Cover

Praise

Praise for Storm and Fury,
book one of the Harbinger trilogy

“Every page left me wanting more.”

—Brigid Kemmerer, New York Times bestselling author

“This wild, action-packed ride features a kick-ass heroine to cheer for and a love interest I’m still dreaming about. Highly recommended!”

—Kresley Cole, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Arcana Chronicles

“Jennifer L. Armentrout’s intoxicating new fantasy is her best yet!”

—Gena Showalter, New York Times bestselling author

About the Author

#1 New York Times and internationally bestselling author Jennifer L. Armentrout lives in Charles Town, West Virginia. All the rumors you’ve heard about her state aren’t true. When she’s not hard at work writing, she spends her time reading, working out, watching really bad zombie movies, pretending to write, and hanging out with her husband and her Border Jack, Apollo.

Her dreams of becoming an author started in algebra class, where she spent most of her time writing short stories...which explains her dismal grades in math. Jennifer writes young adult paranormal, science fiction, fantasy, and contemporary romance. She also writes adult and new adult romance under the name J. Lynn. Jennifer loves hearing from readers. Follow her on Twitter, @jlarmentrout, look for her on Facebook and Goodreads, or visit her blog at www.jenniferlarmentrout.com.

Booklist

Books by Jennifer L. Armentrout
available from Inkyard Press

The Harbinger*
(in reading order)

Storm and Fury

Rage and Ruin

Grace and Glory

The Dark Elements
(in reading order)

Bitter Sweet Love**

White Hot Kiss

Stone Cold Touch

Every Last Breath

Stand-alone titles

The Problem with Forever

If There’s No Tomorrow

*Set in the world of The Dark Elements; can be read separately.

**Ebook prequel companion novella; does not need to be read to enjoy the full-length novels.

Dedication

To all the health-care workers, first responders and essential workers who have worked tirelessly and endlessly to save lives and to keep stores open, at great risk to their own lives and the lives of their loved ones. Thank you.

1

Zayne stood only a few feet from me, the surprisingly cool July breeze lifting the edges of his blond hair off bare shoulders.

Or that was what I believed I was seeing.

I was slowly going blind. My line of sight was already severely restricted with little to no peripheral vision. Eventually, there’d be nothing but a pinprick of sight left. To make seeing things all the more iffy, cataracts had formed in both eyes, causing my central vision to be blurry and eyes even more sensitive to light. It was a genetic disease known as retinitis pigmentosa, and not even all the angelic blood pumping through my veins could prevent the disease from progressing. Bright light of any sort made it difficult for me to see and low light wasn’t any better, making everything shadowy and hard to see at night.

So, with only the lampposts inside Rock Creek Park lighting the walking path behind me, it was more than possible that I wasn’t seeing what I thought I was. I’d also gone through a hellish trauma mere days ago, handed a beatdown of epic proportions by the psychotic archangel Gabriel, also known as the Harbinger of Overlong Monologues, so God only knew what that had done to my eyes.

Or my brain.

Zayne could be a hallucination, one driven by brain damage or grief. Either of those two things actually made more sense. Because how was he standing in front of me? Zayne was...oh God, he had died, his body having turned to dust by now, as all Wardens’ did upon death. The bond that had linked us together, made him my Protector, gave us both strength and speed, had turned on us the moment I truly acknowledged how much I was in love with him. He’d been physically weakened, and Gabriel had taken advantage of that. I’d heard Zayne say his last words. It’s okay. I’d watched him take his last breath. I’d felt that cord that had connected us together as Protector and Trueborn snap inside me.

He’d died.

He was dead.

But he was right there, standing in front of me, and I smelled freshly fallen snow and mint—wintermint. It was stronger than before, as if the summer air was soaked in winter.

Because of that scent, for a moment, I wondered if he were a spirit—someone who’d died and crossed over. When souls who’d moved on to the great beyond came to check in on loved ones, people often smelled something that reminded them of the person who’d passed on. A perfume. Toothpaste. A cigar. Bonfire. It could be anything, because Heaven...Heaven had a certain scent; it smelled like whatever you desired most, and I wanted Zayne to be alive more than I wanted anything.

I smelled Heaven right now.

But even with my funky vision, I could see that Zayne wasn’t a spirit. That he was flesh and blood—glowing flesh and blood. His skin held a faint luminous glow that hadn’t been present before.

Dizziness swept through me as I stared into eyes that were no longer the palest blue. Now they were an intense, vibrant hue, reminding me of the brief moments at twilight when the sky was the deepest shade of sapphire. Wardens didn’t even have eyes like that, nor did they glow like one of those old Glo Worm dolls Jada had once found in the attic when we were kids.

