Fallen
by Megan Slayer
Paranormal Romance
Date Published: April 4, 2025
He may be her salvation -- if she's willing to lose her wings all over
again.
Livia was cast out of heaven for the crime of falling in love with a human.
So what's a fallen angel to do when she meets the man of her dreams? Falling
certainly has its perks.
Ty didn't expect the angel at his party to be fallen or to have a murky
past. He also didn't expect her to end up in his arms. Now he's not about to
let the past stand in the way of their future.
EXCERPT
Parties are so lame.
Livia crossed her arms and stared at the people swaying before her. Hard
rock blasted from the speakers and rumbled the floor. She flicked a lock of
her hair over her shoulder. Dancing, laughing, and more than enough
drinking. She sighed. When was the last time she'd danced and laughed? Hell.
She couldn't remember.
She wanted to dance, to wrap her arms around a torso thick with muscle, to
rest her head on a taut set of pecs and hear the heartbeat of a red-blooded
male like the one she'd drooled over in her history course. He'd mentioned
throwing an event. She wanted to see him, to see if he was actually like the
persona she'd created for him in her mind.
She snorted. Meeting a guy was probably not the best reason to attend a
costume party off campus, but who cared? It wasn't like she had anyone
keeping tabs on her.
A young man dressed as a gladiator ambled toward her. "Hel-lo,
beautiful." A wide grin curled his lips. His blond hair flopped over
his brow as he winked and pointed to her with his sloshing cup. "You
shouldn't stand in the corner alone. Might get your wings dirty."
Wings? She crooked one brow. She'd come as a Madonna look-alike, not an
angel. When she glanced over her shoulder, sure enough, her wings were there
-- translucent, but there. Odd. "They'll wash." Her wings had been
ripped off over two thousand years prior. When - and how -- the hell had
they come back?
"Yeah?" He wobbled on his feet. "Feathers work in a washing
machine?" He burped and his dark eyes widened. "I made a
funny." He swayed again and splashed beer onto her bustier.
Livia gritted her teeth. This wasn't the man she had in mind. Her dream man
didn't slop alcohol on anyone -- as far as she knew. Was the man in her mind
simply a figment of her imagination? An impossibility? Probably. She'd been
around far too long and seen more than her share of good men fall by the
wayside.
At least washing the beer stench out of her clothes wouldn't be too
difficult.
"So, do ya wanna go make out?" He licked his lips. "I'm a
great kisser, and I bet you do wonders with those tits."
"Go home, Brett."
Livia's blood turned to fire in her veins. The deep, gravelly voice set her
nerves on edge. If the drunken fool would just blow, she could at least see
the guy who'd come to her aid. If he was Tyler from history class, then even
better.
"Butt out, Ty." Brett smacked his lips. "We were gonna have
sex. Me and those lovelies." He reached out, hands hovering over her
chest. "Come to Brett. Again."
Again? Who was this clown? "I wouldn't have sex with you if you were
the last man alive," Livia snapped and slapped his hands away.
"You spilled beer on me, and you're an ass."
"You'd know." He swayed into her personal space and murmured in a
much less slurred tone, "I never forgot you."
Never forgot her? What the hell was this guy drinking? She stared at the
drunken gladiator. Nothing about him really stood out. Still, at her age,
everything looked a little familiar. He couldn't possibly be him. Isaiah was
dead. She'd seen him die over three centuries ago.
"Okay, time for Brett to go home. I don't want shit on my carpet, and
she's not interested." The owner of the deep voice stepped out from
behind Livia and grabbed Brett's arms. Her jaw dropped. This man was the
man. The man. Tyler Wilson embodied her innermost desires, and he was right
there protecting her.
Lean muscle filled out Ty's tall frame. What would it feel like to have his
hands on her body? To run her fingers through his thick, dark hair and
listen to him murmur dirty things as they explored each other's bodies --
what would it be like? A flash of bodies moving together and the look of
sheer lust in his blue eyes filled her mind. Oh, good God, it would be
almost heaven. Her pussy clenched and liquid heat coated her panties.
If he felt the heat, too. She couldn't hope to be so lucky again. The
run-in with Brett or whoever he was had served as a cold reminder of what
she'd fallen for and couldn't have.
Both men moved through the throng of people and disappeared. She should
stick around and find out if Ty was interested or if he was just keeping an
eye on his property. Not that she could blame him. Dumped beer could be
murder on a sound system. Not that her opinion mattered much. She was just a
partygoer like everyone else there. She folded her arms. Every moment she
waited, her conscience ate into her a little more. Waiting made her look
weak. It made her look needy. Was she needy?
Maybe. Damn.
No. She'd waited long enough. If he really wanted to talk to her, he'd have
come back. She turned and made her way to the apartment door and rummaged
through the pile of coats, looking for hers. Guys like Ty had women chasing
them in swarms. She'd been witness to that every time she walked out of the
Saunders Building. She wasn't going to follow him around like a damned
puppy. Coat in hand, she turned toward the door. She plowed into a scantily
clad tiger giggling with a cowboy.
"Watch it," the tiger snapped. "Nice wings, though. Costume
outlet, or did you get them online? I've been looking for some just like
them. I want a set. Michael, buy me some like that."
Livia rolled her eyes. The truth was much too involved. Obscure always
worked. "I don't remember."
The cowboy tipped his hat. "Wanna join in?" He bobbed his brows,
and his gaze went straight to her chest. "We're always looking for
more, and looking at those boobs, you'd be one hell of a third."
"Michael! You said I was the only one," she squealed. "No
more thirds."
Michael shrugged. "Can't blame me for asking." He turned his
attention back to Livia. "You in?"
If they only knew what she'd done during her lifetime. "I'm good. No
thanks." Livia ducked her head and stepped out into the hallway. She
didn't look up until she hit the stairwell door.
Finally. Freedom.
Livia stopped on the landing and stared up at the sky through the round
stairwell window. Her heart ached. He was out there somewhere. The one man
to complete her. Was he still alive? Had she'd only imagined his death? Or
was she doomed to walk the Earth for the rest of eternity, alone?
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. It was foolish to pine for the
assumed dead, especially when they'd parted so badly. Still, Isaiah held her
heart and her life in his hands, just as he'd had for the last couple
thousand years.
Footsteps thumped behind her, but she didn't bother to look up.
"Angel?"
About the Author
Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author
of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing
since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary
and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her
works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her
characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s
been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best
Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the
bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.
When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as
well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but
football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends
of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.
Author on Facebook
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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress
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