Conquer the Dark

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  Praise for New York Times bestselling author

  L.A. BANKS

  and her “SPELLBINDING”* novels

  “Über-talented Banks has taken her gutsy and steadfast heroine through enormous challenges that have kept her legion of fans on the edge of their seats.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Superior vampire fiction.”

  —Booklist

  “Blade meets Buffy the Vampire Slayer. … A pulsating blood-booster.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Fasten your seat belt and enjoy a ride littered with holy water, vamp ooze, and a layered web of political intrigue ingeniously woven from the mind of Banks.”

  —Philadelphia Sunday Sun

  “L.A. Banks writes a killer vamp series.”

  —Sherrilyn Kenyon

  “A terrifying roller-coaster ride of a book.”

  —Charlaine Harris

  “A spellbinding thrill ride.”

  —Zane*

  “Arguably superior to the Buffy franchise … Wildly creative and invents a totally new and refreshing milieu.”

  —Fangoria

  “Banks spins a head-bendingly complex tale of passion, mythology, war and love that lasts till the grave—and beyond.”

  —Publishers Weekly Online

  Don’t miss Celeste and Azrael’s

  first exciting adventure,

  Surrender the Dark

  Available from Pocket Books

  Pocket Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Leslie Banks

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Pocket Books paperback edition October 2011

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Designed by Leydiana Rodríguez-Ovalles

  Cover design by Lisa Litwack

  Cover illustration by Gene Mollica

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN 978-1-4516-0884-7

  ISBN 978-1-4516-0898-4 (ebook)

  In memoriam

  Leslie Esdaile Banks, beloved mother, daughter, and friend.

  We were blessed to know her, and will miss her dearly. She loved

  her devoted fans and wrote for them with all of her heart.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Celeste Jackson opened her eyes in bed and stared across the large warehouse loft. This was her favorite time of the day, when a new dawn blotted out the last vestiges of the night and the angels spread their wings.

  No matter how often she’d seen it done, each time Azrael opened his, she stared at his back in awe, watching the thick ropes of muscles that gave it form and substance unfurl pristine white appendages from beneath his mahogany-hued skin. It took everything within her not to gasp as the steel-cabled sinew that flanked his spine bulged and stretched just before a seam developed along his shoulder blades, then instantly gave birth to glistening feathered beauty.

  He stood in front of the massive warehouse windows naked from the waist up and wearing only white cotton karate pants with his magnificent twelve-foot wingspan outstretched. Soon, the dance would begin, his silent communion with motion and gravity and some force she could not see. And she waited.

  After a moment he turned with his eyes still closed, barely breathing, it seemed, the new day washing his handsome face in rose-golden light, his long, dark dreadlocks spilling over his broad shoulders and his stone-cut chest. Every stacked brick of his abdomen cast shadows between them only to give rise to the wide planes of muscles that almost appeared to absorb the light.

  Celeste allowed her gaze to travel over his corporeal form. He was definitely a divine creation … and that he was hers still blew her mind even three months after he’d found and bonded with her. She briefly closed her eyes and said a quiet prayer of thanks, also glad that his being with her violated no heavenly edicts. He loved her, just as she loved him … and she wasn’t pure human. Therein lay the technicality that kept him from being banished when their bonding went from platonic to unstoppable passion—or “joining,” as he called it.

  Not touching him was impossible, especially when he was literally addicted to her energy now … and addicted to her skin. Their joining caused a fusion that increased her gifts and increased his power here on this plane. She was his battery; he was her jumper cable. Each Remnant found by her warrior angel was a balance tipper from the dark to the Light on the planet. The time had come for each brother to find the one he sought, for the end of days was nigh … and here in this density, each warrior needed that battery, needed that spark of fused energy from his Remnant as an added advantage. That bond brought pairs together in inseparable passion … they had discovered it was simply unavoidable.

  Azrael had found his Remnant, Celeste; two of his brothers had found their Remnant mates in the months following the battle in Philadelphia. Bath Kol had Aziza with him, and although not a Remnant, she was no less a dear part to the group. Now those women were like the sisters Celeste had never had, and she was grateful for the wonderful addition to her life. Three women, like her, who now knew what it was to be swept up in a maelstrom of altered reality. That made for a close-knit sorority that had bonded over fear, war, tragedy, triumph, and divine intervention—and dished about it all. Celeste released a quiet sigh of pure contentment; she was blessed.

