Gracyn James has made vengeance her life's mission. Haunted by the brutal murder of her family, she survives on the streets with The Inciters, a vigilante group that delivers justice to society's worst. But her ultimate goal remains elusive: finding her father and uncovering why he destroyed her world. When a deadly encounter with the seductive and powerful Angel of Death, leaves her faction annihilated, sheâs forced into an uneasy alliance.
Lucien Ward, a fallen Guardian with a shadowed past, is on a mission of his own. Stripped of his former glory, he hunts for the truth behind his family's downfall while fulfilling his grim duties as the Angel of Death. Gracynâs fiery spiritâand an uncontrollable power she doesnât yet understandâmay be the key to his redemption. Or, she could bring about the end of both their worlds.
In a battle where loyalties blur and fate twists cruelly, can they uncover the truth before their intertwined destinies ignite chaos?
Gracyn James has made vengeance her life's mission. Haunted by the brutal murder of her family, she survives on the streets with The Inciters, a vigilante group that delivers justice to society's worst. But her ultimate goal remains elusive: finding her father and uncovering why he destroyed her world. When a deadly encounter with the seductive and powerful Angel of Death, leaves her faction annihilated, sheâs forced into an uneasy alliance.
Lucien Ward, a fallen Guardian with a shadowed past, is on a mission of his own. Stripped of his former glory, he hunts for the truth behind his family's downfall while fulfilling his grim duties as the Angel of Death. Gracynâs fiery spiritâand an uncontrollable power she doesnât yet understandâmay be the key to his redemption. Or, she could bring about the end of both their worlds.
In a battle where loyalties blur and fate twists cruelly, can they uncover the truth before their intertwined destinies ignite chaos?
A sour milk and vinegar odor filled Gracynâs nostrils as she knelt next to the disgusting dumpster. She pinched her nose, wishing the jerk she hunted had picked a less filthy bar, but this was his favorite spot. It was nearly the end of the night when her gaze narrowed in on the unsuspecting asshole, stumbling out of the door to find his next victim.
âNot tonight, asshole. Not ever again.â Her adrenaline spiked as she rubbed her fingers across the hilt of the knife and glanced over her shoulder. Not a soul around. Good.
A wave of menace proceeded ahead of him. âPlease let this one have seen him,â she mumbled, tired of not getting any closer to finding her father.
Gracyn stood and walked from the dark shadow of the garbage container. He still didnât notice her. Idiot.
The man stopped directly in front of the dumpster, only a few feet from her, pulled out a half-used cigar from his pocket, and lit it.
She took a step forward, and he finally raised his head after taking a long drag. His eyes went straight to the V of her T-shirt, then blew a puff of smoke in her direction. The dumpster stench was bad, but the cigar odor made bile rise up her throat. She swallowed hard.
Immediate memories of her adopted father suffocated her. It wasnât the same type of cigar her father had used once in a blue moon, but her sister and mom had still complained about the scent lingering on his clothes.
Dad was the only reason why she did what she did now. The only reason why sheâd joined the Inciters. And the only reason she ended those unworthy to breathe.
âWould you like a hit, darlinâ?â The manâs voice brushed over her skin in a low thick twang.
âNot the kind you have in mind,â she said, eyeing his average size.
His hooded gaze lingered on her lips. âYou lost?â
Her fingers tightened around the hilt, hidden at her side, and she forced a smile. âIâve been lost for a very long time.â Lost. Broken. Exhausted.
âWell, hon, it looks like youâve been found.â He placed his hand on her waist. âCome with me. Iâll get you off these streets and take care of you.â
âI bet you would.â She inched forward, close enough for the tips of her boots to touch his slick brown shoes. This was the tricky part, and it never worked out the same. But tonight, she was overly exhausted, so she took the direct approach. âLike you took care of the other girls youâve found?â
He frowned. âWhat are you talking about, sweetheart?â
âNever mind.â The least she could do was give him a clue as to why he was about to die. Give him a chance to think about all the wrongdoings heâd done to so many innocent people, but first she needed information. Her heart fluttered a beat as she pulled out a picture of her family. âHave you seen this man?â
He glanced at the photo, then gripped her wrist hard. Pain shot up her arm. âNo. Why? Who is he? Is this your family?â
âWas.â As her teeth clenched and she jerked out of his grip, she tucked the photo in her pocket, not trusting the asshole. She reached up and placed the pads of her fingers on his temples. Never sure if her visions worked accurately or not, she still gave it a shot and closed her eyes.
