Beneath these wings, p.1
Beneath These Wings, page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Epilogue
BENEATH THESE WINGS
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
Beneath These Wings
Copyright © 2017 WENDY KNIGHT
Cover by Covers By Christian
Also in the Wings Series
Before These Wings
With These Wings
Beneath These Wings
Coming Soon
Of These Wings
Cauldron’s Wings
Prologue
Tresa had never wanted to celebrate her birthday during an alien invasion. But life didn’t care about what she wanted or didn’t want, and her birthday had come anyway. Her dad, Jefferson, had somehow managed to make a cake and even found candles, which was mind-blowing given that it was impossible to get to a grocery store and even if he had, there probably wouldn’t be anything left on the shelves.
Still, he’d done it.
She had no idea how.
Her two sisters even managed to make it home in time. Tresa wasn’t surprised to see Phoenyx. If Phoenyx said she’d be there, she’d be there.
Unless the Garce stopped her.
She was surprised to see Cherish. Cherish was the oldest and their mom’s favorite. Her little sisters weren’t high on her priority list.
Yet, they were together as a family, and for a few minutes there, Tresa could block out the aliens outside, the Garce that devoured half their neighborhood already, the dark, shadowy monsters that looked like giant dog demons with red, glowing eyes. It was hard to forget them, but she managed.
For a blissful fifteen minutes, at least, they were just a family and she was just a girl, turning fifteen, surrounded by her family and friends.
“Make a wish,” Phoenyx said, leaning her head against Jeff’s shoulder and watching Tresa with sparkling eyes. The world hadn’t broken her yet like it had so many others. Phoenyx was still strong, still smiling. Still unwilling to give up. That’s how Tresa knew everything would be okay.
“I wish...” Tresa closed her eyes. “I wish I was strong enough to kill the Garce.”
All hell broke loose.
Before she could open her eyes, glass shattered. Before she could open her eyes, screaming tore through the room. Before she could open her eyes, Phoenyx was yelling at them all to get to the roof and her dad had gone for his gun.
Tresa didn’t want to open her eyes.
But Phoenyx was shoving her, pulling her, doing everything humanly possible to get her to move, and Tresa knew if she didn’t open her eyes, they would both die. Phoenyx wouldn’t leave her.
Tresa’s eyes flew open, but her body wasn’t as quick to respond. Garce had found them. The shadowy aliens were already tearing through the windows with claws and teeth. They should have boarded them up weeks ago, but her mom had wanted the view. She’d said the Garce couldn’t get through windows. They had reinforced glass.
Reinforced glass wasn’t stopping them now.
“Tresa, run!” Phoenyx screeched, shoving her again, harder this time and Tresa stumbled out of her trance and ran for the stairs at the back of the house.
The Garce were already there.
“No,” Phoenyx half-moaned. She spun in a circle, but there was no way out. Tresa stood frozen. Her mom and Cherish were gone, hopefully up to the roof, leaving Phoenyx and Tresa alone to make a stand in the kitchen.
She felt her sister tense beside her, and a horrible foreboding coiled in Tresa’s stomach. Before she could object—she didn’t even know what to yet—Phoenyx lunged.
Straight for the Garce.
She dove right between them and they whirled toward her, snapping and snarling. Phoenyx sprang to her feet in one fluid motion and ran for the door. “Tresa! Get to the roof!” she screamed over her shoulder.
The Garce followed her out the door and into the night and Tresa, sobbing, realized she would never see her sister again.
From the living room, the roar of a fifty caliber rifle shook the house. Jeff had gotten his biggest, most powerful gun. Tresa wanted to run. She wanted to make it to the roof. She wanted to do what Phoenyx said but she also couldn’t leave her out there alone. Phoenyx was fast—she’d been a track star before the world ended—but she wasn’t as fast as the Garce. Nothing was. Her sister had just sacrificed herself for Tresa.
“Don’t make it be in vain, Tres.” Phoenyx’s voice echoed in her head, and finally, finally, Tresa got her feet to move.
It was too late. More Garce, either the ones Phoenyx had tried to lead away or new ones, Tresa couldn’t tell, stood between her and the stairs.
One lunged and she tried to move, tried to dodge out of the way or dive between them like Phoenyx had done, but she wasn’t fast enough. She felt the teeth clamp around her upper thigh, felt its saliva burning away at her skin and she screamed. She screamed and screamed and clawed and fought but there was no moving, no escaping. The pain made her weak, made her crazy, made her long for the sweet blackness of death. But she kept hearing Phoenyx’s voice in her head, and something in her—something she hadn’t known she had, some hidden strength—kept fighting.