  If only things could go on this way with her man, her angel, peaceful and happy, his brothers sated and relaxed, their partners the first real female friends she’d ever known. The warehouse was a sanctuary on the banks of the Delaware River in Philly. But she knew that the clock was ticking. Learning to live in the moment was the only way to mentally survive. Maybe that was how Az made sense of it all, too? Being immortal had to have given him a philosophical perspective.

  Rather than dwell on what couldn’t last forever, she tucked away any unpleasant thoughts and watched Azrael work through his methodical tai chi dance.

  Deep in meditative prayer, serenity wafted from his very being as he opened his arms and slowly bent his knees, beginning his
morning ritual. She could literally see the energy move through him in a thin, blue-white charge that began to cover his skin as his entire body became engaged in the graceful, ancient choreography. As if witnessing a celestial fan dance in which his majestic wings lifted and dusted the floor, creating music in the pauses and breaths and sweeps, she watched in abject reverence.

  It was all so beautiful that emotion tightened her throat. She was supposed to be dead by now. Azrael had found her on the night she’d seen a demon take her exboyfriend’s life, and she’d been hell-bent on also taking her own.

  But with a touch, Azrael had pulled the drugs and alcohol out of her system. With patience he’d convinced her to stop running from him and that she hadn’t had a psychotic break, hadn’t lost her mind. Then he’d shown her that angels and demons truly existed and took her on the most hair-raising journey of her life.

  Time was relative. Three short months ago she’d met an angel and everything she thought she knew about the so-called normal world had been shattered in an instant. Three short weeks ago she’d lost the last living relative that she cared about—her aunt Niecey—and yet because of Azrael, she’d been at peace about that. Now that she knew there was actually another side and that what she’d heard all her life hadn’t been theoretical, it was easier to accept many of the losses, even the hard ones such as her mother and Aunt Niecey.

  Tears rose to Celeste’s eyes and then slowly burned away when she thought about all that Azrael had given her. He’d claimed that she’d saved him; but what she could never explain was that it was the other way around.

  Before him, there was only fear and self-destruction. No one understood her gift, except her dear late auntie. Only her aunt knew that Celeste could see way down deep into people’s souls and feel what they felt. Only Aunt Niecey had borne witness to how the dark side had murdered her parents and thrust her into a world of poverty and addiction and madness that seemed to have no cure. Until Azrael had shown up, the only thing she’d known to do to stop the pain of seeing demons and so much frighteningly horrible weirdness was to drown it all in a bottle. Her so-called gift was so debilitating back then that it left her weak and vulnerable, unable to work, and with a psychiatric file as thick as a phone book. The ravages of poverty had taken their toll on her health and self-esteem. All along she’d thought it was her own fault, until Azrael came to show her that she’d been targeted for suffering by the dark side because of the coming work she was about to do.

  Sudden joy filled her heart now as she watched him bend and turn, the cabled sinews stretching along his thick biceps and forearms … her gaze going to his massive but graceful hands that could caress ever so gently and heal, but that she’d also seen wield blades of death to behead demons. Surreal.

  Oddly, that made her feel safe, after all she’d seen in her life. Yet, the warrior angels who’d been trapped on earth since their first big battle with the fallen, some twenty-six thousand years ago, had been waiting for her … waiting for her prayer and her willingness to sacrifice herself for them so that they could return to the Light, even if they’d violated divine edict and lain with the daughters of man while here.

  And after twenty-six thousand years, all it took was the right combination of her prayer as a member of the Remnant—a half-human, half-angel Light Nephilim with twelve strands of DNA hiding in her genetic code, to fuse with the Angel of Death’s intention to liberate his trapped and suffering brethren from this density. Profound. She’d sent up the heartfelt request; Azrael had opened the portal to the Light. But there was only one taker, Jamaerah, a gentle spirit who could no longer endure his entrapment in the flesh. Once liberated back to the Light, he demonstrated to her how angels and positive spirits still helped from the etheric realm. The rest of the battle-hardened, Jack Daniel’s–drinking, partying crew, who had thought all was lost and previously lamented not being able to return, had stayed when given the choice, deciding to ride or die with her and Azrael to the end.

  That was the thing they’d taught her, too—just knowing one could leave if one wanted evaporated the illusion of being trapped. That paradigm shift was the freedom that the angels with dirty wings, her guys now, needed. She’d given them that and they loved her for it, calling her the key, since she’d unlocked their minds and commuted their sentences for violating the divine law not to lie with human women while on earth. In return, they’d given her unparalleled protection and knowledge. Many a night and well into the dawn they’d all sat up with her and her Remnant sisters debating the merits of the lessons learned by having everything angelic except immortality stripped from their beings.

