Commanding flame and shi.., p.1
Commanding Flame And Shield: Grayshell Rising, Book One, page 1
COMMANDING FLAME AND SHIELD
GRAYSHELL RISING
BOOK 1
S.J. BARNETT
Copyright © 2022 Flame And Fiction LLC
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
Paperback: 979-8-9868143-0-8
E-Book: 979-8-9868143-1-5
Cover Art: Seventhstar Art
Editor: Melissa Kaylor
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Therefore, the stories and characters in the novel are fictitious. All names, characters, companies, places, events and occurrences are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or actual places or events is purely coincidental. Public bodies, institutions, or historical figures mentioned in the story serve as a backdrop for the characters and their actions, but these are wholly imaginary.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
“A truly great library contains something in it to offend everyone.”
- Jo Goodwin
This book is intended for adult audiences and is not suitable for readers under 18 years of age.
Your mental health matters.
This book contains content that may not be suitable for all readers, including, but not limited to: blood, gore, and death, gratuitous violence, torture, explicit sexual thoughts and scenes, reincarnation, alcohol use, mention of drug use, vampirism, soul groups, fantastical romanticization of the nephilim, psychic activity, elemental magic, decapitation, implied suicide, death of a loved one, mention of rape, hostage situation, panic attacks, demonic ceremony, possession and exorcism, resurrection, christian themes, prayers, and religious traditions, anti-religious rhetoric and discussion, and eternal mates/ideals that mimic purity culture…
If any of the listed elements may negatively impact your mental health, thank you for considering Commanding Flame and Shield, and deciding instead to honor your own well being.
Grayshell came to me in a dream in 2009, and in the more than decade since, the visions of this world poured out and solidified into life and color, and I’m so grateful they’re finally on paper.
The characters in this book are predominately (though not exclusively) Christian, and while they’re incredibly flawed people, who love and make mistakes like the rest of us, they make a valiant effort to fight for that paradigm, all while other characters, the world and their circumstances challenge their faith. Some religious themes are naturally interwoven in their world (they are half angel, after all).
If you have religious trauma, know that we do too, but this piece of them was so integral it had to stay. I know how deeply those wounds can go, and did my best not to allow my own history with church hurt to overshadow the adventure of their world.
That being said, throughout the Grayshell series, we will also meet clans from all over the world that don’t share this set of beliefs, and come with all of their own flavor, traditions, and natural conflicts. If indulging in a wide variety of beliefs and thought processes isn’t something you’re comfortable with, this series might not be for you.
If, however, your mind is open to watch this wild world, I am pleased to introduce you to the Grayshell Rising series.
Xoxo-SJB
This one is for my mama bird.
You made me promise to dance, even if I was breaking. To get up…just one. More. Time. Ten years after you earned your wings, I’m doing the damn thing.
Loving you always.
Until we meet again.
CONTENTS
1. Lost Soul
2. Just A Dream
3. Summoning
4. Crawlers
5. Sire
6. Ascended
7. A Beautiful Ascension
8. Alec
9. Flight
10. Anointed
11. Lightning Bearer
12. King Calloway
13. Honey
14. The Cabin
15. Guardian
16. Confession
17. Training
18. Tracking
19. Brimstone
20. Burn
21. Storm
22. Stitches
23. Two Commanders
24. Tequila
25. Estelle
26. The Pub
27. Sarah
28. Bound
29. Witching Hour
30. All Saints’ Day
31. Trial By Fire
32. Play
33. Bullets And Balls
34. Pizza
35. Westerlunds
36. Sun’s Up
37. Vampires
38. Foreplay
39. Lorenzo’s
40. Brothers of Renown
41. Prophecy
42. Battle Call
43. Race
44. The Gala
45. Daughter Of The King
46. Firestorm
47. Snow
48. Reapers
49. Bones
50. Ultimatum
51. Broken Ward
52. Soul Bound
53. Lemons
54. Traditions
55. Working Theory
56. Sanctuary
57. Soul Nova
58. Outmatched
59. Melting
60. Little Nova
61. Retribution
62. Dancing With Devils
63. Bargain
64. Jump
65. Proof Of Life
66. Death Dance
67. Blood Wolves
68. Prayers
69. Lamb
70. The Wraith
71. Broken
72. Last Stand
73. Catch
74. Blade
75. Chasm
76. Reckoning
77. Waiting
78. Regression
79. Aftermath
80. Lake House
81. Family
82. Lost
83. Allies
84. Porcelain
85. Sisters
86. Betrothed
87. Surprises
Epilogue
Thank you
About the Author
ONE
LOST SOUL
ALVARA
My temples ached as I scoured the broad room, searching for his scent. His energy. Anything that could lead us to him. But this cluttered shop, with all its musty aromas, was full of distractions and secrets—just not the ones we sought.