The man stood stunned.
A swirl of fog. Then nothing. Not a single glimpse of her father in his mind. Dammit. She was so damn tired of this. Tired of the nasty violent criminals, and having to be the one to stop them. She pressed her lips together. This was not the life sheâd dreamed about.
He pushed her hand away. âIf you want to touch me, baby doll, my dick could use your attention.â
âGross. Iâd rather not touch you at all, but I have no other choice.â A wave of fatigue rolled over her. If she didnât find her dad soon, she wasnât sure she could keep going like this. Before she grew too tired, she had to make her move.
âNo otherââ
She stunned the dude into silence when she swung out with her fist, not exactly hitting her mark yet, but close enough to cause his baseball cap to fall to the ground to make sure he was the right guy. He was. The scar on his forehead was plain to see even in the dark. Definitely the criminal out on bond for the third time. This round, he wouldnât make it home after his last night out at the bar.
âPick it up, bitch!â He pointed at the hat on the ground.
If the court systems wouldnât step up to get rid of the scum, then the Inciters would.
She pulled her blade from her side. âAny last words of regret for those youâve caused pain?â
âYouâre here for revenge then.â A slow, crooked, evil smile framed his mouth. There was no remorse in his eyes whatsoever. âRegrets? Not a fucking one. You?â
A roaring grew loud in her ears. Of course he didnât, but did she have any regrets? âSeveral, actually.â
Moving from week to week, and squatting in abandoned buildings. No real friends, other than Drake. Not a single love interest. And most importantly, not being home when her father murdered her family. And probably a few more she wasnât thinking about at this moment.
The man took another puff before throwing the cigar on the ground. He released the smoke directly in her face for a second time without a care in the world.
âI hate litter bugs, but I hate predators more.â She slammed her fist into his jaw. He staggered backwards, but recovered quickly and charged at her. Her feet came off the ground with his strength. Her leg twisted wrong when she landed on her back with the man straddling her hips. Pain shot up her thigh. The blade was still firm in her hand, but this one didnât deserve an easy, quick death like the rest of them. Why should he? His victims didnât get that option. He tortured them slowly from what sheâd read.
She struggled, trying to free her arms, when he leaned down and ran his tongue over her face. The odor from his breath wreaked havoc on her gag reflexes. He leaned back and slapped her face so hard she thought her eye would pop out of its socket. Shit.
Was trying to find her dad worth all of this? Probably not, but sheâd promised her mom and sister that she would find out why heâd murdered them.
The man slapped her again. Her lip burned, and she gritted her teeth. Dammit, this sucks. There was one more thing she had to make certain before she ended his life: would he continue abusing girls? âThatâs all you got?â
His brows lowered. âLike it, do you?â
âNot particularly,â she said. There was no other way to keep hunting for her father without doing what the Inciters required of her, but how could she keep doing this? Especially since she wasnât one hundred percent sure about the visions.
He slapped her other cheek, and pain ricocheted all the way down her spine. She gripped his head and the fog returned. The hair on the back of her neck rose as images of his past flashed in his mind. Nope. Never again.
He jerked her hands off him and leaned back. Stars danced in her vision as he put pressure on her hurt leg. âYou need to be taught an important lesson.â
A coppery tang filled her mouth, and she spit blood on his jacket. âNo, thanks, teacher.â
She raised the blade fast, striking the rapist. The man glanced at where the knife protruded from his chest. He gasped, then dropped on his hands and fell over. Dammit. So much for a slow death. She shoved him off, stared at his still body as blood darkened around him on the ground.
âWhen will this end?â She had difficulty swallowing as the feeling of failure filled her.
When the Inciters recruited her long ago, theyâd taken her off the streets, gave her protection, and trained her, and all the while she secretly searched. Some would argue that she really wasnât taken care of, but that depended on oneâs perspective.
