Life of the Fallen

Imogen Jordan

Description

Death and despair seem to follow Isabell Donovan wherever she goes, but never did she anticipate the possibility of finding love, not until a demon set his sights on her. Countless devastating events put her in multiple dangerous positions with the demonic and angelic communities, only to realise her true fate is among them as one of the fallen. She will eventually have to pick a side to fight on. Will she do the right thing and join the angels, or follow her heart and stay with the demons?

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 31 mai 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528954006
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Life of the Fallen
Imogen Jordan
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-05-31
The Life of the Fallen About the Author About the Book TRIGGER WARNING Copyright Information Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Wyatt’s Point Of View Izzy’s Point Of View Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Flashback.
About the Author
Imogen started writing in her early teens and completed her first story on an online website at the age of fifteen; which has gained thousands of hits and followers, and has since then completed a novel in a trilogy, by the age of eighteen.
About the Book
Death and despair seem to follow Isabell Donovan wherever she goes, but never did she anticipate the possibility of finding love, not until a demon set his sights on her.
Countless devastating events put her in multiple dangerous positions with the demonic and angelic communities, only to realise her true fate is among them as one of the fallen. She will eventually have to pick a side to fight on. Will she do the right thing and join the angels, or follow her heart and stay with the demons?
TRIGGER WARNING
Please be aware that this book contains themes of mental health and suicide.
Copyright Information
Copyright © Imogen Jordan (2019)
The right of Imogen Jordan to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788239790 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781788239806 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781528954006 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Chapter 1
The cold, icy wind blew harshly against my arms, causing the hair to stand on end. I shuddered at the thought of standing out here much longer, but the mission at hand wasn’t getting into the house, it was finding my keys to unlock the door.
I finally managed to stop wobbling around long enough to squeeze my hand into my pocket and yank my keys out. I squinted my eyes at the keyhole that somehow, mysteriously moved around. Finally, after thousands of sad, failed attempts, I unlocked the door. Surprisingly enough, because I was pretty sure my blood was seventy percent vodka after how much of it I was guzzling down, like it was more important than the air I breathe.
I stepped into my house, and the heat from inside viciously planted me in the face, which was probably made to feel like that because outside was like being stood inside of a walk-in-freezer, and I must’ve left my heating on… again.
I closed the door skilfully with my foot, and just when I thought drunken me could conquer the world now, I began to lose my balance. Luckily enough, there was a small table for me to support myself on. I ripped my coat off and dropped it on the ground, followed by kicking my shoes off in different directions, something I would later curse myself for doing. I then attempted to find turn the lights on, but looking around for a small switch on the wall with only the guidance of light from a lamppost outside, was a mission best left for the sober, so with that; I entered my alarm code and proceeded into the living room where I would plant myself on the couch and pass out for the night, but I was pulled away from my subconscious state by my landline blaring beside me. I sat up and when I reached out for it; it stopped ringing, so instead I grabbed the picture frame beside it. I didn’t need the lights on to know what the picture was. It was a picture of me, and my lovely parents, and I say that with the most sarcastic tone possible. Why you wonder? Well let’s take a little trip to the past.
From a young age, I picked up on the fact my parents didn’t really want me around, which is significantly scarring for any child. They were selfish and self-indulgent, but when my father grew ill, my mother headed for a downward spiral, so I was the last thing on her mind… which was pretty usual. My father then died, and I do believe it was metastatic melanoma, but don’t be too confused by the doctor jargon; it just means skin cancer that spread, and in his case it spread to his brain, which if you ask me, I find extremely ironic considering my dad was a neurosurgeon. But, as you’ve probably already guessed, my parents didn’t talk to me a lot, so I’m going off things I may or may not have heard, because I’m not one hundred percent sure on what truly happened to him. Anyway, not long after he received the diagnosis, he took victim to the vicious disease that is cancer and died in his bed at the hospital. The day he died, I was contacted at university so I rushed home to check on my mother, knowing she had already heard the news, and fearing she had already done the worst. My fears had come true when I met eyes with my mother’s corpse hanging like a decoration from the chandelier in our living room.
Now, I am not one of those people that think suicide is selfish or evil. Some people feel so trapped and alone that they feel there is no other way out, and I can only imagine that for them, suicide is the last thing they want to do, but for my mother, whose worse day in her entire life was determined by a little plus sign on a pregnancy test, I’m led to believe that for her, this wasn’t a hard choice, but in fact, the easiest thing she could have done. She was often one to keep up appearances and when the opportunity came for her to be the victim she took it. People would cry and talk about how sad she must’ve been, and how hard it would’ve been for her to leave me all alone, and I imagine she is smiling; wherever she is. Truthfully, I’m probably being a little bitter because they died before we had a real chance to connect, and it was something I yearned for since I was a child, and I’m just holding a grudge, but I’ll leave that for you to decide.
I shook my head at the picture frame sadly.
“You decided enough was enough, and you left me here all alone,” I slurred, in my unattractive drunken state.
I put the frame down and the phone began ringing again, so I picked it up and held it to my ear.
“Hello, this is H.A.S, home alarm systems, and a silent alarm has been triggered in your home. Is everything alright?” the woman’s soft, gentle voice was enough to calm any hostility I may have been building up, which was probably the reason behind hiring her. If I did have a break in, hers is the voice I’d want to hear, second to the police… obviously.
“Oh sorry, I must’ve forgotten to put the codes in before I came in,” I sounded overly posh when I was drunk for some reason, almost as if alcohol had allowed a hidden personality to extricate from the deep abyss that is my mind.
“That’s fine Miss Donovan, but security measures do require you to read the passcode back to me.”
“One, three, seven, one,” I whispered, uncertain if that was in fact the correct passcode or not.
“Okay, thank you. And don’t worry, believe It or not, people are always setting their window alarms off after partying a bit too hard. Have a good night ma’am,” the line disconnected, so I was left staring at the phone confused.
I came in through the door, and I was certain of it, because I received an ego boost when I gracefully kicked the door shut with my foot, and now that I think about it, I did actually enter the passcode in when I came home. I guess it went unnoticed because it’s almost muscle memory to come in and put the code in…
I walked around downstairs checking all of the windows and none of them were unlocked, never mind open. I walked back to the couch, thinking it was just a glitch in the system, when there was a loud bang from upstairs. Could it be that someone had broken into a window upstairs? Wouldn’t she have known which window was open, and couldn’t she tell I was drunk, and fully unable to climb into a second storey window?
My heart began to race, and I was suddenly more aware of the possibility of what could be happening. Maybe it was just one of those thing… when you’re home alone and scared, every noise you hear sounds like a ghost or murderer breaking into your house, ready to cut you up and sell your pieces on the black market. In all honesty, I wasn’t ready to gamble my life away on the off chance that this was just my overactive imagination playing games, so I reached for my phone, but it was gone.
“Where did I put it?” I asked myself out loud.
“Here,” someone aid blandly, holding the phone out to me.
I looked up slowly, afraid of what I would see. A man stood there, now I couldn’t make out his face or his hair colour or style, but he had an athletic build and held himself confidently. Some nerve looking as confident as he did standing in the house he had just broken into!
My heart rate increased, along with my breathing, and I began to feel as though I hadn’t touched a single drop of alcohol, so as any normal person would do in this position; I ran to the door, but when I opened it, that same brooding man stood there. Now I could see him a bit better, and I noticed his hood as pulled over his head; covering the top half of his face, so I couldn’t get a proper look at what he looked like, but I catch a glimpse of the