Damned (The Devil's Secret Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  ‘DAMNED’

  (THE DEVIL’S SECRET TRILOGY)

  BY

  ADELE ROSE

  ‘Damned’

  By Adele Rose

  Copyright © 2018 by Adele Rose

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer and purchase your own copy. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form, including electrical or mechanical means, without written permission from the author. However, short quotations may be used in book reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Book and Cover Design by Adele Rose

  First Edition: July 2018

  Books by Adele Rose:

  The VIth Element Series

  Book One: ‘Awakening’

  Book Two: ‘Possession’

  Book Three: ‘Shattered’

  Book Four: ‘Torn’

  The Devil’s Secret Trilogy

  Book One: ‘Damned’

  Death is only the beginning…

  For my readers

  X Thank you for going on another literacy adventure with me. I love you all! X

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  A MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR

  A SHORT ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

  Prologue

  I run through the night like all of hell is chasing me. The harsh glare from the street lamps blinds me and I slip and slide on the watery surface of the pavement. It is as if I am running on the surface of an ice rink. My hair distorts my vision, whipping in front of my face with each step and my grotty, rundown trainers fail to stop me from falling. They are practically coming loose at every seam. The inevitable happens.

  I fall down...hard.

  Just before I hit the ground, a sound whizzes close past my ear - the kind of sound a boomerang makes. Much to my horror, I realise that this object is far from the usual, fun toy. As I slightly turn my head, I notice that the weapon is long and lethal, with two sharp, silver scythes at each end. It has been thrown with deadly precision. The blades flash in the harsh rays of moonlight, emphasising their lethal intent. In this fleeting time, I observe that they are marked with symbols. I shudder on realising what the symbols are. They are skulls. A steady humming can be heard.

  It’s almost as if the blades are singing a deadly anthem.

  As I try and stumble to my feet, the serrated edges fly over my head yet again quicker than blinking, before returning to the furious hand of my assailant. Unfortunately, I'm not out of the woods yet. With a harsh cry of pain and horror, my ankle gives way. I slam into the pavement - face first this time. My nose crunches horribly and blood splatters across my face. I think I’ve broken it. My scream rips through the blackness, although the wind seems to whip it away at the last moment. Through the agonising throbbing of my nose, it takes me a few moments to stumble back onto my feet.

  I don’t have the luxury of wallowing in self-pity.

  As I do, I realise that they aren't the only injuries I have sustained. I have lost a couple of teeth. They lie in the dirt, chipped and looking like small, deformed pebbles. My arms and legs are also hideously marred where the skin has been ripped loose during my free-sliding episode. The pieces of flesh now hang off my body in bloody patches. I whimper, noticing how the blood oozes from these in thick globs, mingling with the filth from the ground.

  Filth.

  That was the word the attacker had used to describe me – a word that is currently imprinted in my mind. I see it swirling before my eyes, like a blazing inferno.

  The actual words my assailant had used were: "A filthy stain in ancient history that needed to be removed for good."

  Clearly, this person doesn’t see much of the fun side of life.

  Thinking about it, I suppose I could have been called worse. I know some people who have been in my position, or at least in a similar position, have had a far shoddier deal. At least my attacker was kind enough not to corrupt my innocent mind with the variety of curses that seem to be flung about in this day and age. Such thoughts do nothing to calm the aching feeling that I am no better than the dirt that lines the pavement.

  I certainly feel filthy right now.

  Why my attacker said such a thing I don't know.

  I didn't hang around long enough to ask.

  I sob at the memory of when my assailant had first made their entrance and turned my seemingly perfect life upside-down. I try my best to blink back my tears, dragging my injured self towards the only haven I can think of - the local police station.

  Surely they could offer me some protection?

  My father and I had been huddled together. We had been watching an old Disney movie – ‘Beauty and the Beast’ to be exact. My father had turned to me during the movie, with skin wrinkled with age and a soft, gentle light in his golden eyes. His hair, once a striking blond, was now lined with wisps of grey.

  He swallowed the popcorn he had been eating, before smiling.

  "You will always be Beauty to me, for you are both strong, wise and beautiful in every sense." He had told me, taking my chin in his rough hand and kissing my forehead. "Never forget that, no matter what life throws at you."

  At hearing his words, I had laughed. A blush had crept into my cheeks. After a few, short moments and a mouthful of popcorn, I had meant to ask him who would play the Beast. At the end of the day, the scene when Belle and the Beast were dancing in the ballroom had just appeared on the screen. It was my favourite. I had always wanted to be Belle growing up, forever surrounded by books and loved by a man who appreciates me for my strength of character – just like I had always tried to do.

