Destined Shadows Read online

  Destined Shadows

  A Nephilim’s Destiny Prequel Story

  Tessa Cole

  Contents

  DESTINED SHADOWS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Other Books By Tessa Cole

  DESTINED SHADOWS

  TESSA COLE

  Destined Shadows

  by Tessa Cole

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  Copyright © 2019 Tessa Cole

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are entirely the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual locals, events, or organizations is coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Even with my back turned, I could feel him watching me. His attention simmered in the air, warming it around me by a few degrees, manifested by my weird next-to-useless empathic magic. It made my pulse thrum a little too fast and my cheeks a little too flush. And it had been like that between us from the moment I’d walked into the bullpen at the precinct, only a few months ago, and met my new partner’s gaze.

  Marcus Diaz. He was sexy and edgy, with a hint of wild ferocity that tightened my nerves with anticipation, and a damn good cop on top of it all.

  The attraction had been instant, breathtaking, sizzling. Just knowing he watched me through the coffee shop’s large front window made me ache for something I knew was a terrible idea. Partners didn’t get involved with each other. Especially a more experienced officer and a rookie with less than six months on the job. Not to mention I wouldn’t be able to grow my career if I was branded the rookie who slept with her partner.

  And I wanted to grow my career. I’d been working toward being a cop since I was a teenager and had realized I couldn’t stop myself from fighting injustice and protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. And yes, becoming a cop risked revealing the supernatural part of me that I’d been hiding my entire life, but the need to protect had kept growing. I’d originally ignored it and jumped from minimum wage job to minimum wage job, but in the end, I couldn’t resist.

  Now I feared if I let Marcus get too close, he’d discover the truth. Not just the truth that I was a nephilim, a half human half angel supernatural being that the entire world hated and feared, but the truth that I didn’t really know how to have a relationship. Not a friendship and certainly not a romantic one.

  The coffee shop girl, a teenager with bright pink streaks in her blonde hair, set our coffees on the counter. I paid her and checked to make sure the lids were secure.

  All my life I’d kept everyone at arm’s length. If they didn’t get too close, they’d never learn the truth.

  I’d been fine with that. It made me feel safe. Alone — especially when my mother had died shortly after my seventeenth birthday — but safe. Sure, I’d had one-night stands and a few flings, but I never brought them home and never met their families. I’d never wanted to.

  But with Marcus—

  God, I wanted to take him home and explore the sizzling heat between us and so much more.

  I grabbed our coffees and headed to the door.

  Although maybe I wasn’t craving a relationship. Maybe I just wanted human contact. Maybe I just wanted sex. And hell, even without the heat in his eyes and in the air, I’d think of sex every time I looked at him. He was gorgeous, with a lean-muscled body, rich skin tone, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow that I’m sure frustrated the hell out of the captain but made every woman in the precinct look at him just a little longer than the other guys.

  He leaned against the cruiser’s driver’s side door in a parking spot on the other side of the street, illuminated by the warm glow of a streetlight. He’d hooked his thumbs in his duty belt, and watched something on the sidewalk a few feet down from me. Then he turned his piercing green gaze, capturing mine through the shop’s glass door, and the temperature around me flickered hotter for a second.

  My pulse stuttered. If I was smart, I’d ask for a different partner. But I didn’t want the captain to think I was difficult to work with, especially with only a few months on the job. Marcus was a great cop, and there were more than a few officers who were pissed I’d been partnered with him — and not all of them were women. I’d be an idiot to ask for someone else. Not to mention, I didn’t really want a different partner.

  He blinked, and the heat in his gaze vanished behind a mask of pleasant professionalism, but the heat in the air continued to warm me. If I hadn’t been holding two cups of coffee, I would have rolled up my sleeves to cool off. I’d yet to work a winter with Marcus, but I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be feeling the cold no matter how snowy it got. I’d already learned not to bother wearing my light fall jacket, even if the cool fall temperatures made everyone else wear one, and so far Marcus hadn’t commented on that. I could only hope it would stay that way.

  I shouldered the coffee shop door open and stepped onto the sidewalk. A whisper of cool air — the actual temperature of the fall evening — swirled around me then was consumed by Marcus’s heat.

  Someone yelped, and Marcus’s attention jumped back down the sidewalk toward the sound. I jerked toward the cry as well. A woman sat on the sidewalk, her expression stunned, as a thin man in a black hoodie and ripped jeans barreled toward me. He clutched a bright yellow purse, and his muddy brown eyes in his sallow thin face flashed wide as our gazes met. Yeah, big mistake snatching a purse right in front of a cop.

  “Stop. UCPD,” I said, hoping he’d just stop and I wouldn’t have to drop my coffee.

  He shoved a guy in a navy suit into me and bolted past us.

  Shit. I stumbled, sloshing burning coffee out the tiny hole in the lids onto my hands.

  “Go,” Marcus yelled from across the street as he yanked open the driver’s side door of our cruiser.

  I dropped the cups and ran, knowing Marcus would follow.

