Risen: The Chosen Chronicles

The premise of this story captures the reader’s attention from the get-go. I’ve read quite a good many stories about angels/fallen angels, but nothing like what Christine has put together for us.

~~~~~ Lissette from Simplistik

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Wow, what can I say, I loved this book, has a great story, about fallen angels, and a chosen one. It’s quite different than any other fallen angel books I had read. It's fast paced and easy to read. There is a great story here, so it’s got the romance too, but it’s not just about the romance, which I found refreshing.

~~~ Michelle from Concise Book Reviews

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This story is told in just the right way, with just the right amount of clues being given out so the story can build slowly. I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough.

~~~~ Celeste from The Book Hookup

Rome: 1650

Angelo faded into the shadows on the ledge of the towering cathedral and leaned against a stone gargoyle. He pulled the collar of his coat tighter around his neck to try and ward off the rain, but the icy fingers still crept past the barrier. He went over the conversation he’d just had with the fortune teller. The old hag, with her collections of bizarre charms and crystals hadn’t been much help. She’d only revealed that the one he sought would not be born in the current century. She also revealed that the chosen one would be born in a distant land, but when Angelo pressed for more information, she remained silent.

Just wonderful, he muttered to the stone statue. Angelo studied the people below, so tiny and ignorant of the war that was being fought all around them. They were in the middle of a battle and didn’t even know it.

Standing, Angelo flexed his shoulders. He would continue his journey, no matter how long it took. With that thought, he stepped over the edge.

America: 1862

The echoes of cannon fire could still be heard over the field, even though they had stopped hours prior. Heavy fog hovered over the ground, or perhaps it was smoke from the gunpowder. It was hard to tell which. Angelo stepped over the broken and bloodied bodies as he walked through the carnage. Some soldiers were still alive, teetering on the edge of their own personal hell. Most of them were little more than children. This war was for the right to own another human being. The northern part of the country believed it was wrong to own another person, while the southern half saw no issue with the practice. It made Angelo’s heart sick with grief.

As time passed, human nature only seemed to get worse. Over the centuries the race just seemed to grow more violent and more determined to destroy one another. It was an endless power struggle with no positive outcome. The ones who gained power would always want more, destroying anyone that dared to get in the way. How could a single race be so brutal? He, like the others of his kind, knew the reason behind the growing violence. It’s what made his task to find the chosen one more important than ever.

As Angelo continued through the battlefield, a gurgling sound drew his attention to an area of overgrown grass.

Help me, the voice pleaded weakly. Angelo’s feet moved with more urgency as he searched through the grass. Finally, he came upon a pile of bodies, too bloodied and mangled to make out their features.

Beneath the pile, Angelo heard coughing and gasping for air. Kneeling beside the heap, he moved the bodies away with as much care as he could. He sent a silent prayer to the heavens for their souls.

Thanks, Mister, the boy gasped as Angelo hefted the body of a soldier off him. Angelo heard the gurgling sound again. Looking down, he saw a gaping hole in the boy’s chest oozing blood. With grim realization, Angelo knew the boy’s time would be short.

You will be home soon, Angelo said making him more comfortable. He stared down into the bizarre violet eyes of the boy, but to his surprise, he did not see panic or worry, only peace. The boy’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his mouth began to move in rapid whispers.

Leaning his ear close to the boy’s mouth, Angelo instantly recognized the ancient language. It was a jumble of old words mixed with the modern dialect. Most of the words were gibberish, making little sense but then the term chosen one caught his attention. Angelo leaned in closer, so close the boy’s bloodied lips brushed his ear.

You will find her, he gasped. She is in my blood. The boy coughed and sucked in one last sharp breath. As that breath hissed out between his lips, his head lolled to the side. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and dropped onto the already bloody grass. He was gone.

Angelo sat back on his haunches. It’s a girl? he mused out loud. A girl was going to save his kind as well as the human race. He stared down at the boy.

Knowing he was in for another long wait, Angelo scooped the lifeless body into his arms. Then placing a hand on the boy’s forehead, Angelo sifted through the soldier’s memories and last thoughts. The boy was married, and his wife was expecting their first child. The line had begun. It would only be a matter of time before the chosen one would arrive. He wondered if the young man in his arms had suspected that the child his wife carried wasn’t his. Even if he had, it no longer mattered. Everything had been set in motion.

