AIREL is a young adult paranormal story about an angel who falls so deeply in love with a woman that he chooses to fall from heaven to be with her. She gives birth to a daughter in Arabia, BC. The girl is pursued ferociously, relentlessly by an enemy in the deepest darkness. In present day, Boise, Idaho is just a girl: Airel. She's just your average high school student It's because of who she is, because of her ancestry, because of her lineage.

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By Aaron Patterson and Chris White. I was always the person I wanted to be. I could be myself, beautiful by my definition—the only definition that mattered.

Real life was different. Being seventeen, I was old enough to suspect that adults were lying to me when they told me to shoot for the stars or that you can be anything you want to be.

All I wanted was to be left alone, to be free to live my own life. It pissed me off that life was already so unfair.

I was walking on a path in a huge wooded clearing, a high alpine meadow. My dad had taken me on lots of camping trips before, up into the Idaho mountains, up to Redfish Lake and the Sawtooths.

Though I knew some of those unpeopled landscapes like the back of my hand, the place in my dream was better. The path I walked was in the shape of a big ring, a perfect circle, bigger than the football field at my school.

The path cut deep through tall wildflowers, its shape beckoning me onward to the next part of the circle, just out of sight. It was simple, like walking around this circle was what I was made to do.

My existence meant walking along this dark rut, my hands brushing along through the bright petals of wild daisies. There were people. They were shadows, ethereal. It was clear that whatever was decided, whatever was done, would determine which of each of these shadow identities prevailed. I felt him draw nearer to me, and then I could see him flickering and shimmering like the others—two identities fighting over one body. I could see his eyes clearly.

They terrified me; they were an emulsion of love and murder. One of his faces was a death masque. Destruction pooled under it, ebbing outward in heavy ripples of blackness like tar. He moved swiftly, cutting into my circle and standing before me on the path. I stopped, overwhelmed, and looked at him. And then I understood. It was just as plain and inescapable and final as it had felt when we buried my grampa. This man, the man with two faces, was going to be the man who killed me. My eyes still closed, I lay there in the non-moment of time between dreaming and waking, feeling the familiar tension.

It was familiar because I always felt it. Why, though … why that feeling? It was like I was missing something. What is it? I smacked the alarm button. It had been buzzing for half an hour—half an hour that I could have used, dang it, but sometimes it takes a girl a while to gather her strength. It was time to finally drag my sorry butt out of bed.

I always had trouble waking up for school, because school was the last place I wanted to be. The last place I fit. Since the weather had been playing nice lately in a refreshing little reprise of summer, I dreaded being cooped up in pointless classes all day long. My feet hit the carpet, and I sat on the edge of the bed with zombie eyes. I must have slept weird. Or dreamed even weirder.

My body was refusing to respond; it was like waking up as a cotton ball in an unopened family-size package of them. My numb limbs wanted nothing to do with this morning business. Come on, Airel, no time to be dragging. If you hurry, you can stop for coffee, I promised myself. I stood up and looked in the mirror that hung on the wall next to the bathroom door.

Its unflinching honesty shouted at me that I was really two people—my idea of who I was contrasted strikingly with reality. My eyes were puffy and red, and my hair was down around my shoulders in frizzy brown tangles. I dared to look closer. Dark circles anchored dull brown irises. I rubbed them, trying to wake up.

That made me laugh out loud. I would have looked ridiculous to anyone watching me. I felt ridiculous. Whatever, I said to the mirror girl. If I have to use it to wake myself up, you can just get over it.

School is in twenty minutes, honey. You need to eat something today. The words trailed off in the same mom-ish rant I heard every day on the importance of breakfast. After my breath had become nontoxic, I pulled on my favorite pair of jeans, putting them together with a dark-blue shirt that my buddy Kim had picked up the day before at the mall.

I pulled the tags off, sealing the deal, checking my look in the mirror. I checked the mirror again. Darn you, zit. I brushed it on quickly, figuring I could maybe finish the job with some eyeliner in the parking lot before class.

At times like these, I was a little jealous of how easy life could be for guys. All they had to do was throw on whatever clothes were lying around and walk out the door. But girls practically had to create a masterpiece. As I pulled back my curtain and looked through the glass into the front yard, I was glad to see the sun would be making an appearance again.

The good weather was holding—for today, anyway. Around here, the weather was about as reliable as the people who reported it. I checked my bag for the requisite books, makeup, and extra clothes—just in case we had a stupid track day in gym. We were forced to run once a week, and all it did was make me sweaty and gross.

Five minutes from the time my feet had hit the floor, I slid them into my customary flip-flops and zipped out the front door. I was in my trusty Honda and on my way to school, or as I liked to call it, hell. I turned the radio on. I was in the mood for music this morning, which had its implications.

It all depended on what the DJ was playing right then. Happily, it was easy for me to take the first option as my favorite band came through the speakers, and I tapped my fingers to the beat on the steering wheel. But I had a wicked craving for a coconut latte, and I had promised one to myself. I checked the time on my phone again and decided my coffee obsession would be worth a tardy.

I pulled into Moxie Java, my car shrieking to a stop in the parking space—the line in the drive-through was too long—and the obnoxious squeal reminded me once again that I needed to have Dad do my brakes. I should have asked him to do it last weekend, but it rained the whole time, so the job got bumped. I was a diehard fan of Moxie Java. The gunko they served at Starbucks could peel the paint off walls. I liked good coffee—not burnt gunko, and not creepy green mermaids.

As I ran to the front door to get in line, I found to my dismay that the place was packed. Looks like late just turned to criminally late. I looked behind the bar and saw that Lacey, my latte buddy, was working today. She smiled at me, feigning a panicked look and nodding to the line of groggy people she was trying to serve. I was a regular, so she knew my drink. We had a good system worked out: she would have my drink ready before I made it through the line to the register, and I always gave her a nice tip for her extra-speedy work.

With latte in hand, I turned, flipping my hair out of my eyes. It was part of the grab-pay-and-go move that Lacey and I had so carefully worked out and I was late for school, so I was in a Big Fat Hurry.

As I took that first step toward the door, a boy was coming in. He was unlike any other person I had ever seen. There was more to him than that. Something magnetic. He was tall, and his short blond hair stood up on his head in soft spikes above his icy blue eyes. Those eyes were looking right at me, and I felt my heart jump as I realized I was staring.


Airel: The Awakening: Airel Saga Book 1

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Airel (The Discovering) (The Airel Saga Book 2: Parts 2-4)

By Aaron Patterson and Chris White. I was always the person I wanted to be. I could be myself, beautiful by my definition—the only definition that mattered. Real life was different.

ISO 16269 PDF

ISBN 13: 9781624820922


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