And Wardens sure as Hell didn’t have the kind of wings spreading out from Zayne’s broad shoulders. They weren’t Warden wings, which often reminded me of smooth leather. Oh, no, these were feathered—white and thick with streaks of gold glowing with heavenly fire, with grace.

Only two things in this world and beyond, outside of God, carried the potent and all-powerful grace within them. I was one of those things.

But Zayne hadn’t been a Trueborn like me, and neither had he been like the few humans who had an angel perched on their family tree, giving them a watered-down, way less powerful grace that either enabled them to see ghosts and spirits or caused them to display other psychic abilities. I’d been told my whole life that I was the only Trueborn, a first-generation child of an angel and a human, but that hadn’t been exactly true. There had been Sulien, Gabriel’s offspring, but Zayne had killed him, so I guessed I was back to being the unique person that I was. All of that was irrelevant, because Zayne had been a Warden.

The only other being with that kind of grace and wings was an angel, but Zayne hadn’t been that, either.

But he totally had angel wings now—feathered angel wings that glowed with grace.

“Trin...?” he said, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Oh God, it was his voice, and my entire body seemed to shake. I would’ve given up just about anything to hear his voice again, and now I was.

I took a shaky step forward.

“I can...sense you.” Confusion filled his voice as he stared at me.

Did he mean the Protector bond? I searched for the buzz of awareness, the hint of emotions that weren’t mine. I found nothing. There was no cord. No bond.

He wasn’t my Protector any longer.

“Trinity,” he repeated softly, and I heard it then. The tone of his voice. It was off. More than just confusion. “The name...it means something.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Because it’s my name.”

He tilted his head into the shadows, but I could still feel his stare. Did he...did he not remember me? Concern blossomed. I had no idea how he came back or why he resembled an angel, but if something had happened to him to affect his memory, I would help him. We’d figure it out together. All that mattered was that he was alive. I took another step, lifting my arm—

One moment he was standing several feet away, and then the next he was right in front of me, those incredible wings blocking out the world behind him. Zayne had moved faster than any Warden could—faster than even me.

I flinched in surprise, jerking my head away. In the back of my mind, I knew that Zayne, knowing how my vision worked and how hard it was for me to track movement, wouldn’t have moved liked that. But something was clearly up with his memories and—

Zayne grabbed my hand as he dipped his chin, inhaling deeply. He shuddered, lifting his head. My eyes widened. As close as he was now, I could see the familiar lines and angles of his face, but I saw them...I saw them more clearly, and that didn’t make sense, either. His wings blocked out the moonlight, and the glow of the nearby lampposts wasn’t close enough to explain how I could see him so well. His features were too distinct, and there...there really was this glow under—

“Do you think you can take me on, little nephilim?” he demanded.

Wait. What?

All my senses went on high alert as I stared up at him. “Little—?”

Healing skin and muscles protested, flaring hotly as he pulled me against his chest. His arm clamped down on my waist like an arm of steel. The hold was crushing but the contact of his body against mine was still a shock to the system, scattering thoughts and silencing the warning bells that were starting to go off loudly. He lowered his head once more, and my entire body tensed in anticipation. There was a whole lot of weird going on, but he was going to kiss me, and I would never not want—

He buried his face in my hair, inhaling deeply once more. “Your scent... I know it. It calls to me. Why?”

“Because you, uh, know me?” I suggested.

“Maybe,” Zayne murmured, and for a moment, he just held me, and I started to take that as a good sign. “But you... I recognize the grace. It’s powerful. Like an archangel,” he said, the last word spit out like he was talking about some kind of incurable disease.

What in the holy Hell?

I turned my head, unable to raise my arms from where they were trapped at my sides. “Zayne, it’s me,” I said, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Trinity.”

He went incredibly still. “There is something important—your name, your smell,” he interrupted, shuddering once more as his hold on me softened. “I feel too much. All the greed and gluttony, the loathing and hatred. It’s inside me, filling me up.”

That...that didn’t sound good at all.

“But you smell amazing. Intoxicating. It’s familiar,” he repeated. He shifted his head, and I felt his mouth against my jaw.

I gasped, senses overwhelmed by the burst of warring sensations. My body was all on board with his closeness, but not my brain or my heart. “Let go of me, and we’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Zayne didn’t let go.

He laughed.