The roar of the rifle shook the cabinet doors and she felt the bullet hit the Garce. Saw the black blood splatter, felt it burn her face, but the pain didn’t lessen, the powerful jaws didn’t release. Again and again, her dad fought for her, but the Garce were stronger than his bullets.
Not much stronger, though. She felt it weaken the monster holding her, but it was unwilling to give up its meal.
Instead, the Garce turned and ran. “Tresa! Tresa, keep fighting!” She heard her dad yell. “I’m coming!”
She was dragged out the door and into the night, the Garce limping and bleeding but not dying because they were un-killable; moving slower than usual but not slow enough. Tresa just caught sight of her mother and sister, safe on the roof and watching in disbelief.
They didn’t move.
Every loping step was agony as the teeth were driven deeper and deeper into the bone. She fought blackness, refused to give up, refused to die, and between one breath and the next, she heard the rev of an engine.
Her dad was coming for her.
Every time the wounded Garce slowed or tried to stop, Jeff caught it. He shot it, attacked it, fought it, but it wouldn’t free Tresa. It would only sprint away, faster than Jeff’s motorcycle, and he’d be forced to chase them again. She’d never heard of anyone escaping once they were in the jaws of the beast. She tried to tell her dad that, but the words wouldn’t form. Her mouth wouldn’t cooperate.
She realized two or so days in that she was paralyzed.
Phoenyx had given her life for nothing. Tresa was going to die anyway.
SHE caught glimpses of the ship between bouts of semi-consciousness. Before the world had ended and TV had gone off the air, the news reports said the ships were impenetrable. Bombs did nothing against them. The government had attacked with a nuke over New York.
It had backfired horrifically.
The ship was black as night, like the Garce, and seemed to suck the very life and light from everything around it. The door slid open unprovoked as they approached and though Tresa wanted to fight —because she wasn’t stupid enough to think that once she was inside she would ever make it out — she couldn’t. Her limbs had long since stopped responding. She couldn’t even feel pain now, but oh, she would have gladly taken that pain if it meant the ability to move again. Helplessly, she could only watch as the world beyond was shut behind a black, black door.
In the distance, the roar of a motorcycle engine faded.
Run, Dad. There are too many here for you to fight.
Please run.
He wouldn’t run. She knew that. But she kept praying for it anyway.
“Oh my,” the voice purred, soft and sweet. She’d never heard the Garce do anything but his
Chapter One
Three years later.
Tresa scooted closer to the rocky precipice, and then just a bit further so she could curl her toes around the edge. The wind howled and jerked at her hair but she ignored it, staring down into the abyss, judging the shadows. It was so far she couldn’t see the bottom in the darkness, but then, the moon didn’t give her much light tonight.
Just like she liked it.
She spread her arms wide, embracing the emptiness, and tumbled forward.
She fell so fast that the mountainside blurred around her and the scream of the wind in her ears almost, almost, drowned out the roar of adrenaline. The ground raced up to meet her, seemingly hungry for her blood, aching for her death.
Not today.
She grabbed a shadow, thrusting her tattooed hand into its inky depths. She slid through the darkness before zipping, as she had come to call it, to the shadow below her, and then to the ones on the ground.
“Much faster than hiking down,” she murmured.
Although, if Jeff saw her, he’d probably kill her dead. He hated it when she did that and always launched into a lecture about how it wasn’t safe, and one day she might miss the shadows and fall clear to the ground and many other things kind, loving parents were supposed to say. But zipping from shadow to shadow was the fastest way down and she had to make sure the area was safe for the rest of her tribe. Jeff protected them while she was gone, but if she heard the roar of his gun, she’d have to make it back up fast.
Thank goodness for shadows.
Tonight, though, the only sound was her breathing. Zipping, her word for running through the shadows because it was super fast, took a lot of energy and despite her freakish strength, it exhausted her to do it that quickly. She bent, hands on her knees, for several seconds before she finally straightened and sucked in a breath. The city of Scottsdale spread below her, scraggly sagebrush and red sand burying what once had been the plush golf courses the city was famous for. What was still visible had been baked by the summer sun into nothing but scraggly wisps of grass.
She was super strong and super fast and pretty damn indestructible. But unlike the Garce, she was smarter than a mindless zombie. She could use their skills to her advantage in ways they would never figure out.
She was grateful for that at least. She’d only had to trade her soul and her humanity. No big deal.
Said no one, ever.
Her black, twining tattoos sparkled in the darkness, but she did her best not to notice them as she zipped from shadow to shadow, moving across the valley systematically looking for threats. Eighteen years old and hunting un-killable aliens.
Not where she’d thought her life would go, but whatever.
“Hey sis. Been a long time since we’ve been to Scottsdale, huh? Remember how Uncle Dan used to live there?”