  The guy in the hoodie ran past a group of teenagers and barreled down the street with a speed that made me wonder if he was just a good runner or if he possessed a bit of supernatural power — either because he was a super or because he wore a magical charm.

  I really hoped it wasn’t because he was a super. Yes, it was impossible to avoid all things supernatural in Union City — hell, pretty much anywhere in the world since the supers had come out of hiding to help the angels save humanity — but I’d worked hard to keep my exposure to a minimum. The more involved I was with supernatural people and things, the greater the chance someone would start asking questions about me and my unusual temperature issues.

  Thank God that was all the power I had. The angelic half of my nature could have been a lot more obvious. My eyes could have glowed with angelic light, or I could have had an innate magical ability like a full angel, but one I couldn’t hide. And while most angels could hide their innate magic, about a third of the nephilim Michael had created to destroy human and supernatural kind couldn’t.

  The radio chirped as Marcus called in our pursuit to dispatch. I pushed myself to run faster. In the very least, I needed to keep eyes on our thief.

  The guy jerked into a dark alley, large shadowy mounds — garbage bins and garbage that hadn’t made it into the bins — lining both sides. Halfway down, he stumbled, but it wasn’t enough for me to catch up. A few seconds later, my foot hit something slick — wet cardboard? — and I jerked my arms out to catch my balance.

  For a second I considered pulling out my flashlight, but the guy was almost at the end
of the alley and beyond lay a bright, busy street. Not to mention that pulling out my flashlight could slow me down even for only a second, and that could be the second he needed to make it to the street before I got out of the alley and lose me.

  Not going to happen. I put on a burst of speed. He reached the mouth of the alley and turned right. I hit the street a few seconds later.

  “Stop. UCPD,” I gasped, lunging for him. My fingers brushed the back of his hoodie, but he jerked between two parked cars into oncoming traffic, and I couldn’t get a hold of him.

  Horns blared and brakes squealed. The guy skidded over the hood of a cabbie and ran into the open bay door of a mechanic’s garage. I ran around the front of the cabbie and chased after him.

  Two burly mechanics glanced up as I followed the thief through the garage and out the back door into a fenced-in lot with a dozen rusted vehicles.

  The guy ran to a narrow spot between the shell of a rusted sedan and a pile of barrels stacked three high. With the yellow purse slung over his shoulder catching the light of a bare bulb hanging at the top of a post, he leaped onto the chain link fence, his chest heaving with ragged gasps from our run.

  I lunged in, seized the bottom of his hoodie, and wrenched. His foot slipped, and he jerked around and dove at me.

  Oh, shit.

  I still had no idea if this guy was a super or not, but from the hard look in his eyes, he was pissed, and even though he was skinny, he was still bigger and heavier than me. He tackled me to the ground, the force knocking the air from my lungs, and punched at my face.

  I wrenched my head to the side, somehow dodging the blow, and his fist slammed into the broken asphalt. He yelped in pain, and I heaved him off me, determined to regain my footing and put some distance between us so I could draw my sidearm.

  But he dove at me before I could fully stand. We crashed into the barrels, toppling the pile. The lid on one of them popped off and black oily liquid rushed out into a wide puddle.

  The guy jerked to his feet and grabbed the neck of my vest, hauling me up with him. God, he must be a super with that kind of strength.

  I rammed my fist into his throat before he could hit me, my pulse racing half from the exertion of the run and half with fear — because there was no way I was strong enough to deal with a super.

  With a gasp, he staggered back. His foot hit the oil and he toppled backwards, yanking me down on top of him.

  I rammed my elbow into his chest as I fell, drawing an oomph, and seized his hand still clutching the neck of my vest. He bucked, throwing me off balance, and rolled us over into the oily spill, straddling me with one hand pressed against my chest and punching me in the ribs with the other.

  My breath vanished and pain exploded in my chest. I fumbled to grab my cuffs and capture the wrist of the hand holding me down as he punched again. His fist flew toward my face. I jerked my arm up, blocking his punch as best I could, which meant pushing it aside enough that only his knuckles skimmed my temples before he hit the asphalt again.

  “You bitch. You God damn fucking bitch.” He yanked back his hurt hand.

  Black specks danced across my vision and I heaved against him. His knee slipped in the puddle, and I shoved him off me, somehow managing to keep hold of his wrist. With a twist, I got to my feet and wrenched his arm behind his back and secured the cuff.

  “Fucking bitch.” He wrenched against my grip, but I jerked his hand higher up his back, making him cry in pain.

  “UCPD,” I gasped. “And I said stop.”

  Chapter 2

  The thief struggled in my grip as the cruiser roared into the lot from the narrow driveway at the side of the garage, and Marcus jumped out and drew his sidearm. His gaze swept over me, and he pressed his lips tight. The muscles in his jaw flexed, as if he was fighting to hold something back. Then his lips quirked up and his shoulders started to shake.

