Revelation, p.1
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       Revelation, p.1
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           Randi Cooley Wilson
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  Copyright © 2014 by Randi Cooley Wilson.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the author at the web address below.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Published By: Randi Cooley Wilson

  Edited by Kris Kendall at Final-Edits

  Proofreading by KD Phillips with Indie Solutions By Murphy Rae

  Cover Design by © – Claudia McKinney

  Revelation (The Revelation Series, Book #1)/ Randi Cooley Wilson

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition May 2014

  ISBN-13: 978-1495391521

  ISBN-10: 1495391523

  LCCN: 2014906057

  For my daughter, husband, friends and family who always support and encourage me to follow my dreams.

  “Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.”

  ― John Milton, Paradise Lost


  1 Dreams

  2 Encounters

  3 Katana

  4 Blue Flames

  5 La Gargouille

  6 Dragons

  7 Harsh Realities

  8 Realm Jumping

  9 Protector

  10 Revelation

  11 Rejection

  12 Message

  13 The London Clan

  14 In The Shadows

  15 Acceptance

  16 Gateway to Paradise

  17 Divine Presence

  18 The Declan Clan

  19 Stay

  20 Morning Light

  21 Strategy

  22 Sacrifices

  Excerpt from Restraint


  Dialect Translations


  About the Author

  1 Dreams

  I'm running, and not very well might I add. My lungs burn and my shallow breathing erratically bounces off the slick stonewalls. I keep moving forward, forcing myself farther and farther into the dark underground passage. It's cold, damp, and smells like musk.

  “What the hell is following me?” I ask myself as confusion sets in. The only thing I'm certain of is I'm bone chillingly terrified, down to the core of my very soul. I'm frightened that whatever is chasing me will catch me because when it does, there’s no doubt it will kill me. Its hatred and anger rolls off it in waves, crashing through me like a sharp gust of wind, suffocating me. I'm positive it's pure evil.

  Just as I reach the end of the tunnel, I hit a solid wall, ceasing my progress and ending my futile efforts of escape. "Shit," I whisper out loud while I strike my palms to the water slicked stones. Feeling defeated, I place my forehead to the damp wall and release a soft whimper.

  I need to figure out my options, quickly. I sense its presence closing in, dropping the tunnel’s temperature from cool and damp to downright frigid, the glacial air settling around the passageway. My breath comes out in solid cloud form in front of me. My heart rate increases as I stifle the gag reflexes being challenged by the rancid smell of sulfur and sour milk.

  "Eeevee," it hisses, mocking me. Sensing my deepest fears, it begins to play with me by using those emotions against me. "Oh God." I exhale as I close my eyes and rub my temples, trying to ease the dread rising in my throat.

  Panicked, I start talking to myself. "Think, Eve." I turn around, allowing my eyes to scan over the dark enclosed area. All I can see in front of me is black. Blowing out a harsh breath, I begin to pray for a miracle as I wait for it to manifest.

  "Nope, nothing," I say dejectedly to no one.

  I twist back to the wall. In a frantic state, I push and pound on the large, dark gray stones, trying anything. I'm desperate and there's an off chance that located somewhere is a hidden opening that could grant me freedom.

  Then I hear it. The thing I fear most. I spin and freeze, fixed in my spot at the hissing sound of slithering snakes. Oh shit, now I'm really afraid. My heartbeat echoes in my ears as a severe chill runs down the length of my spine. My lips force air out sharply in a frenzied state, causing strands of fallen hair to jump away from my face with each irregular breath.

  Without warning, the tunnel goes silent. The only sound ricocheting off the wet stones is my strained breaths being forced into the dark abyss. I remind myself to inhale before I suffer from a full-blown panic attack. With great slowness, I rotate to face my attacker.

  No one is there.

  Swallowing hard, my eyes shift down to the floor and take in the dark tendrils of smoke that crawl around my ankles, rooting me to the ground. What the hell? My eyes dart around wildly, searching for the point of origin of the wisp but there isn’t one.

  With my back pressed flat against the cold concrete wall and the dampness seeping into my shirt, I've resigned myself to the fact that this is how I'm going to die. I close my eyes in acceptance and attempt to steady my breathing, listening to the droplets of water hitting the ground.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  I try to convince myself it will be okay as the dark cloud works its way up my body, wrapping forcefully around my neck and cutting off the oxygen supply sustaining me.