Phoenyx didn’t respond. She never did, which was good because if she had, that meant Tresa was hearing ghosts and that might just push her tenuous grasp on sanity over the edge.
Still, it gave Tresa comfort to talk to her dead sister while she was alone in the moonlight.
Which wasn’t morbid at all.
Phoenyx was her guardian angel. She’d always been Tresa’s protector, big sister, best friend. She’d never missed Tresa’s softball games or her plays. Not once.
“You finally got your wings,” Tresa murmured and as always, she had to fight tears. Phoenyx had sacrificed herself almost three years ago and it still hurt every. Single. Day.
Brushing the tears from her cheek with her tattooed right hand, she skimmed through the shadows, searching, searching. Watching the skies for wings and the ground for red, glowing eyes.
Her brothers, as it were.
Thankfully, of all the traits the Empyrean witch had forced into Tresa, the red glowing eyes weren’t one of them. Hers were more black, but still with a hint of her old brown struggling to be seen. Bonus.
The shadow skipping, the sparkling tattoos, the freakish strength and speed, those wouldn’t have been so bad. The constant cravings for meat in a world where meat just didn’t exist anymore, that she could have done without.
Eating humans wasn’t even an option. She protected them. She was the only one who could.
Sure, she scared most people at first, with the tattoos similar to the Empyreans, or Pys as the humans called them. But theirs were sparkling blue and they shot fire-riddled blood balls from their hands. And they had wings and blue skin. She had none of those things and her tattoos were black, but they did sparkle. Under all that Garce shadow-fur, they were tattooed just like the Pys. Who knew.
Well, she did, now.
She felt the eyes before she saw them. Felt their confusion. She was one of them, but she didn’t look like them and the Garce weren’t smart. Not even a little. She froze, turning in a slow circle.
The eyes were across what had once been a parking lot, next to a movie store. What with Netflix and Redbox, Tresa hadn’t even known brick and mortar rental places existed before the world had ended.
“Hello, brother,” she murmured, baring her teeth. They were sharp, but not vampirish, thank the heavens. That would have been super weird and probably wouldn’t have helped with the not-being-a-scary-alien part of her life.
The Garce launched itself from the shadows and raced across the cracked parking lot toward her, hissing and snarling. From above, where Tresa had jumped, she could feel Jeff’s worry. She could feel his emotions because Garce preyed on fear. But she also knew that he had his gun trained and was ready to back her up if she needed.
She wouldn’t need, though. Garce were nothing to her. Not when she could use their own tricks against them. Not when she had just enough Py blood in her to take them down. She couldn’t throw blood balls, but the blood lit under her fingernails, curving her fingers into sharp claws, sparking as she leaped back into the shadow and zipped to one closer to the Garce. Since it was night and the sliver of the moon cast shadows everywhere, she came out nearly right on top of it.
There was more than one, which she hadn’t realized, and she slashed with her right hand at the first one. It screamed as the fire slid through its skin, tearing the shadows, and cauterized its heart. Before it fell, she was spinning, twirling on feet far lighter than they should have been, so light she felt like maybe, maybe she had the Py gift of flight, and then she was slicing with her claws, jamming her fingers up through the top of the second Garce’s jaw as its teeth clamped down on her arm.
From somewhere beyond the pain, the roar of a rifle echoed through the night and the Garce shrieked as a bullet slammed into its side, knocking it over. Her blood ate through it, stopping its heart and ending its life and Tresa stood next to it, breathing heavily. It took a lot of energy to pull the fire through her. The Py had given her so little to begin with.
Speaking of Pys...Tresa scanned the sky. Where there were Garce, there were usually Pys. But also, where there were Garce...
There were people.
That meant maybe a wanderer here. A lost warrior. Someone who needed help. Tresa had to find them. No one deserved to be out here alone.
No one.
Chapter Two
Roman slammed one last nail into the plywood that covered the windows. They kept the Garce out, sort of, and the Pys couldn’t peek in when they flew by. It wasn’t foolproof and it wouldn’t keep either alien species out by any means, but every little bit helped.
He couldn’t believe this building didn’t have boards up already, actually. Maybe the attack had hit too quickly in this part of Arizona and there hadn’t been a chance.
It was a horrific thought.
Scottsdale had once been one of the most affluent cities in the country. Now it was empty. Roman had picked up a few wanders in the last week who had been roaming alone and miraculously survived, bringing his band to over twenty. There was strength in numbers, or so they say.
Except against the Pys.
The Empyreans, had come in the third wave. First, two waves of Garce. The Empyreans had followed them, promising to defeat the Garce for the humans. Promising salvation, eternal life and beauty. They’d feasted on the shadowy aliens and took what was left of the human population, either killing them or...who knew what happened if someone were unlucky enough to be pulled into their ship.
