The Blood Angel

The Blood Angel Tia Fanning Fanning, Mason & McKee, LLC Copyright © 2022 Tia Fanning The Blood Angel Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental. Editor Rebecca Colvin JustAskHer Productions Sensitivity Readers Selena Michaels Dani Carr YD La Mar Cover Artist D` Arte Oriel Book Description After committing suicide, I find myself in an earthly purgatory, trapped in a gothic mansion by the sea. My captor is a mysterious man I only know as The Gentleman. I do not know if I am truly alive or dead. All I know is that I must obey or suffer the consequences under his hand. Is he an angel sent to save me? Is he a demon meant to punish me? Or is he just a man who wishes to master me—completely—mind, body, and soul. Story Elements —WARNING— SUICIDAL IDEATION IS A MAJOR THEME IN THIS STORY. AUTHOR NOTE: Please realize that this story hits very close to home. I found writing it therapeutic. However, my therapy might become your trigger, so please read the following list of story elements very carefully. Please make an informed decision on whether or not you wish to proceed with reading this contemporary gothic tale. Trauma Trigger Warning: There Are Graphic References to Suicide in This Book. Furthermore, this Erotic Dark Romance features discipline themes and fetish elements as found in BDSM and other kink lifestyles featuring power exchanges. These fetish elements may include but are not limited to… Non and/or Dubious Consent Corporal Punishment Edge Play Bondage Medical Play Blood Play Degradation Romance tropes found in this work of Adult Romantic Fiction include… Alpha Anti-Hero Villain Love Billionaire Romance Captive Heroine Stalking Abduction Forced Proximity Power Dynamics Polyamory Please be advised that this love story contains explicit descriptions of intimacy, mature themes, and narratives that are only suitable for mature readers. Important Information 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline https://988lifeline.org/ If you’re thinking about suicide, the Lifeline network is available 24/7 across the United States. The Lifeline is available for everyone, is free, and is confidential. Dial or Text 988 Dedication For those who know this battle too well. Chapter One I remember reading an Internet urban legend once. It was allegedly a letter written by a person on the day they had planned to commit suicide. The author was so lonely and utterly distressed by the awfulness of the human condition that they ended the letter with this closing… “If even one person smiles at me while on my way to the bridge, I will not jump.” Of course, the suicide note was supposedly leaked evidence, thus telling us readers that obviously not a single human smiled at that poor soul as they walked toward their death. As urban legends often do, the fateful story stuck with me, and the profound lesson was powerful enough to alter the way I interacted with the world. It made me realize that life often played out in small moments, and something as simple as a smile could change the course of a whole existence. And it did. Mine own. But let me step back a moment. Though I, too, suffered from depression, I made it a point to offer a small smile to anyone who crossed my path, even though I had nothing to smile about. It became a habit. No matter how much I withdrew from the world as time passed, I still smiled. No matter how the anxiety and the overwhelming sense of doom had me closing in on myself, I still made an effort. Even though I just wanted to crumble into a ball and sob, I acknowledged everyone who passed me with a smile. Walking down the busy sidewalks of this elegant city, peeking from lowered lashes, I would shyly quirk the corner of my mouth. Sometimes people would smile back, but more often, they just ignored me. There were times I would not even see their faces, which forced me to categorize their existence by the style of their shoes. As time went on, I realized I was getting closer and closer to writing my own letter. The medicine did little to help suppress the grief and ennui. I was existing, but not living. All the family members who had mattered perished in the viral plagues of the early 2020s. I had a lover, but he was often busy with his career, and truthfully, our relationship brought me little joy. He was a narcissist, so he didn’t even notice I wasn’t emotionally present. And he was cheating on me, if what we had could even be considered a committed relationship. I did the best I could—fake it until you make it—but years had passed, and I was tired of it all. Exhausted. Sick of pretending to be happy. I was an artist who hated their art. And no one seemed to notice when I began selling the remainder of my art to the local galleries and donating others to art museums. Other than a vehicle I hardly ever used, I had liquidated all my physical assets, mostly inherited, and gave those monies to charities that helped children chase their artistic dreams, especially since my family had indulged mine. My estate lawyer would distribute the rest. This was my last day on this Earth. It was fitting that it be today. It was Valentine’s Day. My lover was out of town for work—likely spending the holiday with his sidepiece. He would be fine. We weren’t that serious. Well, I had been serious and monogamous, as he’d asked. He was, seemingly, not as serious and definitely not