Dust glittered in a ray of sunlight that sliced through the gloom, but my attention caught on something beyond it. There was blatant age in the honey-colored wood of the piano, the worn keys looking so loved that they might break under my touch.
I walked to the corner where it sat, a smile on my face before my fingers even connected with its weathered surface. My favorite part of my clairvoyant existence was my gift to read history within objects.
I pulled my long hair back into a bun at the nape of my neck and took a cleansing breath.
The instant I caressed the intricate Victorian design engraved on the instrument’s side, my eyes were forced closed, and they plunged me into the piece’s demanding energy, witnessing flashes of its story.
Dozens of balls, pirouetting figures vanishing into smoke on either side...A grandmother’s foyer, where her children and grandchildren gathered to watch, enamored, as her wrinkled hands flew across the black and white keys...Young children—her grand babies perhaps, now grown a few years—learning to play, at the side of a woman bearing striking resemblance to the grandmother, minus a few decades.
Eyes open once more, I slowly stepped around the corner of the piano, hands sliding onto the keys.
Ahh.
There it was. Thousands, perhaps millions of melodies broke free in my mind, and I slowed them down, rewinding and fast forwarding until the tunes were intelligible enough to pull apart and truly appreciate.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” asked a voice with a hint of impatience.
The intrusion abruptly and rudely snapped me from my reverie, forcing me to yank my hand away from the tantalizing energy.
Sometimes it was easy to lose track of time as I danced through visions and histories, and humans were sensitive to people holding too still for any prolonged period, assuming we were suffering a stroke or panic attack rather than simply observing. We had to make a continuous effort to move for them.
I immediately tucked my fists into my sweater pocket. “No,” I snapped, my tone sharper than intended.
The woman visibly recoiled, expression affronted as she blinked up at me. I didn’t have to pry into her mind to feel the insults scrolling through it.
She was shorter than most mortal females, leaving me staring down into flat brown eyes, her blonde hair tied back, silver pieces weaving through a braid, and a few stragglers hanging down around her heart-shaped face.
I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my own ear and forced my most winning smile to make an appearance. Softly, I added, “Thank you. No, thank you, just looking.”
She warmed slightly, though her eyes were still less than trusting as she mumbled, “Okay, let us know if you have any questions,” and wandered off.
Questions.
Why, yes, ma’am, how on earth did an antique piece—surely a once prized family heirloom—land in this rathole, gathering dust and oil and what appear to be a small child’s jam-covered handprints?
I peered around the cluttered thrift store. My companions were on task, and there were no thoughts of urgency among them. A little probing couldn’t hurt.
My fingers dropped down onto the piano again, searching through the many decades of stories it yearned to tell me. I refined my question and focused on it, asking persistently.
As I had guessed, the last member of the bloodline had no sentimental attachment to the beauty—and with a small flat in the city, she could never warrant keeping such a grand instrument. Besides, she didn’t even know how to play.
I sighed. Mortals had no appreciation for history. Too stuck in the here and—
My breath hitched in my throat. There.
Like a burst of lightning through a looming storm, just a flash of an image. An image of him. That handsome face, tan fingers gently gliding across the keys, drawing out a melancholic melody. The warm light fell across his eyes as they lifted into a piercing ray of sunshine, illuminating them to reveal that striking shade of emerald-green that held my attention captive.
Nothing new, and nothing of particular gravity, but the man was inexplicably mesmerizing, and my mind held onto the latest vision the piano had given, that beautiful, sun-kissed face, relaxing as he played.
I opened my eyes, blew out a long breath, and surveyed the scene. Aren had his hands on garments, but his eyes were locked on mine.
Enjoying yourself?
Yes, thanks for asking. I winked at him.
Aren’s mental voice was as crystal clear to me as his physically embodied one, and was always the most predominant sound among the constant bedlam around us. My anchor in the chaos.
He grinned back at me now, then shot an intimidating smile at the cashier, who was eyeing him, before returning to his mock perusals.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lana griped. Can the two of you stay focused for half an hour?