  Black spots form behind my closed eyelids as I become light headed and dizzy. The lack of oxygen begins to take hold of my body and I start to lose consciousness. Crap.

  "Dimittet eam, Nero," I hear a strong male voice order in a calm yet deadly tone.

  I can't see my savior. Everything is shrouded in darkness. Maybe he isn't even here and I'm hallucinating in my final moments of life.

  The black mist loosens its chokehold on my neck while hissing angrily. "Deus tuus, ibi est filia eius."

  A putrid gust of air blankets my face with each seething mock. Changing its mind, the evil smoke cackles, rewrapping my throat and gripping firmly, causing me to wheeze. What the fuck?

  "Dixit mittam tibi pergat ad profundum inferni, sive," my liberator says heatedly in Latin.

  Nero releases me then turns to my rescuer, morphing into the outline of a man. At the discharge of its hold, my body slides down the slick wall, landing harshly on the glacial, water-soaked stone floor. I begin coughing and gasping for air as I place my head between my legs, willing air into my lungs.

  "Et subdit quod me putesssss?" Nero hisses.

  "Yes, you repulsive excuse of an existence, I do think I can send you back to the depths of Hell," my protector replies calmly, yet cocky.

  "Et veniunt ad me ut gurgulio," Nero states in a final slithery tone. At that command, my savior pulls out a long, black, granite sword that reflects the water cascading down the passage walls.

  "Delectabiliter," the dark knight replies coldly before he attacks.

  Even wrapped in blackness, I can sense he's a trained warrior. His body moves with ease and agility as he engages Nero. I hear each whoosh the sword makes as it slices effortlessly through the air, making contact with each thrust.

  I can't make out any of the warrior’s facial features but I know he's large and moves fast and efficiently. I close my eyes for a brief second, only to thro
w them open in alarm at the high-pitched shriek coming from the thing called Nero as it bursts into blue flames and vanishes.

  That’s when I officially lose control over my emotions and begin to shake uncontrollably with tears flowing down my pale cheeks. The blackness engulfs me, choking me. I shut my eyes, wishing everything would just stop and I was anywhere else.

  All of a sudden, I feel warmth and calm flow through my veins as my guardian kneels down next to me and pulls me into his safe embrace with gentleness. He strokes my hair, trying to pacify me as I cling to him for life.

  The masculine scent of smoky wood and leather fills my nose, as his deep voice whispers in my ear.

  “Hush. It’s all right. You’re safe. No harm will come to you. I’ve got you.” His tone is slow and soft, as if speaking to a wounded animal, lulling me into a state of calmness.

  With great tenderness, his large, warm hands cup my cheeks and lift my face to meet his, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. A pointless effort since the flow increases with the kind gesture.

  My gaze lifts and connects with a pair of glowing indigo eyes. They’re staring at me with such intensity and affection that his look creates an ache deep within my chest as my body draws itself to his of its own accord, like it knows him.

  The voice belonging to those eyes speaks with a firm vow. “I will protect you...always.”

  Gasping for air, I abruptly sit up in bed and swallow down a scream. My fists clutch my blanket in a severe death grip as pieces of my light brown hair fall from my ponytail and stick to the sweat on my face and neck.

  I drop my head into my waiting hands and realize my cheeks are wet, most likely from the tears that escaped my hazel eyes during my nightmare.

  The dampness causes my long, dark lashes to stick to one another while I rub them. The lids open then close again and I order myself to take even breaths to calm my erratic heartbeat. As I slowly open them for the final time, my heart rate picks up once more at the realization of what's coming next.

  I turn to my left and steel myself.

  "What. The. Hell. Eve!" Aria, my roommate and self-appointed best friend, screeches and I wince from the high-pitched octave. Crap. I woke her up, again.

  She's sitting on her bed, looking like a pissed off fairy. Her normally cute pixie pink hair is suffering a major case of bed head, sticking up in all directions.

  "Are you okay?" Aria asks with an irritated, yet concern-laced voice and her petite hands on her curvy hips. She’s staring at me, waiting for an explanation as I open and close my mouth like a gaping fish, trying to form intelligent words.

  "Sorry, I um, bad dream," I mutter inarticulately.

  "No shit," she says with sarcasm dripping from her lips. "Same one?" The question is thrown out along with some serious stink eye radiating from her round chocolate orbs.

  Arianna “Aria” Donovan dislikes being woken up in the middle of the night. I know this because we’ve been college roommates for all of one month now. Which means, I’ve woken her up more times than I care to count.

