enforcement—before his family was massacred, and before he died—but those crooks and hustlers paled in comparison to the monsters he dealt with now. But what choice did he have? Where else could he go to get information on the Nephilim other than the damned?

Where’s Sabreal? Cord demanded, bringing a boot down on a squirming tentacle. The dark purple feeler popped under his weight, and Stark screamed. Now, daemon. Tell me what you know.

I’ll talk. I’ll talk, Stark panted, shaking his long snout. Just give me a second, please.

I’m getting tired of this, Stark. If you’re wasting my time…

Please, please, the daemon whined.

Cord stood up and took a step back, giving the daemon room. Warily, he let his vision push through the corona of darkness. They were alone in the Half-Light. There were no daemons lurking in the desolate boundary land that separated the living world from Perdition.

At least, it wasn’t a trap, he thought, as he let his eyes shift up into the living world.

The alley was empty, but for how long? Eventually the city would wake up, and they would have company. He had to hurry. All he needed was a good Samaritan to call the cops. That would make things complicated. There wasn’t much chance a cop would see Stark’s true form. They’d only see Cord kicking a helpless old lady. It was time to end this.

Cord turned his attention back to the daemon just in time to see a wicked, jagged-tooth smile split the creature’s dreadful maw.

Die, the daemon screamed, throwing his many tentacles out and around Cord.

Cord sneered. You must be kidding.

Stark let out a wild, tittering laugh, and hundreds of black eyes opened on his many limbs. The eyes stared blankly, blinked slowly, and then, in unison, rolled toward Cord.

This isn’t good. Maybe the daemon isn’t all flash, Cord thought.

The eyes turned red, and Stark spat a guttural word in a hellish tongue. The air around Cord crackled with power, and crimson bane fire ripped from the eyes and swallowed him.

Die, Stark slobbered in triumph.

Unperturbed, Cord stepped away from the flames.

That’s better than I thought you could do, he laughed, brushing the flames off like a man brushing off dust from the road. But I’ve died once already.

He let his darkness rise to smother the daemon’s bane fire.

Now you will talk if you know what’s good for you, Cord hissed.

Stark pulled back, the daemon’s look of triumph twisting into abject terror.

No, he squealed.

Oh, yes, Cord said, nodding.

His darkness snared the daemon’s purple flesh like a thousand hooks. Cord closed his fist, and the daemon’s flesh ripped away. Stark screamed.

Tell me what I want to know, Cord demanded, and he tore away the daemon’s hell-form.

Stark’s essence retreated into the mortal shape of an old woman, but Cord’s grappling darkness didn’t stop there. The hooks caught the clothes and the skin of Stark’s old woman shell and pulled without mercy.

Houston, Stark screamed. She’s in Houston.

Cord smiled. Thanks, he said, and he closed his fists.

The mortal flesh was ripped from the daemon. Cord released the darkness and, in a breath, they were out of the Half-Light and in the living world. Warm sunlight fell on them. Cord closed his eyes and looked toward the morning sun. The warmth on his face was a relief after the harshness of the Half-Light. Whatever he was now, whatever he had become, he was still a man and the sun held no danger for him.

Stark couldn’t say the same.

Cord had ripped away the human veneer the daemon used to walk among mortals, and that had left his true essence exposed. What lay on the asphalt of the alley wasn’t the grotesque tentacled monster that the daemon had affected in the Half-Light. No. His true form was closer to a human likeness—a thin, gray creature with legs and arms that bent backwards, like a bird’s. He writhed in agony under the purifying sunlight, his pale flesh puckering and blackening like burnt parchment. Then he burst into white flames and was gone, leaving behind the acrid stink of brimstone.

Cord turned and stomped down the alley.

Houston, huh? he muttered, his pulse racing.

He hoped this time the information would pan out. He hoped he had finally tracked down Sabreal after all the years of hunting. He hoped he would finally have his revenge.

[Return to Beginning]

Chapter Two

Houston was hot. Lucky for Cord the dead didn’t sweat, otherwise he’d have been roasting in his own juices during the stakeout of the club.

The club was called ‘Throb’. The name was apt. From his hiding place in the alley across the street, Cord could feel the beat of the music through his feet. He didn’t have to peer into the Half-Light to know the place was a hotspot for the legions of the Fallen and the Damned. It had the look: the expensive cars parked out front, the crowd of beautiful and buxom mortals waiting