Still. She hated how her life had turned out. Hated that she had to touch the criminals to see their past. Hated that they had to hurt her in order for a vision to appear. Hated that after all this time, she wasnât any closer to keeping her promise.
More than anything though, she hated killing, even if they deserved it.
Gracyn wiped her blade on the manâs shirt. She stood, opened the dumpster door, pulled the guy inside, then closed it. Her hands and legs trembled, and the pain in her stomach from earlier in the week returned with a vengeance, almost masking the new-addition ache in her leg. How much longer must I do this? Until you find him. But despite everything, she persevered, refusing to give up until she accomplished her mission.
She walked several blocks in a fog, not noticing anything until she spotted Drake, another Inciter, waiting for her on the corner. He shook his head slightly. Shit. She tried hiding her limp as she approached, but he was on to her.
âHowâd it go?â he asked with a little sarcasm dripping in his tone.
She shrugged. Drake had been pissed that sheâd insisted on going alone again, needing to prove she was as good as the rest of them, even if the Inciter elixir hadnât seemed to be working like it had with the others. Fake it till you make it. She continued alongside him while she massaged her fingers deep into her thigh in hopes it might reduce some of the discomfort.
Drake glanced at her hand, then pulled her to a stop. âWhat happened to your leg?â
A thickness formed in her throat. Of course, he noticed. Her best friend saw everything. It came in handy with the kills, but it was annoying when he used that crap to observe her every movement. âNothing. Just landed wrong.â
He tilted his head back, and his wavy coffee-brown hair brushed his black T-shirt collar. âI shouldnât have let you go alone.â
âLet me, huh? Right. Iâm still better off than the dead rapist.â A lecture was coming; they always did. Drake detested how she fought with the criminals instead of taking them out immediately, but he wasnât aware of her reason, her true purpose beyond her job.
He turned his prominent jaw away from her. âIâll never understand your technique, Cyn. It couldâve gone horribly wrong. Again.â
Her stomach began burning, and she took a step back. âAs long as I do what the boss wants, your understanding is irrelevant.â Sheâd seen their leader, Tom, briefly a few times, but heâd never spoken to her directly.
âWhatâs not irrelevant is time. We donât have that luxury. The Seraphs and cops are on our ass.â
âScrew them. Weâre making their jobs easier.â She had to believe that was true.
When the Inciters had come along, she was on the verge of having to give up her search for her dad. Drake especially made her feel like family. It wouldnât replace the family sheâd had. The one her dad took away from her.
What never made sense was why? Whyâd he do it? Not once had he shown signs of wanting to harm anyone, much less murder. And she wouldnât have believed the neighborsâ testimony if she hadnât had a vision of her father leaving the house covered in blood. Yes, her visions were inconsistent, and she didnât trust what she couldnât understand, but what else could she do? More than likely the cops had given up the search many years ago. A cold case as they say.
She raised her head a notch and continued walking. She wouldnât stop hunting until she got her answers. Well, sheâd stop for tonight until she got enough rest to go searching for him again tomorrow.
âAll Iâm saying is we must be careful.â He caught up with her and shoved his hand through his thick hair. âAnd I donât get why you let those fuckers hurt you. I know you donât get off on the pain.â
âOf course not.â She sighed. âJust drop it.â But with the pain, the visions or memories seem to come to the surface. She imagined how it appeared to Drake since he was still unaware of her ability. She wasnât sure what to label it. Gift? Curse? If the others could do what she did, theyâd never told her, and she didnât want to be labeled as a freak.
âI wish you would open up to me.â He huffed.
Warmth spread over her cheeks, knowing how much he cared. âI will, but not today.â
He took a deep, annoyed breath. âThatâs the last time you go alone.â
âSo youâve said several times, D.â Confirming the targets deserved death was critical. She wouldnât be responsible for removing someone good away from children. So far, all the termination orders from Tom did deserve what they got. Well, as long as her talent was accurate, and she hoped to heaven it was. She bit the inside of her cheek as she kneaded the leg wound. âLook, Iâm not a kid. I can handle the rapists and abusers, and I can certainly handle the Angel of Death.â
Thatâs what the Inciters called the Seraph sheâd only heard rumors about. He hunted them like they hunted bad guys. Sheâd always been curious as to what he looked like. Sheâd heard many rumors, but always different descriptions. Tall and wide as a mountain or big and skinny like a skyscraper. Built like a tank or thick like a gorilla. Dark slicked hair or a wild mess of silver. The one rumor people agreed on was that he was magnificent.