  We met over the summer during freshman orientation, and according to Aria, it was ‘friendship at first sight.’ As new students, we were placed into groups of ten and forced to play this ridiculous get-to-know-you game where each person had a photo of a particular cartoon character taped to their back. The goal was to ask the group questions in an attempt to gain enough information to guess who your character was so you could partner up with your match for the rest of orientation.

  Aria was Bert and I was Ernie. We’ve been inseparable ever since, even requesting to room together this semester. Well, in truth, Aria demanded we room together, and since I’m pretty easy going, I didn’t put up a fight, figuring it would be nice to know someone.

  At the moment, I’m thinking she’s second-guessing her choice in roommates.

  She sighs and prowls to the mini fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and shoving it in my hand before turning on the crystal-embellished lamp on the pink thrift store revived table in between our beds.

  Our dorm room is a decent size. We got lucky with the housing lottery and managed to snag a suite. Unfortunately, that means we share it with two other roommates.

  The space consists of two shared bedrooms, a common area lounge, and an attached bathroom. Overall, it’s your typical college dorm room, amped up with Aria’s thrift store finds reincarnated into amazing pieces of art because she is an eternal optimist and believes everything can be redeemed.

  Her décor style matches her schizophrenic personality to perfection. A combination of Barbie meets Marilyn Manson. She’s the only person I know who can pull off pink combat boots, black nail polish, and dark black smoky eyeliner with a pink sundress and have it look adorably sexy.

  I like her one-of-a-kind style. It offsets my average, girl-next-door fashion sense, which usually consists of skinny jeans, knee-high boots, and a cotton long sleeved t-shirt. I suppose it’s what originally drew me to her, opposites attract. I also presume that’s what makes our friendship fun.

  The cousins, our other two dorm mates, they’re a different story. Speaking of, I need to take cover as the door to our room crashes open in dramatic fashion and both Abby and McKenna enter the room like a Victoria’s Secret pajama commercial.

  Abby, the younger of the two cousins by only a few months, smiles with her delicate arms folded, allowing her long red hair to cascade over her refined shoulders.

  “You okay, Eve?” she asks with concern.

  Even at three in the morning, Abigail “Abby” Connor is ethereal looking. She’s wearing her black flannel pajama bottoms and a cute green t-shirt that says, Kiss Me I’m Irish. The green brings out the flecks of shimmer in her crystal blue eyes.

  I force a casual shrug. “Yeah. Just another bad dream. Sorry to wake you guys up again.”

  She responds with a warm smile.

  On the other hand, McKenna just grunts. I’ve deduced it’s simply because she hates talking to people.

  Now that I think about it, McKenna “Kenna” McIntyre just dislikes people in general. She’s always ranting about the ‘human race’ being inferior. Substandard to whom, she’s never clarified. Most of the time, her off-handed comments go in one ear and out the other because they’re so frequent.

  I exhale and take a sip of water, the cool liquid hydrating my dry throat.

  McKenna narrows her sapphire eyes, outlined with lush black lashes, at me. “Seriously, Eve. I’m tired of waking up to your fucking screaming every night,” she comments in a harsh tone.

  I grimace. “Was I screaming? Sorry, I had no idea,” I offer. Of course, I was screaming. I was being choked to death for god’s sake. The shrieking might also be why my throat feels like sandpaper, making it painful to swallow or talk.

  Turning like a graceful, but angry swan, McKenna heads toward the doorway, stopping just before making her dramatic exit. “You look like shit, by the way.” She snarls and flicks her long, platinum blonde hair over her shoulder to enhance her point. With that, she storms out, fuzzy slippers and all.

  Most of the student body on campus is terrified of McKenna. Wishful thinking would be they’re put off by her ‘sass’ and ‘straight shooting’ attitude.

  I think she just gets off on intimidating people. She also has no filter, a vocabulary rivaling any truck driver, and can make even the strongest person fold into her or himself with her malevolent stare.

  Needless to say, the jury is still out on our friendship. It’s only been four weeks. Abby, on the other hand, is extremely likeable and is becoming a good friend.

  “Sorry,” I mutter for the fourth time this week.

  The nightmares began on my eighteenth birthday. Each time, I wake up in a cold sweat, gasping for air, crying and screaming from being terrified and tortured in the outlandish dream. It’s been rough, to say the least.

  Lying back on my pillow, I put my arm over my eyes, willing my body to calm itself down as the adrenaline still pum
ps wildly through my veins. I try using the breathing techniques I’ve learned through years of studying yoga. It’s not working.