  That had never happened.

  When I had looked back, a white light consumed my vision – so radiant that it had nearly crippled me, causing me to cry out. It had filled the room in a matter of seconds, leaving no corner and person unscathed. Accompanying the light had been a flurry of silver sparkles and streaks, fluttering briefly in the air like glorious fairies.

  The darkness that followed had been absolute.

  When my eyes had adjusted to their surroundings, the scream that had then left my lips had been loud enough to rouse the dead. I had struggled to find my breath, my airways constricting violently. I began to hyperventilate. My father's head had been laying in his lap.

  His mouth had been hanging open and his eyes wide in surprise. Where his head had been, a bloody stump had held my attention. The end of my father’s spine stuck out and had been encompassed by muscle, tendon and goodness knows what else.

  It hadn’t taken me long to be sick.

  Puke stained the carpet, as I had leapt to my feet. The rancid smell that accompanied such a violent episode had singed my nostrils. I had watched my father’s blood flow down the sofa and begin to form a river on the carpet. That was when my father’s murderer had burst through the window.

  The rest, really, is history.

  Somehow, I had managed to get away from the attacker by dashing out of the back door. I had left a pile of objects in my wake to slow them down.

  Unfortunately, my plan had failed.

  Turning the last corner, I notice the police station in the near distance. It is separated by a bridge, which overlooks a steady river. I stumble up to the bridge, fumbling against the stonework for support. The blow to the back of my head sends me sprawling. My vision swirls and my hair now covers my face in sticky strands.

  I realise it is all over.

  “You can’t run forever!” My attacker says, mocking my unfavourable position. I can’t work out if they are a girl or a boy. Their tone is muffled by the hood that they seemed to have wrapped around their face and they wear a thick cloak, which fails to highlight any hint of
physique at all. The cloak is the colour of the night, rendering them practically invisible.

  As my attacker makes their way stealthily towards me, until they loom over my trembling figure, I observe that their eyes are the colour of flames.

  They burn with a hatred and chaos I never knew existed.

  “Fate always catches up to you in the end.” They add. “It was only a matter of time. In your case, fate so happens to be in the form of me!”

  I barely have time to process these words, let alone scream. My assailant raises their weapon up high in a pose that leaves nothing to the imagination. The harsh tone of my attacker’s laughter grates on me. They go onto to say further words. I can’t make them out over the ringing of my ears and the rushing of my blood. I just about register my name. The agony I feel sticks in my mind – like a splinter that is impossible to remove. It’s as if my very soul is being ripped in two. My world turns a rich red – the colour of a dying sun.

  Then, it ends in blackness.

  Chapter 1

  They say that when you die, you retain your memories. For me, I retained nothing.

  Wait.

  Hold your horses.

  Rewind.

  I made a mistake.

  I lied.

  I’m sorry.

  I did retain something.

  Therefore, I’m going to start again.

  They say that when you die, you retain your memories. For me, I retained very little… apart from one thing. It was something that, for most people, would probably be considered to be inconsequential. It was something that, for most people, would probably never even cross the mind. It was something that, for most people, would probably be little more than a whisper on the wind.

  To me, this something meant anything and everything.

  I suppose having all the time in the world to reflect upon this glaringly important fact makes the situation even more meaningful. I mean, I really do have time to spare and I mean TIME TO SPARE, capitals and everything. However, I’m diverting here. My mouth is running away with me - not literally but… oh well…you get the idea. What I want to know is have you guessed what that special something is yet? Yes? I bet you haven’t. Oh go on then.

  I’ll relent and put you out of your misery.

  The one thing I retained when I died was…

  No.

  I can’t do it.

  I’m sorry.

  You’ll have to turn over and read the next chapter if you want to find out.

  Chapter 2

  They say that when you die, you retain your memories. For me, I retained very little…apart from one thing. That one thing was my name.

  There you go.

  You have it.

  You now know the one thing that has kept me going over the years I’ve been alive. OK. That’s wrong. I’m not alive. In actual fact, that’s far from the truth, but I don’t know how else to phrase it. Anyway, I promise you that this will be the last time that I will be annoying, especially when prolonging suspense.

  I give you my Brownie honour.

  Oh, wait, I’ve done it again. I can’t promise that. That is because:

  One: I never went to Brownies.

  Two: I’m annoying - very annoying.

  I guess it’s in my nature.

  OK.

  I get it.

  I feel the vibes you’re giving off so I’ll shut up now.

  Otherwise, you might stop reading right here…right now…and I don’t want that.