  To hear Bath Kol tell it, hellfire would have been easier. But they’d each agreed that, by being made manifest, by temporarily losing their wings and being plunged into the temptations of the flesh, they’d gained an empathy for humanity that just couldn’t be fully perceived while in etheric form.

  To experience heartbreak, suffering, physical pain, desire, rage, jealousy, lack, need—all of that had given them serious respect for the human condition. Now when they fought for humankind, they fought with a whole different level of regard for the beings that endured here even with demon oppression besetting their existence. After twenty-six thousand years here in the flesh, this special dirty-angel corps knew that humans weren’t just weak cattle. They’d been outgunned and outmanned by evil, immortal forces way stronger than humans could ever hope to be. Yet many people still endured, held the line, helped their neighbors, sacrificed their lives for others, were honorable and loved and reached out to those less fortunate, despite the tidal wave of negative forces. That was courage under fire, to be sure.

  And her angels said that had been what the Almighty had known and seen in the divine creation. It was also why to not serve humans was such a defiant act. To be righteous and perfect when one is all-powerful is not difficult; to do so when mortal and weak and hungry and afraid is heroic. Azrael told her that the Source of All That Is saw that striking quality in its creation and demanded the angels respect that. Most did, but some did not—hence the war that has raged on since the planets last aligned to open the veil between worlds.

  For all that Azrael and the others gave her, the one thing none of them could bestow upon her was peace of mind as the date of the next alignment approached.

  Celeste quietly sighed. The soft sweep of Azrael’s wings and the gentle pat of his bare feet against the floor were soothing. Had his dance not been so profoundly beautiful, she would have closed her eyes and allowed the constant metronome-like rhythm to lull her back to sleep.

  But there was no way to close her eyes on that splendor, just as there was no way to unknow all that she’d come to see and learn since he’d entered her life. Never in a million years could anyone have told her she’d be living with a battalion of angels in a retrofitted warehouse with the future of the planet hinging on one date: 12/21/12.

  Chapter 1

  Body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat from his exertion, Azrael opened his eyes and offered her a lazy smile. “Good morning.”

  “Back atcha,” she replied, loving the easy rumble of his voice.

  “How long have you been awake?”

  “Ohhh, just about long enough to thoroughly enjoy the floor show,” she murmured as he came to the side of the bed and sat near her.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He leaned down and brushed her mouth with a light kiss, then pulled back to look at her.

  “You didn’t, and I wouldn’t have minded if you had.” She reached up and traced the line of his square jaw with the cup of her hand. Warmth from his body radiated out in a palpable blanket as he leaned in for another, deeper kiss.

  No matter what he’d eaten, his kiss always tasted sweet like ambrosia. That lacquer always coated and masked everything else he’d consumed, even the insides of her mouth. By now she’d learned to judge his mood by the concentration of that wondrous flavor. This morning it was mild and delicate, telling her that he was thor
oughly contented and relaxed. When he pulled back again, this time he found stray wisps of her hair to push behind her ear.

  “Would you like some breakfast?”

  She raised an eyebrow as her smile broadened. “I was just about to ask you that.”

  Her comment made him laugh. “Celeste … you are my ruination, you know that, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  They both laughed as he pounced on her, but the play came to an abrupt halt the moment Bath Kol’s angry voice shattered the calm. It was impossible to hear exactly what he was yelling about, but it was definitely a mood killer.

  “I need to go check on my brother,” Azrael said with a resigned sigh.

  “Yeah, it was time to get up anyway,” she replied, trying to shake off the disappointment.

  Azrael slowly peeled his body away from hers, gave her a wistful glance, then got up. “Could be nothing, then again …”

  “Could be everything,” she said with a shrug, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She yanked her hair up into a messy ponytail, found a scrunchie on the night-stand, and stood.

  Azrael looked so forlorn as he crossed the room and hesitated by the door that it made her swallow a smile.

  “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna wash my face and brush my teeth, then rustle us up some grub. What do you want to eat?”

  “It’s not in the kitchen,” he said, then let out a breath of frustration as another bellicose outburst drew his attention toward the door.

  Celeste just shook her head and chuckled quietly as he exited, then searched in earnest for her pajama pants and slippers, as well as a sweater. In bed, she’d been nice and cozy. But the huge warehouse was drafty as all get-out in November. This place wasn’t like the one Bath Kol had retrofitted in New York. There, before the dark side had ambushed them around the corner from his South Bronx club, Bath Kol and his Sentinels had been able to stay in that massive warehouse long enough to rig it with heat and electricity and collect all sorts of furniture and creature comforts from eras gone by.