With a single thought, Angelo stood at the front door of the boy’s home. He knocked swiftly on the rough wooden planks. The woman who greeted him was small, except for the bulging roundness of her stomach. Her smile was warm, and her eyes were bright. When she saw Angelo holding the broken body of her husband, her smile wilted, and the light faded from her eyes.

As time passed, Angelo helped the widow through the grieving process, thus gaining the foothold he needed to watch and protect the family line. He knew it would only be a matter of time before enemies of the light discovered the line had started. It was Angelo’s job to protect the family, just as it was his job to find the chosen one.

Angelo settled in for a wait, unsure of just how long it would be.

Chapter 1

The signs of autumn were all around. The vibrant hues of red, orange and yellow were like a bright patchwork quilt covering the countryside. The nights were growing cooler, while the temperature during the day hovered somewhere around a chilly fifty-five degrees. Yes, it was finally fall, and all Erin could do was smile.

Aren’t you ready yet? Anna’s impatient voice called from Erin’s bedroom. Erin applied a touch of lip gloss and hurried from the bathroom.

I’m coming. I’m coming, Erin replied rolling her eyes.

What are you getting all spruced up for anyhow? Anna lay on her stomach in the middle of Erin’s bed with her legs crossed behind her. She absently flipped through a three-month-old issue of Cosmo. Anna had moved from a suburb of New York City when she was fifteen. Though it had been a significant culture shock, Erin helped her adjust to small-town life.

Anna, by far, was the most beautiful person Erin knew. Her body was a perfect hourglass shape, and her hips swayed with a natural grace when she walked. Her hair was a glossy black and Anna had put a few bright pink highlights in her tresses just to be rebellious. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of green with flecks of gold. They always seemed to glimmer mischievously. Her skin was flawless, the tone of warm caramel.

Erin believed she was the complete opposite. She thought of herself as dull and boring. Her hair was a rather ordinary shade of strawberry blonde with a tendency to do as it pleased. Her eyes were an odd shade of violet. People often commented on the rare color, but the attention always made her uncomfortable. She preferred to blend in, but in most cases, it didn’t work.

Trying to ignore her own flaws, she decided to fix her thoughts to the three-day long carnival, even though she knew Anna was right about how boring it would be. Unless something had changed, the pie eating contest—won every year by Gnarly Charlie—would be the most exciting thing going on.

You never know, I may meet someone. She laughed as she pulled on her denim jacket.

Erin, you’ve lived in this town for twenty years. The same carnival comes to town every year with the same broke-ass rides, the same nasty food, and the same gross carnies. We live in a town of three hundred people, and we know every single one of them. Now tell me again, who in the hell are you going to meet? Anna said rolling over to stare up at her. Crossing her feet at the ankles, Anna propped them on the head of the bed.

Erin smiled as her friend ranted about their town. It was the same line every year, and every year she would just shrug and laugh saying, "You never know." Pulling Anna off the bed, Erin smiled as she watched her hit the floor. Anna cursed loudly as she climbed to her feet. Shrugging off the colorful names she knew her friend didn’t mean, she looped her arm through Anna’s and pulled the door closed behind them.

I can’t believe you don’t lock your door.

Why? I’m the only one who lives up here, and the store below has been closed for years. I lock the outer door. Besides, if someone breaks in, I can always run to Bradly Baker, the sheriff, slash barber, slash gas station owner.

Erin locked the outer door behind them, and they made their way across the street arm in arm. The crudely assembled admittance gates were tied together with bright pink yarn. The tinkling music from the rides greeted them blending to make more noise than music. The heavy smell of old grease drifted through the air, mingling with the sweet scent of cotton candy and funnel cakes.

So, what do you want to do first? Erin tugged on Anna’s arm like an anxious eight-year-old, trying to get her moving faster.

I tell you every year, there ain’t no way in hell you’re getting me on one of those broken down, rusted, tin can rides, Anna replied with a dramatic eye roll.

Fine. We’ll just see what we can see, she said refusing to let Anna spoil her mood.

