Dark Halo (An Angel Eyes Novel) Read Online Free PDF

ago: it smells of doughnuts.
    Cinnamon and sugar twists. He’s almost certain.
    His stomach aches with hunger, but for the first time in his life the sweet smell makes him sick. His body arches against the ropes that hold him to the metal chair and he dry-heaves. The chair tips to his right and he falls—the chair with him. Pain forces away thoughts of food as his body contorts.
    He gasps and tries to shift off his side, but it’s useless. His arm is broken or his shoulder dislocated. Maybe both. It’s impossible to tell with the chair on its side and his body tied this way. The pain seems to be coming from everywhere, but he’s got to get out of here.
    He kicks against his binds, but the action does nothing except send slivers of sweat-inducing pain through his chest and arm. He kicks harder, panic growing. Memories build like black water behind a dam as he flails. They threaten to break through, to drown him.
    He and Brielle in the red orchard, her hair spilling over her shoulders as he warns her about Damien, tells her how dangerous the demon’s new eyes have made him. Dirt smearing from his fingers to her face as he wipes the tears away.
    And then she was gone.
    The panic he felt in that moment rivals what he feels now. Was it friend or foe that took her from him? He didn’t know. Not until Canaan pulled Jake into the Celestial. Only then did hesee that it was Helene who had taken Brielle. It was Helene who held her safely.
    And then demons. Everywhere demons. Canaan fought hard, but there were too many. Razor-sharp daggers sliced a gaping hole through the wings that held Jake tight to the Shield’s chest, and he fell.
    That’s the last thing Jake remembers.
    Falling.
    “I enlisted once. US Army.”
    Jake goes still. Fear wraps his arms and legs, holding him tighter than any ro relief in that.
nt1Ape ever could. He opens his eyes, and though his face is pressed against the floor now, he does his best to peer around the room. He sees no one. The basement seems just as it did before: quiet, vacant. But it’s a lie. He knows the voice snaking into his head. Knows it. Hates it.
    Damien’s here.
    “ Enlisted may not be the correct word,” the voice continues, “but you understand. I learned a lot during my time with the Special Forces. It’s amazing what you can do with a little duct tape, nylon cord, and a couple zip ties. No, I don’t imagine you’ll be breaking free of that chair anytime soon.” Damien’s voice is confident, cocky even, and for a demon who doesn’t talk much, he seems anxious to say what’s on his mind. “Haunting the army gave me access to . . . well, to boys just like you. Warriors who think they fight for noble causes. Children broken by war. Soldiers who think they can fix this world.”
    Pain flares through Jake’s body again. He smells Damien’s breath—sulfur and decay—feels it on his brow. And then the demon materializes in front of him. His knee presses into Jake’s shoulder, his human face scrubbed clean and shaven, his terrestrial body clothed in camouflage fatigues.
    “Good soldiers.” He spits the words now, running a finger over the Special Forces tab on his left sleeve. “Brave. Bent on helping others. On healing the broken. But like you, they lack the ability to heal themselves.”
    Damien grabs Jake by the neck, lifts the chair, and slams it down upright. Metal rings out against the concrete floor, and the once-sturdy chair wobbles. Jake cries out in pain, but he makes note of Damien’s mistake, pressing his foot against the leg of the chair. He hears the grind of the screw. It’s loose now.
    “Why do you think that is? Like me, you can heal others. I’ve seen you do it. But here you are, bent and bleeding.” The demon crouches before him. “My body heals itself. Why doesn’t yours, Child of God?”
    There’s something in the question. Something of need. Something of ignorance. Jake blows air through his teeth in an effort to control the pain and rage