  Abby fidgets with unease. “Kenna doesn’t mean to be bitchy. She’s just tired,” she excuses the poor behavior, a maternal habit of hers.

  With poise, she sits on my bed, removing my arm from my hidden face. “Do you want to talk about it?” She offers a small smile. “It might help make it less scary and real if you say it out loud.” Abby pauses before continuing. “You’d be surprised at my level of understanding when it comes to fear-provoking things,” she says at almost an inaudible level.

  “No. Thanks, Abby. I’m good. Just a bad dream,” I say as persuasively as I can for both our sakes because if she knew what lurked in the darkness of the dreams she’d have me committed.

  Abby studies my face for a moment, searching for a hint of deceit. When she’s convinced I’m all right, she stands to go back to her own room. “Okay, but if you change your mind, come and get me. I’m happy to listen, Eve. Night, girls,” she utters in a sweet voice before leaving.

  McKenna and Abby are both tall and built like dancers. While Abby exudes grace and regality, McKenna radiates fierce warrior princess. When they’re together, it’s intimidating.

  Aria just stands there, staring at me, taking this all in while wearing her favorite pink t-shirt and matching boy shorts. All five feet of her looks both adorable and annoyed.

  “Fine,” she huffs and relinquishes the idea that I want to elaborate on my nightmare-induced state. She crawls back into bed, pulls up her ruffled pink blanket, and turns off the light.

  We sit in silence, the moonlight shining through the window, bathing the room in a blue glow and twisting the shadows on the walls. I turn my eyes upwards to the ceiling, focusing on it with immense concentration, wishing the terrifying dreams would stop so I could have a normal night’s sleep.

  After a few moments, Aria rolls over to face me as the night’s silver light bounces off her features, masked in sympathetic concern. She goes to speak, but I cut her off.

  “Please don’t, Aria. I just don’t have it in me tonight,” I whisper, pleading for her to back off.

  “Okay, but at some point we need to figure this out, Eve. I’m worried about you.” She sighs, turns over, and goes to sleep.

  I’m left to contemplate my dreams and their meaning while, once again, staring into the abyss of darkness.

  2 Encounters

  October in Massachusetts brings cool fall temperatures. Little by little, this charming New England campus, crammed with brick buildings and puritan heritage, is filling with warm autumn colors. I close the required reading for my rhetorical criticism class and take in a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the crisp air to fill my lungs while I sit on my favorite bench under an old oak tree in the campus quad.

  I have an unusual connection to the tree. Perhaps it’s the sheer size that comforts me, deceiving me with the sensation of being secure and sheltered. I’ve been on edge lately as if a dangerous storm is coming. An illogical sentiment since Kingsley College has been voted the safest college campus in the northeast for the past ten years.

  It’s for that reason alone my overprotective aunt allowed me to attend in the first place, using some of the trust my parents left me after their deaths. Well, that and five forced years of studying Krav Maga. My beautiful and crazy aunt required I take it in high school and continue in college because a girl can never be too safe or prepared. Her words.

  Buried within a small town, the college epitomizes educational greatness and is steeped in rich academic tradition. At least that’s what it says in the brochure. With a small community of just under six thousand students and flawlessly manicured estate-like grounds, Kingsley overflows with scholarly charm.

  The entire campus sprawls out on three hundred acres, meaning you could walk from the west side to the east in under twenty minutes, or if feeling lazy, you can take the shuttle bus in five, which I’m sure I’ll appreciate in the snow-filled months.

  I’m currently on the west side of campus in the main courtyard. It has well-kept landscaping for miles, adorned with brick walkways, blooming fall flowers, and oak tree lined streets proudly boasting their warm orange, gold, and brown fall leaves.

  My bench faces the centerpiece of the campus. Belmont Hall is an impressive brick building, showcasing four thick white pillars. Ten massive steps lead up to the large white double doors. It sits at the head of the quad like the queen of all university buildings. It’s also the picturesque structure used on all the brochures to lure you into academic life here, promising exemplary education leading to a productive and fulfilling post-educational life.

  I could sit here for hours and people watch. Wrapped up in my reverie, I barely notice a small area near the trees harboring a soft-blue glow. As my eyes focus on the illuminated area, my skin heats and warmth begins to flow through my veins. I’m having the oddest case of déjà vu.