Drake cleared his throat, and his lavender, not yet violet, gaze eased along the deserted street for a second, then narrowed on her as he did a quick skim up and down her body. âIâm fully aware youâre a grown-ass woman, but Iâm still responsible for you, Collin, and the rest of our group.â His annoyed gaze held hers. âAnd donât fool yourself. Weâre no match against the Angel of Death. Not until we take the final elixir.â
Goose bumps rose on her arms thinking about the next elixir. Would it work like their leader claimed? She hadnât met any of the Level Threes. Still, Drake took his position as group leader seriously, and she respected him for that, but he needed to back off. She bumped her shoulder against his arm, trying to lighten the mood. Hers and his. âThis grown-ass woman is twenty-five to be exact, more or less, and I bet I could do some serious damage to that celestial terminator.â
âYouâd certainly try.â He cracked a small smile. âDamn. Youâre old.â
âKiss my old ass.â The adoption agency hadnât given her date of birth to her parents, but theyâd always celebrated her birthday the day she came to live with them. It still bothered herâthe not knowingâand now she probably never would know.
âNot my type.â Drake glanced away. âYou coming to my godmotherâs for dinner? She made your favorite.â
Her ribs squeezed tight at the thought Drake still had real family. He defied the Inciter rules and continued his secret visits with his godmother, Stella. Heâd never mentioned her to anyone other than Cyn. Stella didnât have a clue what Drake did either; she only knew he was gone a lot. She certainly wouldnât approve of Drakeâs killing no matter if it was for the good.
Drakeâs stomach growled. âI can already taste those pork chops.â
Her mouth watered, yet her stomach recoiled with stabbing pains. Her step faltered, and she hoped Drake would think it was her bruised leg. He gave her a side glance, but didnât mention it. âNot tonight.â
Eating under a regular roof with real furniture and warmth was the icing on the cake for Gracyn. It kept her tied to simple, non-killing, human interaction. Stella was a loving godmother, even if she wasnât hers, but tonight she wasnât feeling all that normal. Her body hadnât felt right since the last Inciter ritual elixir sheâd downed a week ago, and she feared something had gone terribly wrong. âBring me some leftovers.â
Sheâd most likely give them to Collin, because she couldnât eat anything with this stomachache. Plus, the kid needed nourishment way more than she did. Theyâd found him only a month ago, after his father had beaten him so badly, he couldnât see through his swollen eyes. Collin had connected with her and Drake almost instantly.
He raised a shoulder. âMaybe.â They stopped again after crossing the deserted street. âKeep your eyes open, Cyn. You never know when the Angel of Death is near.â
âWide open.â Was he as deadly as he was beautiful like sheâd heard? Even though the Incitersâ cause was to terminate horrible people from the streets, she was now a criminal too, but the difference was she was saving good people from bad ones. That had to matter, right?
âSee you later, Cyn.â This is where he escaped to normalcy for a few lovely hours, and she went to the hellhole to hide from the Seraphs and hopefully recover.
Drake disappeared around the block, and Gracyn kept straight for another five minutes before ducking through a sizeable gap in a chain-link fence onto the abandoned newspaper warehouse property, their new temporary home-stink-home. With the angels always on their tail, the Inciters would move again in a few days, maybe sooner, but at least this time she had her own sleeping quarters. For now.