They walked around the grounds, dodging eager, sticky little kids as they dragged their exhausted parents from ride to ride. The two girls scouted the guy scenery and, as usual, were left disappointed. The lights on the rides blinked and flickered, flashed and twinkled, casting the fairgrounds in a dazzling array of colors.

Anna looked at her watch and sighed. Girl, it’s eight-thirty. I got to get home and check on Grammy.

How’s she doing? Erin asked before stuffing a fluffy piece of pink cotton candy in her mouth. It dissolved sweetly on her tongue as she offered Anna a bit.

It won’t be long before she goes, Anna said with a shake of her head.

I’m sorry, Erin said as she stuffed the last piece into her mouth.

Don’t be. She’s been planning on moving to Florida for months now. She says there are too many silver foxes down there on the beach to pass up. She’s healthy and deserves to be happy though.

I know but ewww, Erin groaned.

You’re telling me. Anna trotted off, calling, Later, over her shoulder.

She watched her disappear into the crowd before searching for somewhere to throw her trash. She finally found a rusted barrel-turned-trashcan on the far end of the fairgrounds. Erin tossed in the cotton candy stick, but because the can was overflowing, it fell to the ground. Sighing, she bent to retrieve it. As she was stuffing the paper into the barrel, a brightly colored tent caught her attention. It was sitting off in the corner, well away from everything else. Her curiosity piqued, she made her way toward it. As she approached the entrance, she saw a wooden sign above the tent swinging gently as though it was caught in a soft evening breeze, causing the metal brackets to creak eerily.

Odd, she muttered. The sign said Psychic Readings $5 in faded red lettering. Erin felt a strange pull, urging her to go inside. She hesitantly reached out her hand and pushed the flaps aside. When she released the flap behind her, she was thrust into darkness.

Hello? she called out. No answer.

The sounds of the music and laughter from outside seemed to vanish as if she’d stepped into a soundproof room. Erin blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to adjust them to the darkness. A spicy-sweet scent clung heavily to the air. The place was barren except for a small round table in the middle, covered with a purple cloth with heavy gold stitching. In the center of the table was a large, clear crystal ball. The only light in the room seemed to be emitting from the crystal orb.

What a cliché, she snorted. A mysterious breeze ruffled her hair and with it came the smell of burning incense. The tinkling of wind chimes sounded around her, but she saw now chimes. She turned and looked behind her, but there was nothing. When she turned back around, a startled cry slipped from her lips. Sitting at the table was an old woman, leathery with age and watching her with cloudy eyes.

Come closer, child, the woman said, holding out a thin, bony hand. The blue veins on the back of her hand stood out in bold contrast to her tanned skin. They trailed up her arms like lines on a map.

I don’t think so, Erin said slowly backing away.

I’ve been waiting for you, Erin. The woman’s voice was gravely but otherwise kind.

She stopped retreating the second she heard her name. Her heart hammered violently against her ribs. How do you know my name? She tried to force her voice out strongly, but it barely came out above a whisper.

The old woman chuckled. As I said, I’ve been waiting for you.

Why?

Come sit, and we’ll talk, the woman said.

When she didn’t move, the woman offered her a warm smile.

Come now, child, you’ve nothing to fear from me.

Erin tried to will her feet to turn and flee, but as if they were moving of their own will, they pulled her forward. Sitting in the plush chair, she stared across the table at the old woman, unsure of what to say.

I’m Madam Maggie, the woman said while extending her hand out across the table once more. She accepted it and to her surprise found the old woman’s grip strong and firm.

How do you know my name?

Why did you come in here? Maggie asked in turn.

I don’t know.

Sometimes we’re drawn to things we do not fully understand. We are drawn to these things because it’s a part of the path we are destined to take. We don’t often have a say in the course that our life is on but you— Maggie hummed low in her throat, her eyes vacant. Yes, your destiny is intertwined with several other destinies.

She idly ran a hand over the smooth surface of the crystal ball, and it went from clear to cloudy. The clouds within swirled and shimmered, eliciting a gasp from Erin. Maggie didn’t seem to notice because she continued. I’m guessing you felt drawn here, like a magnet to its true north. Am I correct?

She stared at Maggie wide-eyed and nodded.