No. Why would we do that? Aren smirked without moving his eyes from the drab clothing in front of him.
There wasn’t an item in the store any of us would wear of our own accord, even without the constraint of sizes. Most of us were lanky and tall, save for Aren. Aren was a mountain of a man, his muscles wrapped over bones like stone chiseled by a master sculptor. Spectacular, even for our kind. His pieces were almost always made specifically for him.
His angled features and eternally stubbled jaw were the first things I’d seen when I woke up after my ascension, disoriented and petrified. He was my sire, the one who’d first sensed me out there alone and came to free me.
Just as I would be to this mysterious, green-eyed man, Lord willing.
I’m hungry. Lana whined internally. It’s been days since we’ve had even a scrap of food. Let’s get up and go.
At this, there was unanimous agreement. Nobody had picked up the scent of a fresh trail, not even Fae. The one we had followed vanished on the sidewalk outside, and the lingering fragrance of our quarry’s skin on the worn books in this shop was days old. He didn’t seem to have stayed long, either. The books and piano were the only pieces that had noticed him; everything else had remained oblivious to the man who’d come searching for something on these dusty shelves.
Another dead end.
Slowly, led by Ansel and Lana, we made our way for the doors.
Well, most of us. Alec lingered with his arms wrapped around Fae's waist, resting a chin on her shoulder as they studied the old relics.
Finally, most of us reunited with our partner before exiting hand in hand, like genuine couples would, Aren ducking to fit under the doorway.
Useless. This entire escapade was useless. We were no closer to locating the missing soul, and my patience was growing thin as the storm brewed beneath our feet.
We needed him. Them. All of them, to ascend. And we needed that now.
Outside, the alley reeked of booze and piss, and I wrinkled my nose.
Foul creatures, humans. Disrespectful. Ungrateful. Slaves to their own fall. Half the time, it felt a waste to dedicate our lives to stewarding after the beings, so determined to damn themselves.
We were stones in the riverbed, unmoving, unchanging. Stuck, as time passed us by. Too damned for Heaven, too perfect for Hell...and so we sat here in purgatory, doing our best to look after the self-sabotaging beings. To usher them toward the potential He saw in them.
I shook my head, cursing the fruitless use of time that was this calling.
Aren’s lips turned up in amusement at my thoughts. Lana shot me a sideways glare, though she couldn’t bring herself to argue. But Alec, ever mankind’s defender, ground his teeth together, and I could feel his eyes on my back without needing to read him.
That’s what happens when you eavesdrop. You hear shit you don’t want to, I shot at them internally, drawing the chuckle that had been brimming on Aren’s breath.
I knew as well as they did; we didn’t have a choice but to listen. It was what it was. Still, despite all our years together, it was annoying.
Without further delay, we formed our circle, backs to one another, each sensing both this world and the next. Fingers intertwined at our sides, our minds connected to ensure we would make the jump safely. When we were all satisfied with the energy field before us, we closed our eyes, and then in the space of a breath, and with a familiar twist and swell of energy, we left just as quickly as we’d come.
Grayshell’s forever blinding light assaulted my eyes, and I blinked away the tears that sprang up every time we came home. A faint glimmer of voices lingered in the air, like a distant echo of the choir, hauntingly beautiful. The dazzling white walls seemed to ring with the vibrations, more sound than a solid surface.
The seemingly infinite vertical stretch of windows, blinding stone walls and airy, white floor bounced the omnipresent sunlight onto every object in the hall. Its stretching, weathered, dark wood tables were empty today, our party evidently the first to return.
I closed my eyes and sensed for trouble, but it seemed all was well with our brothers and sisters. The breath escaped my lungs in a whoosh, hand massaging my neck as though I could ease the air back in. Chest heaving, pulse hammering against my skull, I resigned to the agonizing reality that we were too tired to return, but too frustrated to rest. God blessed us with protection today, everyone home in one piece...but that was all we had come home with. Nothing new. Just another shard of a vision, like shattered glass, where an image should be. No blood. No answers. No leads. Not even a name. Tomorrow would mark our third month trying to track this one evasive soul.
Failure was not an option. Not this time. While logic couldn’t justify the way my throat was closing, or the slick sweat on my palms, something buried deep within was intrinsically screaming that I couldn’t survive the permanence of that loss. Not again.
With a frustrated, booted kick, I overturned one of the long tables, so it flipped and hit the ground with a deafening clatter. A growl rose from my throat as my panic grew.