And that laugh...it was nothing like the sound I loved and cherished. Shivers crawled across my skin, and not in the fun, good way. His laugh was cold, cruel even, and there wasn’t a single part of him that was cruel. “Put me down, Zayne.”

“Stop calling me that.”

My heart stuttered. “That’s your name.”

“I have no name.”

“Yes, you do. It’s Zayne—”

“And I’ll put you down when I feel like it,” he interrupted. “Guess what, little nephilim. I don’t want to.”

Okay. I loved him with my whole being—loved him more than anything. I was also superconcerned about his mental state at the moment. I wanted to help him, and I would, but he was really starting to tick me off.

“Stop calling me little nephilim,” I warned.

“It’s what you are.”

“What I am is a Trueborn, but neither of those things are my name. It’s Trinity or Trin.” I squirmed, trying to wiggle free. A low, animalistic sound radiated from the back of his throat. “Put me down or I swear to God—”

“God? You swear to God?” He laughed again. “God has abandoned us all.”

A shock went through me. A wild mixture of relief, confusion, irritation and something far stronger, and shattering. For the first time since I’d known Zayne, I felt fear in his arms.

My body went ice-cold, and my own personal alarm system reacted to the bolt of fear. Deep inside me, my grace sparked.

Zayne hissed—he actually hissed—like an angry, feral cat. An angry, very large feral cat the moment my grace pulsed inside me. That was beyond weird.

Instinct took over. Twisting my body, I ignored the pain from all the healing injuries and brought my knee up, slamming it into his groin.

Or at least, I tried to.

Zayne anticipated the move. My knee hit his thigh. A wave of anger and rapidly growing panic whipped through me as my grace pressed at me, demanding to be let out, but I fought it down. He was confused and he’d just come back from being dead with angel wings, so I didn’t want to hurt him too badly. My grace would do more than that. It would kill him.

Managing to get an arm free, I punched him in the jaw, hard enough to send a flare of pain across my knuckles, and he smiled. He smiled like I hadn’t even punched him, and the curve of his lips was all wrong. It was icy and inhuman.

“Ouch,” he murmured. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

I jabbed out with my palm, catching him under the chin. He grunted in pain as he pushed—no, threw—me aside. I hit the ground several feet back with a sharp yelp. Shock still had its tight grip on me, dampening the sting of a fresh new wave of pain as I looked up at him in realization.

This was Zayne but not.

He would never toss me like a Frisbee. Even if I deserved it, and God knows, I could be extremely obnoxious, but Zayne would never do that. I could kick him straight in the face, and he would never lift a finger against me in any way that would harm me.

Shaking off the pain and confusion, I climbed to my knees—

There was a blur of golden skin and wings, too fast for me to track, and then he had ahold of the scruff of my shirt. He lifted me off the ground and straight into the air. I dangled several feet from the ground.

Holy crap.

His wings rose and spread out. They were massive and beautiful. Also, really frightening at the moment. He held me there like I was nothing more than a toddler throwing a tantrum! A small one, at that.

And that really flipped my bitch switch.

I kicked out, catching him in the stomach. His grip on my shirt loosened, and then suddenly I was flying.

I landed on my stomach, slamming into the ground once more. Pain lanced my ribs as the air rushed out of my lungs. Okay. That was what being tossed like a Frisbee really felt like. Now I knew the difference. Good to know. Groaning, I flipped over and started to sit up. I didn’t make it very far. He was there, above me, his face in mine. Those brilliant blue eyes were like shards of ice. His stare chilled my flesh, my soul.

“Zayne, please—”

He gripped my chin, fingers pressing into my skin. “Stop calling me that.”

“It’s your name—”

“It is not.”

“Then what am I supposed to call you?” I shouted. “Jackass?”

One side of his lips kicked up. “You may call me death. How does that sound?”

A whole lot of fear blasted my system, but I hid it. “How does that sound? It sounds pretty stupid.”

The smirk froze.

I swung my fist.

His hand snapped out, catching my wrist. He hadn’t even taken his eyes off mine—hadn’t even let go of my chin. “This feels familiar.”

“Me telling you something you’ve said sounds stupid? Because it should—”

“No.” His eyes narrowed. “This. The fighting.”

“That’s because we’ve trained together! We’ve fought each other,” I told him in a rush, trying to overcome my panic and anger. “Not to hurt each other. Never to hurt each other.”

“Never to hurt each other,” he repeated slowly, as if he couldn’t comprehend how those words went together. His head twisted to the side as his eyes closed. “This isn’t...” His fingers dug in, squeezing until I was sure that my jaw would splinter. “You know me. You’re important.”