Erin, there are great things in store for you. Your life is about to change. You have a long road ahead of you with many challenging battles.

How do you know all of this?

Came to me in a dream, Maggie shrugged.

Erin tensed, and Maggie didn’t miss the reaction. Ah, she said, sitting back in her chair. Lacing together her twisted fingers, she pressed her index fingers to her lips. Your twenty-first birthday is soon, correct?

It’s in two days, Erin confirmed.

Maggie clucked her tongue, her mouth pulling down into a frown. I’m afraid your dreams are only going to get much stronger before then, Maggie said as she stared into the crystal ball.

How do you know all of this? Erin knew her question was getting repetitive, but it was the only thing she could pull out of her worried brain.

You are a special child, born to an extraordinary family.

What? Erin gasped.

Yes, your family goes back to the Civil War, but you are the only female descendant, and that makes you very special. Maggie lifted her gaze as they locked eyes once more and for a moment Erin thought she saw a sparkle there.

Feeling uncomfortable, Erin stood to leave, and in her haste, her chair fell to the floor. She dug in her pocket for some money, but when she looked up, Maggie was gone. Chilled to the bone, Erin hurried from the tent.

Running blindly through the crowd, faces began to blur around her. In her frantic retreat, her feet became tangled, and she felt herself pitching forward. Squeezing her eyes closed, she braced herself for impact.

Whoa there, came a man’s thick accented voice. He caught her firmly by the arms, pinning them to her sides.

When she didn’t hit the ground, Erin opened her eyes and found herself staring up into a pair of dark gray eyes.

I-I’m sorry, she stammered. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, but her body shook violently.

What has got you so startled? he questioned gently.

The stranger still held her close against his chest. Erin couldn’t speak. She only stared into his eyes, feeling as if they were pulling her in. His voice was calm and seemed to ease her frayed nerves. Her breathing began to slow, and her heartbeat became steady. She seemed to be calming down, except for the excited little flutter in the pit of her stomach that the stranger’s nearness seemed to cause.

The old woman vanished. I mean, one minute she was there and then—then she wasn’t, the words tumbled quickly from her mouth.

The man chuckled. Madam Maggie tends to do that.

She does that often? she asked, trying to ignore the warming affect his laughter had on her.

Almost every night, he said. Finally, he released her arms, and she wobbled slightly. When he reached out to steady her, she batted his hand away, already feeling foolish and more than adequately embarrassed.

Let me get you something to drink. Perhaps that will calm your nerves, he said, guiding her through the crowd. His hand hovered just above the small of her back, but she could feel the heat as if he were touching her. She watched him from the corner of her eye and swore she saw him look over his shoulder toward the tent.

I really think I should be going, she said moving away from him.

If you insist, but I do know of a little stand that serves the best cherry cokes. They grow the cherries themselves, he said smoothly.

She wanted to refuse but couldn’t. I am a little thirsty, she relented.

Wonderful, he said, delighted.

As they walked, a cool breeze washed over them, and she shivered. He shrugged out of his hooded sweatshirt and handed it to her.

I can’t take that, she said feeling a bit awkward about taking a stranger’s shirt.

But you’re freezing, he said.

Yeah, but you’ll be cold if I take it, she argued.

Don’t worry about me. I don’t get cold easily. Trust me. He handed her the shirt, and for a moment she just stared up at him. His accent was bizarre and at the same time strangely hypnotic. It was smooth and lilting, and at the same time eloquent and proper.

Reluctantly, she took the sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. The chill of the night was instantly gone. The warm cotton felt as if it had just been pulled from the dryer. The inside wasn’t just warm, it was almost hot. The sleeves fell beyond her fingertips, and the hem brushed her thighs. When she looked up at him, he was staring into the darkness of the nearby woods.

Trying not to be rude, Erin cleared her throat softly. What’s your name?

He seemed startled by her voice and looked down at her confused, but the look vanished so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it.

How rude of me. I am Angelo, he said smiling broadly.

Angelo? That’s a weird name. She mentally kicked herself for the word vomit spewing from her lips.

I’m from Romania.

That explains the accent.

And your name is? he pressed.

Oh, um, Erin, she said dumbly. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

They walked in silence. Even though it was getting