She gave the six-knock code on the door, and Collin greeted her at the back entrance. âYouâre back early.â He glanced behind her. âWhereâs Drake?â
âSearching for a new safehouse.â That was always what they claimed when he was with his relatives. No one could know she handled Tomâs order alone. Another rule they broke together. âCollin, have you heard any of the others complaining since the Level Two ritual? Stomach pain? Headaches?â
He shuffled his old boots on the grimy floor and frowned. âNo. Everyone is bragging about how much stronger they feel.â
Her heart squeezed painfully. Drake had admitted to feeling stronger too. She patted Collinâs shoulder, totally understanding his disappointment. âBe patient, man. It will happen when the time is right.â
âWhat evâ.â He shrugged, then his gaze widened. âUm, you look kinda greenish. Maybe you should get some zâs.â
Never had she felt this terrible before. She pressed her hand to her stomach. âJust cramps.â
His cheeks grew pink. âMy mom used a heating pad. I can get you one next time Iâm out running errands.â He rubbed his hands down his torn jeans. âOr I can get those cramp pills.â
âIâll be fine.â Neither would work on whatever this awful pain was, and she knew damn well Collin would have to steal those items because he didnât have any money.
A few newly changed Level Two Inciters came in the door behind her, cutting up, bragging about whatever job they had done tonight. If they werenât careful with the things they said, theyâd lead the Angel of Death right to their door. These guys were different. Sheâd never grown close to them, but their presence would allow her to relax a little while she went upstairs.
âHey, Red,â someone called out. She despised the nickname. Didnât they know the difference between red and brownish-auburn? Boys.
The burning and nausea in her stomach wasnât letting up though. Dammit. She threw a nod at the newcomers, then leaned toward Collin. âYouâre right. I need to sleep it off. If Iâm not up in an hour, come wake me.â
âDone.â He pulled the wooden compass watch sheâd given him out of his pocket. The only item sheâd ever taken from one of her kills. He glanced back up and tilted his head. âMan, your eyes are red and shiny. I donât think an hour will help.â
âYou need to work on your compliments, Collin.â She smirked, then ruffled his dirty blond hair, afraid he was right.
He jerked his head, swooshing his long bangs to the side. âNah, you know I didnât mean it like that.â
âSuuuuure,â she teased. âOne hour, and if Drakeâs back before that, send him up.â As much as she didnât want to admit something was wrong, she had to find out if the elixir could kill her. Maybe she was exaggerating, but the pain was awful.
She reached the top of the stairs. The queasiness overrode the ache in her leg. Was something wrong with the elixir dose sheâd gotten? Truthfully, she had no idea what it was. All she knew was it was supposed to help them. Each level would make them more powerful. She glanced over the balcony. This place wasnât much different from the other places, except this time the old rotten newspaper smell made her stomach flip, and her mouth filled with saliva. She swallowed.
âKeep your eyes open,â she called down to Collin, repeating the words Drake said to her earlier.
Collin finger-combed his messy hair. âDream sweet dreams about me, Cyn.â
She sighed and shook her head. âNot likely, kiddo.â
âIâm not a kid!â he yelled before she made it down the hall. Poor Collin had matured too quickly, experienced things no one should have experiencedâlike she had, but this was the life they had been handed. Iâm sick and exhausted, and Iâm probably depressed too, because Iâm talking to myself. Someone must know where my dad is.
A hollowness like no other lay inside of her chest. The murder of her mom and sister had ripped her life apart and changed everything. Her world turned completely inside out.
Lava clawed its way up her throat, water pooling in her eyes. She barely made it to her room, grabbed an old trash bucket, and released everything inside of her stomach for the third time this week. âWhat the hell?â It was time to accept something was really wrong and tell her friend. âDrake, hurry back.â
Her arm shook as she wiped her mouth, then chugged a bottle of water. She searched for something to settle her stomach. Unfortunately, she had nothing. Cyn welcomed the usual pain of training and fighting, but this was different. Poisonedâthatâs how she felt. Would she even get the chance to ask her father what or who made him do it? And if she found him, would he try to kill her too?
She closed her eyes and sunk onto an old mattress on the floor that sheâd covered with a clean blanket. The one Drakeâs godmother had given to her. She laid down and rubbed her temples as a jackhammer tore through her skull. Her flesh turned cold and clammy and the room spun. Everything hurt so damn much. She forced herself to think of anything else right now.