I swallowed down the fear. “Because...because we do know each other. We’re together. You wouldn’t do this. You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t?” He sounded even more confused. “Why is that? You’re a nephilim. You carry an archangel’s grace.”

“That doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t hurt me because you love me,” I whispered, voice cracking. Tears filled my eyes. “That’s why.”

“Love?” He jolted as if burned, letting go of my chin. “I love you?”

“Yes. Yes! We love each other, Zayne, and whatever has happened to you, we can fix this. We can figure it out together and—”

“We?” His hand curled around my throat, the grip a fraction from being deadly. “There is no we. There is no Zayne,” he spat. “I am Fallen.”

There wasn’t time for those words to do any damage or for them to make sense. His hand clamped down until only the thinnest amount of air could get through. I had no idea if he would squeeze or not. If so, had he come back to life just to kill me? Seemed fitting in an ironic way. If that turned out to be the case, obviously I was going to be superdead and superpissed, but I’d also be so heartbroken. Because when Zayne snapped out of whatever this was, the knowledge of what he’d done would kill him all over again.

I didn’t deserve this.

Neither did he.

What I did next was hard to explain. My hands lifted without conscious thought. I placed my trembling fingers against his cheek and pressed my palm against his chest. Flesh against flesh.

Zayne blinked, releasing his hold as he jerked back. There was a brief glimpse of confusion clouding his bright eyes as I twisted to the side, sucking in glorious oxygen. I didn’t know what made him let me go, what stopped him from applying just a little more pressure. Too happy to be breathing again, I really didn’t care at the moment.

His hand closed over my shoulder, and I tensed, but all he did was roll me onto my back. It was almost tender.

“What...” He shook his head again, sending strands of blond hair swinging. “Why wouldn’t you attack me? Why would you touch me? I can feel the power in you. You can fight me. You won’t win, but it’s better than just lying there.”

Better than not killing him, I wanted to say, but even I could realize there was no point in doing so. Reasoning with him wasn’t going to work. I could scream from the rooftops that I loved him, and it wasn’t going to make a difference. I had to get out of here, get somewhere safe to figure out what the Hell was happening. I hated to do what I was about to do, but there was no other option.

Reaching to my thigh, I unsheathed the iron dagger that had remained hidden under the length of my shirt.

“Why won’t you fight me?” he demanded. “You’re the enemy. You should fight me.”

I couldn’t even process him calling me the enemy. “I won’t fight you because I love you, you freaking idiot.” My fingers wrapped around the handle of the dagger as his features settled into the look he always gave me when I did something he couldn’t understand, which had been often. It tore at my heart.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Zayne tilted his head to the side again. “Sorry for—”

I reared off the dirt and grass, swiping my arm in a high arc. The sharp edge of the blade caught him under the chin. I kept the blow quick and shallow, just enough to stun him.

Zayne stumbled back, his beautiful face contorting in fury. He clasped his throat, letting out a roar that sent chills to my very soul. Springing to my feet, I didn’t hesitate. I took off as if the very devil was after me.

I ran and ran, blindly cutting through traffic and nearly mowing down countless people as my sneakers pounded off pavement. How I didn’t get flattened by a car was beyond me. Every part of my body hurt, but I didn’t slow down. I didn’t even know where I was going—

Follow me.

My feet stumbled as the voice that was so not mine echoed around me. Breathing heavy, I slowed. Harsh yellow streetlights cast ominous shadows along the sidewalks. Faces and bodies were nothing more than shapeless blurs as horns honked from the street and people shouted.

Follow me, Trueborn.

Either I was losing my mind, which in my humble, nonbiased opinion would be completely understandable at this point, or I was actually hearing a voice in my head.

But didn’t hearing voices in your head also mean you were losing your mind?

Follow me, child of Michael. It is your only hope to restore the one who Fell for you.

A sudden image of what had looked like a star plummeting to Earth formed. Zayne. That had been Zayne.

Fallen.

He said he was Fallen.

I knew what that meant, but it couldn’t be.

Follow me.

The voice...it sounded like it bled power. It was no voice I could imagine. I swallowed dryly, my gaze darting around erratically and seeing nothing. Zayne had come back from the dead—he’d come back different in a very Pet Sematary way, and with wings, but he’d come back. That was him, and he was alive, so I could very well be hearing a real voice in my head.

Anything was possible at this point.

But if the voice was real, how in the world was I supposed to follow something I couldn’t see?

No sooner had that thought finished, I heard, Trust your grace. It knows where to go. You’re already halfway to where you need to be.

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