Black Fallen by Elle Jasper Page A

from you, my old friend.” He turns and eyes me. “Come on, man, and meet your new pupils.”
    I watch the two big men cross the dojo, hugging the wall and making their way toward
     me. Even I, surrounded by unusually gorgeous otherbeings, have to admit that besides
     being massive, he’s one handsome guy.
    And apparently old as dirt. Jake had mentioned twelfth and thirteenth centuries. I
     can see that, looking at this guy. He’s all of six feet, six inches. At least. He
     is taller than Jake, Gabriel, and Eli. Heavily muscled. Broad shoulders. Dark wavy
     hair to his shoulders, partially pulled back at the nape. Piercing eyes lock onto
     mine as he walks. Struts, rather. He definitely has swag. Definitely swagalicious.
    Across the dojo, Eli all but growls. I try not to laugh. I shoot him a mock stern
     look and turn to meet my mentor.
    “Tristan de Barre, this is our newest and most human WUP member, Ms. Riley Poe,” Jake
     introduces, and looks at me. He lifts a dark brow.
    Before I can acknowledge the intro, Tristan de Barre grasps my hand and lowers his
     head over it. His eyes, a striking shade of sapphire, fix on mine. “My pleasure, lady,”
     he says, then brushes his lips over the top of my hand.
    It happens too fast.
    I really need to learn how to control this gift.
    The room spins, tilts, and I feel myself losing gravity as a suffocating blackness
     swallows me. I know what’s happening the second it begins.
    I’m him. Tristan. I concentrate hard, and this time, I’m able to watch, as if peering
     through a window. It’s a long-ago century, that much is for sure. A musky, dank dungeon.
     It’s cold, and Tristan is shackled to the wall.
    Then, everything happens in fast-forward. A man, trusted by Tristan. Murder. A curse
     that lasts centuries. Tristan and his knights are spirits . . .
    “Lady? Is there aught amiss?”
    My body is shaken by strong hands. None too gently. I feel it, but I’m still watching . . .
    “Lady?”
    I blink and focus on Tristan’s face no more than a few inches from my own. He is holding
     me in his arms. He blinks.
    “Why are you unwell?” he asks. Sapphire eyes narrow. “Is Andorra tasking you overmuch?”
    Tristan speaks in the weirdest of ways, yet I seem to get most of what he’s saying.
     I slip a fast glance at Jake Andorra, who is standing close by, then look back at
     Tristan. “Yes. He is.”
    A slow, sexy smile spreads over Tristan’s face. “You remind me of my lovely wife,
     Ms. Poe. Quite feisty, you Colonists.” He fingered the wings inked into my cheek.
     “Although you’ve a few more unnatural attributes.” He sets me straight on my feet
     and looks down at me. “She’s got speckles,” he drags his finger over the bridge of
     his nose. “Just here. Now, then. What did you see when I touched you?”
    The others are standing close behind me now, all awaiting my answer. “You’re called
     Dragonhawk,” I answer, meeting full-on his inquisitive gaze. I tell him everything
     I’d just witnessed. “Your foster father murdered you and your knights. Not sure which
     century but I know it was a helluva long time ago.” I cock my head. “So . . . how
     are you here now?” I poke his chest. “You seem solid enough, but you were all ghosts
     for centuries. Are you immortal, too? I don’t know what year it was, but”—I glance
     down at his thick thighs clothed in black martial arts gear—“you looked like you were
     wearing pantyhose under all those steel chains.”
    Tristan’s compelling blue gaze fixes on mine. He studies me for a moment before throwing
     his head back and laughing.
    I stare at Jake.
    “Damn me, but you’re a witty wench,” Tristan says. “Aye. My men and I were murdered
     by my foster father. ’Twas in the fourteenth century. We walked the earth as spirits
     after that. Ghosts cursed, for nearly seven hundred years. ’Twas not that long ago
     that my bride swept into my life and saved me.” His blue eyes