  I narrow my eyes, trying to get a better look at the radiance that has captured my interest, but whatever it was dissolves into thin air. As if nothing happened, I feel myself being released from the seize it had on me. Leaving me empty and alone as coldness emanates through me, replacing the warmth.

  “Great. Now I’m seeing glowing blue spots,” I mutter under my breath. “I’m also talking to myself. Yep, Eve, it’s official. You’re starting to friggin’ lose it.” I seriously need a good night’s sleep or Aria’s going to have me admitted to the psych ward.

  My thought process is interrupted and my attention shifts to a group of giddy girls, whispering and giggling. Internally rolling my eyes, curiosity gets the best of me and I turn to see what the uproar is about.

  Leaning on a classic black Wiesmann Roadster, in the parking lot near Lexington Hall, is a tall, lean, good-looking guy. He’s smiling at his fan girl harem.

  Smoldering hot guy is the type of male that females instantly drop their panties for. No doubt he makes every girl feel as if they’re the only one on the planet. Damn if he didn’t have the chiseled cheeks and blond scruff along his perfect jawline to solidify the cliché.

  He runs a large hand through his golden hair, which falls to the midway point on his neck with a sexy cut, a stark contrast to his all black outfit consisting of tailored dress pants, a v-neck t-shirt, a watch, and designer shoes which probably cost more than my tuition.

  This guy’s obvious love for black reeks of trouble. God, I need to stop gawking and drooling.

  Lighting a cigarette, he turns, catching my eyes with his. He gives me a slight nod as if he knows me. Then he shifts his sea green eyes to the area I was just staring at in the courtyard, narrowing them while blowing out the nicotine-infested smoke from his mouth. He methodically rubs his lips with his thumb in contemplation.

  Confused, I look back and forth between the quad area and him but can’t make out a connection or reason for his peculiar behavior. He refocuses his gaze back to me, bestowing a sexy but emotionally void smile.

  Wariness runs over me. There’s something aloof and conniving about him. He gives the impression of being standoffish but it’s too controlled, forced even. As if he knows what I’m thinking, the boy sneers at me and turns back to the scatterbrained girls vying for his attention. He says something that appears to be brilliant because I swear they all swoon and blush simultaneously.

  “Hey. Who’s the hot guy?” Aria inquires, plopping down next to me, chomping on her pink bubble gum.

  Is everything this girl touches pink?

  “I don’t know. He just appeared, looking all cunning and surrounded by his fan club,” I say, feigning disinterest but keeping my eyes glued to him, watching his every move with an abnormal curiosity.

  “Well, he’s YUMMY. I wouldn’t mind licking him up and down like a lollipop,” she states with enthusiasm, wiggling her eyebrows.

  I glance matter-of-factly at her. “Don’t you think the other ten guys you’re currently sleeping with would b
e upset if they saw you licking him in broad daylight, in the quad no less?”

  “I’m not sleeping with ten guys.” Aria fakes offense. “It’s only three.” She pretends to sulk.

  I offer a smug smirk. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to over exaggerate your promiscuity.”

  “Listen, I can’t help it if the male species is drawn to my raw magnetic pull,” Aria says. “I think it’s the pink hair combined with my fishnets and combat boots.”

  “I imagine it’s the short skirts, c-cups and open door policy, but, hey, that’s just me,” I jest and stick my tongue out in an adult fashion.

  She pushes my shoulder with little effort behind it. “Jealous, Eves? If someone would let go of her virtue, someone might be less tightly wound,” she adds in a dry tone. “Maybe your night terrors are caused by sexual frustration?”

  She blows a pink bubble with her gum and pops it.

  I exhale, tired. “Maybe.” The girl has a valid point.

  “In my professional opinion, a good orgasm is just what you need to help end the nightmares.” Aria uses her fake psychiatrist tone to make me smile.

  I stand and grab her, yanking her off the bench. “Come on, Freud. We’re going to be late.”

  She bats her eyes prettily at me. “What? We’re learning about psychosexual development in Psychology 101.”

  I bark out a short laugh. “That explains today’s unfortunate probing into my nonexistent sex life.”

  We begin to walk over to the Art Center and Aria grabs my hand, halting my movement as she looks over her shoulder. I follow her line of sight to a set of smoldering sea green eyes.

  “At least admit hotness has a really cool car,” she purrs and smacks my ass, causing me to yelp in surprise.

  “Aria! Come on,” I order. My tone is laced with annoyance as I glance once more toward the parking lot.

  She’s right. The car is smoking hot.
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