  I don’t want that one bit.

  You haven’t heard everything I need to say yet.

  After all, even though you know the most important fact that has kept me going over the years and that this fact is my name, you don’t know what my name actually is.

  Follow me?

  So here it is.

  This is my proper introduction and the start to a rollercoaster of a story that will leave an everlasting imprint in your mind and leave you hungry for more.

  *

  My name is Clara. It’s as short and simple as that. As far as I’m aware, I’m seventeen years of age and…spoiler alert…in case you haven’t guess this bombshell already…I’m dead.

  I have been for as long as I can remember, which is like an eternity. Currently, I sit, like usual, on the local park bench. A little girl, who looks no more than five, suddenly rushes past my leg, her pretty, pink dress fluttering on the cool, summer breeze. She has a matching headband, which just about holds back her curly, golden hair. On her face is a smile of pure innocence.

  It has been a long time since I have felt such an emotion.

  Once the little girl has dashed away, next to grace my presence is an elderly lady.

  She sits down next to me, before opening her handbag. Pulling out a mirror and tube, she begins to apply the cosmetic product to her face. I catch her looking at me in the reflection. It is she who is startled by this meeting not I, for she lets out a prolonged whine. It’s rather funny because her false teeth slip a little in her mouth. Taking the amusement out of it, honestly, I’m rather offended. The first reason is because the woman herself isn’t exactly a beauty goddess. Age hasn’t been her friend over the long years (and there have been many). Overall, I think she looks like a pickled walnut.

  The second reason - I don’t think I’m that unattractive.

  Alright. So I’m extremely ashen, with a jagged scar that splits my face in half from my temple to my chin. Then, there’s my disfigured nose and skin, which is like the texture of wallpaper paste (I suppose this comment is actually pretty offensive to wallpaper paste) and my crooked teeth, which would surely frighten even the likes of the Cheshire Cat. Really though, all things considered, I actually think I’m kind of hot – hotter than those Victoria Secret models for sure. I mean, I have the figure, with a small waist and thin arms and my rich, auburn hair is long, really long. I’m tall, verging on being around the six foot mark, thanks to my never ending legs. The only feature I really struggle to make out is the colour of my eyes, although I have a feeling that they might be a vivid green. Therefore, if you look past the worst of my features, I think I could definitely teach them a thing or two, particularly when it comes to strutting. I’ve got strutting down to a tee, having had the time (I like reminding you of this fact) to perfect the moves. They also always want someone who will attract the eye and well…baby…I’m sure I have that package 100%. And yet, as the old lady and I have a stare-off, I acknowledge that all the above is not the real reason why I’m offended.

  The real reason is that, day in and day out, as soon as I’m seen, whether it’s in the local supermarket, swimming pool or cinema, I receive a very similar reaction.

  Some stare.

  Some scream.

  Some run away.

  Some cry.

  The most extreme incident was when I had a priest begin to exorcise me. Needless to say, it didn’t work for I was still sitting there, looking at him, with an unamused expression on my face half an hour later. All in all, it’s part of the job description.

  That doesn’t mean I don’t hurt a little on the inside.

  The elderly lady hastily scans the area to see if others have stopped to ogle at me. Yes. That’s right. Let’s all stare at the hot but nonetheless mutilated ghost sitting on the bench. They carry on around us, oblivious to what’s happening. This is because the passers-by are too absorbed in their own lives. That’s the norm nowadays. Everyone. No. Let me rephrase that. Nearly everyone is so completely and utterly wrapped up in their own affairs and existence that they forget about each other. Er…hello? There are around 7.442 billion people in the world you know and they don’t all revolve around you. You’re not exactly deserving of special “snowflake” treatment. Sheesh. Oh boy. I’m doing it again aren’t I? I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just that when I’m on a rant, I’m really, really on a rant. No one can derail the rant train, not unless they are Benedict Cumberbatch.

  Then, I’m interested…but that’s a whole other story.

  Anyway, I’ll take a deep breath and get back to the main focus of this paragraph – the theory behind why the old woman can see me. In my opinion, I believe it is to do with the fact that the elderly lady is dying. You see, as far as I’m aware, only animals, children, the dying and mediums can see me. Really, that shouldn’t come as a surprise (although the medium thing might. Not everyone believes in this but, if you take out the 99.9% of fraudsters, then that leaves the 0.1% that are real). The elderly lady doesn’t know this of course, although I hazard a guess that, because of her age, she surely acknowledges the inevitability of this fact. Also, the more I hone in on her body, the more I can sense her heart gradually failing. I can pick up such things you see.