A vivid memory of a rare winter night, her father woke her gently, whispering that it was snowing. A magical occasion in Baton Rouge. He wrapped her in a blanket, took her hand, and led her outside to the backyard. They sat on the porch steps, tilting their heads to catch tiny snowflakes on their tongues. He told her such fascinating stories of stars and celestial heroes, his words weaving warmth in the cold air. The moment was pure joy, a special time just between them, his love so strong, so real like a protective shield against everything else.
Suddenly, three black ravens landed at their feet, cawing so loudly it shattered the magic. Startled, her father rushed her back inside, where he made them hot cocoa and continued his stories. It should have been perfect, but those ravens had ruined their secret snow moment.
The memory got her through many horrible nights. A fleeting glimpse of joy that made it impossible for her to understand what heâd done to their family. And to this day, she hated ravens more than she should.
The pain twisted her gut, and she cried out. âAngel of Death, youâre welcome to come end my suffering now.â
#
Lucien Ward ran his thumb over the worn leather holster on his left hip as he observed the abandoned street below. He forced his Seraph senses out, scanning, making sure no one was nearby. The Inciter faction was becoming more brazen with each kill and more obscure in their hiding places. In fact, they made this little game of hide-and-seek even more interesting.
Walking near the edge of the rooftop, he sneered. âHow many Inciters were seen tonight?â
âHalf dozen, maybe more.â The Arch-Seraph General, Roman Genoa, plucked lint from his dark suit jacket, then met Lucienâs gaze. âThe new recruits murdered five this week alone on the east side of Baton Rouge. Itâs getting worse.â
âDamn. How do you know theyâre new?â He eyed the General. Roman stood impeccably dressed, as always. The epitome of nobility. The complete opposite of him. But something was off.
âThey were overheard bragging at some bar.â Roman leaned forward against the brick ledge of the corporate tower, staring off into the darkness. His lips pressed firmly together. Friend or not, Lucien always kept his guard up. Roman would choose his role as Arch-Seraph General to the bitter end. âLike roaches, theyâre recruiting faster than we can end them.â
His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and tension grew tight across his shoulders. Lucien surpassed all the other Seraphs when it came to hunting, as Roman knew, but he couldnât help feeling like the Inciters were starting to outnumber the Seraphs. âMaybe itâs time we get new recruits as well.â
Romanâs intellectual silver eyes held firm. âMind your step. Thatâs not our place to decide.â
Obviously, he wasnât talking about Lucien falling off the roof. Lucien shouldâve bowed his head out of respect, but instead, he grunted. Roman might not regard or trust him like he used to, which cut, but Lucien still held high admiration for Roman. Even when Lucien had been demoted, Roman remained the only man heâd ever trusted, besides his dad. âGeneral.â
âStick to your orders, Loush.â Roman folded his thick arms. âAnd Iâll stick to mine.â
âI always do.â His mouth dried, and he flexed his fist at his side, hating the nickname Roman had given him hundreds of years ago.
âDo you?â Roman pulled his brows together. His stance restless.
He fought to keep his expression neutral; it had been only once that heâd allowed an Inciter to escape because heâd hoped it would lead him to the one in charge of their faction, but Roman didnât let him forget his mistake. It had been a dead end, and the Inciter hadnât been caught since.
Lucien raised his blades, the gleaming edges sharp and deadly. âYou look like something is bothering you.â
Romanâs brow arched. âAnd you âlookâ like a character from a Sapkowskiâs fantasy novel.â
âSapkowski?â Anything to change the subject from himself.
âTry keeping up with the current times, Seraph. Read a little.â
Why was he referencing a character, and who had time to read? Then he recalled a conversation theyâd had a long time ago. âCurrent, huh?â He took a deep breath. âI believe you compared me to the same brooding monster hunter long ago. Try something written in this decade, Rome.â His brooding wasnât as bad anymore. Was it?
âThe Inciters are monsters, ruthless human killers, and must be stopped before there arenât any humans left to protect.â Roman curled his lip, visibly grinding his perfect white teeth. âProtect the humans. Thatâs it. Clear?â
Tension rolled up his neck. There it was. The reason Roman was agitated. Roman didnât need to spell it out. Rome was upset because Lucien continued searching for the two missing Arch-Seraph Guardians on his own. The two he believed were responsible for the Sadara murders. âI promised retribution.â
It was once his role as Arch-Seraph Guardian to protect the Sadaras, but not any longer, not since there was only one Sadara left to protect.