  Jeez. He was laughing at me. That wasn’t the impression I wanted to make as a rookie or a woman. But given I was covered in oily goo to the point it made my uniform cling to my body and it oozed from my scalp down the back of my neck into my collar, the good-impression ship had already sailed.

  Something rolled from my hair, across my temple to my jaw, and plopped onto my shoulder.

  Yep, the ship was so far out of sight he was going to be laughing about this for days.

  “Twice in one week,” Marcus chuckled, unable to hold his laughter back. “That’s a new record for you.”

  I gave him my driest smile. Three days ago I’d ended up in a mud puddle in the middle of a construction site. “You know I love to excel.”

  He rolled his eyes at me. “Come on. Don’t just stand there. Finish cuffing him.” His gaze lifted to the clear sky, its sparkling pinpricks of stars barely visible with all the city’s lights and a full moon. “The crazy for the night has just started.”

  Up until I’d joined the force, I’d thought crazies coming out on a full moon was just a myth. And yes, I still thought it was a myth even knowing werewolves, and heck, were-just-about-every-predator existed.

  Of course, there was still something about the full moon that made the lycanthropy woven into a shifter’s DNA more powerful and virulent, but it wasn’t as extreme as the pre-war movies had made it out to be. Shifters acted more like they were having a really bad period — both female and male shifters — and were uncomfortable and moody.

  And while the full moon did make lycanthropy contagious, the chances of contracting it were so slim it was almost impossible. One of the shifter’s bodily fluids had to enter the human’s bloodstream, and then that human had to be the one in a million whose DNA was susceptible to being taken over.

  Marcus’s laughter broke through his control again as he marched toward me. “You don’t even need the full moon for crazy. Crazy just finds you.”

  His green gaze captured me and the heat in the air billowed. My pulse skipped a beat and my mouth went dry.

  He grabbed the yellow purse, which somehow hadn’t ended up in the puddle. “Let’s get this guy to booking.”

  I secured the thief’s other hand, got him into the car, and reached to open the front passenger side door.

  Marcus cocked an eyebrow and shook his head.

  “I’m riding in the back again, aren’t I?” The mud had banished me to the plastic seats in the back. I should have known the oil would, too.

  “No way am I letting you ride up front.” Marcus tossed the purse onto the passenger seat and settled in behind the wheel. “If you’re good to your station trustee, rookie, they’ll be good to you.”

  “What about being good to your rookie?” I jerked my chin at the thief, telling him to move over, and got in beside him.

  “I am being good to you,” Marcus said through the metal grate between the front and back seats. “I could make you walk back to the station.”

  “Pretty sure everyone would think you’d lost me if you did that.”

  “Nah.” He pulled onto the street. “I’d call dispatch to warn the others not to pick up the oil demon slowly making her way to the station.”

  The thief snickered, and I glared at him. “Not sure you should be laughing. You grabbed a bright yellow purse in front of a cop. I might not have been able to notice you right away if it had been black or brown.”

  “But it was yellow,” the guy said with a strange glimmer in his eyes.

  “Yeah, and it was easy to spot.”

  He leaned forward and pressed his face against the grate, his gaze on the purse. “So yellow.”

  Marcus’s gaze flickered to mine through the rearview mirror. “How much heat is he giving off?”

  Shit. I should have been paying attention to that. With an appearance that didn’t look supernatural, I’d assumed if he was a super, he was a shifter. And when he hadn’t turn his fingers into claws, I was pretty sure he wasn’t a shifter. Not to mention he hadn’t used any supernatural abilities in the fight, so I’d then assumed he was human and more or less magically sa
fe. But there were still a few demons who could pass as human as well as half demons — who, unlike a naturally born nephilim, were entirely possible — and I hadn’t even thought about those… let alone knew much about them or any type of demon, for that matter.

  I inched closer to the thief who, with his attention still locked on the yellow purse, didn’t notice. The air around me didn’t change, but I couldn’t tell if that meant the thief wasn’t a demon or if Marcus’s attraction was too strong for me to tell if the guy was giving off heat.

  “Sooooo yellow,” the guy crooned.

  “If you’re that close and you can’t feel the heat from him, then he isn’t a full magpie.” Marcus stopped at a red light.

  “I’m magpie enough,” the guy huffed. “And we prefer Demonica Corvidae Cissa.”

  “Looks like we’re hunting for his stash after we book this guy,” Marcus said as the light turned green.

  “I won’t tell you where it is,” the thief said, and he snapped his mouth shut.

  Marcus ignored him and scrunched his nose. “And after you shower and change.”

  We pulled into the station’s garage. Marcus opened the back door to let me out, and we hauled the thief into booking.

  Tia Jackson glanced up from her computer behind the booking counter and burst into laughter. “Looks like Sean won the pool,” the sturdy war-vet said, her dark eyes filled with mirth.

  “You guys were betting on me?” Ouch. I hadn’t thought I’d ended up covered in gunk that often, but if I thought about it, Tuesday’s mud puddle put my count past one hand… and I’d managed to go through my first two months on the job without incident. Which put me at… jeez, seven in less than four months.