Roman stepped forward, staring him down. âItâs time you let it go.â
âIf it were your family, would you?â His stomach hardened. âHas Sadara Aine?â The only one left. The only one left to give the General orders.
âNo.â Roman shook his head. âThatâs why I donât have family.â
âYou have me.â Shit. Whyâd he say something stupid like that? Brooding was better than being a sap.
Romanâs eyes softened for a flash, but it was there. âSadara Aine still has her own Soldiers searching.â
âI thought she gave up long ago.â When Aine had ordered her Guardian to hunt for the killer, heâd never returned. And the other Guardian disappearing at the exact time of the murders didnât feel like a coincidence. There was a tingling hunch that there was a connection between the Sadara murders and the Inciter uprising. Even without proof, his gut was usually right.
Turning away, Roman moved past him. âLetâs end the uprising, Lucien. Humans are counting on us.â
âHmm.â Humans were usually afraid of him. He dressed in mostly black and was at least a foot or so taller than most males. Plus, he couldnât claim to have an angelic face, but he nodded once at Roman. The General might be his superior, but heâd been his friend long before heâd made higher rank. Heâd always known Roman had his back, especially after he lost his mate and child. His chest tightened, and a heaviness filled his hollowed-out heart. âIs Sadara Aine still hiding?â
âNot hiding.â Roman stopped but didnât turn back. âSheâs counting on us to right the world too.â He paused. âIf you need back up.â The dark tinted glass door slid closed behind the Generalâs rigid back. Everyone was under a lot of pressure. The mortal killings were out of hand.
The Inciters, as they called themselves, were growing by insane numbers, and wiping out civilians just as fast. Why? For what reason? Who was behind it all?
Staring out into the darkness, Lucien flexed his six-foot-six frame and palmed the grip of his dagger as his blood pressure rose. Heâd do his duty as always, but until he found those who took everything from him, including his family, his internal scars would never heal. âI donât care how long it takes. Retribution will be mine.â
The Fallen Guardian, the first in Dawn Chartierâs Guardian-Hunter series, is a gripping paranormal romance with a heavy dose of urban fantasy grit, emotional trauma, and high-stakes celestial warfare. It introduces Gracyn, a fierce but broken young woman on a relentless mission to find her missing (and possibly murderous) father. In the process, she becomes entangled in the dangerous world of the Incitersâvigilante assassinsâand eventually crosses paths with Lucien, a brooding Seraph warrior known as the âAngel of Death.â
From its gritty street-level action to its soaring cosmic stakes, The Fallen Guardian wastes no time immersing the reader in a world where justice blurs with vengeance. Gracyn is a complex protagonistâboth hardened and vulnerable, fighting to survive while haunted by grief and unanswered questions. Her chemistry with Lucien is intense, turbulent, and filled with tension as they navigate their roles on opposite sides of a war they barely understand.
Chartierâs strength lies in the emotional depth of her characters and the layered exploration of trauma, guilt, and reluctant hope. The pacing is brisk, and the alternating POV between Gracyn and Lucien gives the story a dual pulseâgrounded humanity on one side, divine wrath on the other.
The novel leans heavily on genre tropesâgritty female lead, morally gray love interest, chosen-one undertonesâwhich, while enjoyable, can feel familiar. Additionally, the backstory around the Inciters and celestial factions could benefit from clearer world-building early on, as the lore is a bit dense and disorienting for first-time readers. Dialogue also veers into melodrama at times, which may divide readers.
If you enjoyed Angelfall by Susan Ee for its dark angelic mythos and gritty romance, or Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas for its deadly heroine and layered trauma, The Fallen Guardian will be right up your alley. Fans of Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick will appreciate the angel-human chemistry and hidden truths, while lovers of Crescent City by Sarah J. Maas will be drawn to the celestial politics and high emotional stakes.
The Fallen Guardian is a thrilling, emotional ride through divine warfare and inner turmoil.