Friday, August 31, 2012

The Power of Charm

This alluring release from Victoria Dannan caught my attention right away. Victoria will be giving away a little special something. See the end of her post for the question! If you're looking for the ROMANCING the HOP, see my the next post ...

First, thank you for having me. Authors, particularly indie authors like myself, rely heavily on book enthusiasts to make connections with readers. Don't know what we'd do without you.

Regarding the question about the type of powers possessed by the heroine of My Familiar Stranger, she has two. One is supernatural, but explainable from a science fiction perspective.
Her name is Elora Laiken. She is part of a powerful, ruling clan - a distant relative of the monarch - in a dimension that is similar, but not identical to our own. That's why I call her a stranger in a "stangish" land. When the clan was gathered for a festival, a rival political group staged a coup in the form of a massacre. Minutes ahead of her own inevitable assassination, she is forced into a pre-experimental device by her tutor and mentor.

When she was deposited at her destination in an alien dimension, she was so damaged they weren't even sure she was humanoid and had no expectation that she would recover. Needless to say, she did heal after several months' convalescence and then discovered she had gained some bonuses in the process. In the book that process was compared to being forced through a giant cheese grater while being tumbled like a rock polishing machine. Since her body was designed for the properties of another dimension, her cell density in the new world gives her strength and speed that exceeds that of record holders.

Partly by fortune and partly by design of the transport's inventor, she landed in a very old, secret society of vampire hunters and paranormal investigators who are accustomed to dealing with highly unusual phenomena. The exceptional physical attributes were a device woven into the plot to make it possible for the heroine to aspire to working with the modern day knights who befriend her.

Her other power is not supernatural, but is highly prized and serves her equally; the power of charm. Not the kind that may be acquired through training such as a Dale Carnegie course. The kind that is innate and as natural to the personality as breathing in and out. If you doubt the value of charm, it probably means you have it in spades. Those who don't have it recognize that it is the prize that trumps all others: beauty, wealth, political power, talent, and so on.

It is that charm that is principally responsible for three gorgeous men simultaneously pursuing her romantically. In the end she must choose between the honorable and stalwart hero who saved her life twice, the beautiful elf who believes she is his mate, or the intensely seductive six-hundred-year-old vampire.

My Familiar Stranger will be available in Kindle format for FREE for three days over the Labor Day Weekend beginning September 1st and ending at midnight on the third so that anyone who has not had a chance to read it can do so before release of the second book in the series, The Witch's Dream, on October 14.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Food of Romance – Romancing-the-Hop

Flowers. Chocolate. Champagne. What does romance mean to you? When dating, often an amour showers a date with gifts … decadent and delightful. Think Valentine’s Day with a plethora of treats, and everyone acts on their best behaviors, right?

Does romance change over time? How about those displays of affection? For me, my husband brought me a glass of water before bed, in case I woke up thirsty. While I simply thanked him in the beginning, over time I became a bit more comfortable telling him that I didn’t care for the water quite as laden with ice as he did. He likes it so cold that my teeth hurt with each sip. So he made it with less ice, and then over time the glasses got fewer and fewer between.

*sniffle* Now I miss it. Hmmm … from champagne to water with little ice. Isn’t romance funny?

Here’s what we’re giving away on the hop:

1st Grand Prize: A Kindle Fire or Nook Tablet
2nd Grand Prize: A $130 Amazon or B&N Gift Card
3rd Grand Prize: A Large Swag Pack (U.S. only shipping)

In order to enter, please leave a comment with a valid email address. Each time a person comments on a blog, they are entered. Meaning they can comment on ALL blogs. Contest ends midnight, Sept. 3, and Carrie Ann will choose the winners from all the participating blogs.

And, here’s a peak at my new release, a 1Night Stand with Decadent Publishing:

A Date with Death

Death sucks. It’s boring, and there’s no chance of getting laid. Stuck in the waiting room of Heaven, Maise fantasizes about all the pleasures of the flesh she didn’t get to experience. When Maise discovers a business card for the dating service, 1Night Stand, she wonders if there’s still a chance.

Reece normally wouldn’t consider being set up, but after his brother buys him a certificate, he feels obligated. A romantic night on the Southern California coast, with the full-of-life Maise leaves him wanting more.

Will a 1Night Stand be enough to overcome death?

Available via Decadent Publishing, Amazon, Nook.

Tell me: Has your view of romance changed over time? Make sure to leave a valid email address to enter into the Blog Hop prizes, and make sure to visit the other stops on the hop. One person commenting on my blog also will win an electronic copy of “A Date with Death.”

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Serafina And The Silent Vampire with Marie Treanor

Serafina’s Book One
By Marie Treanor

Silence has never been so sinful…

Welcome to Edinburgh’s unique psychic investigation agency, Serafina’s.

Serafina MacBride is psychic - but not strictly honest. While staging a hilarious vampire attack at a client’s party, Sera is stunned to encounter a real vampire - annoying, gorgeous and inaudible to everyone but her. When her client’s son is found dead with puncture wounds in his neck, she tracks the silent vampire to his lair.

But the amoral and seductive Blair is also on a mission -- to find and kill a nest of young vampires who’ve invaded his territory. Soon Sera is drawn into the bizarre world of the undead, where danger lurks in the shadows along with forbidden sensual delights - and a murderous conspiracy to flood the world with financially astute vampires who talk.

Supported and hindered by Blair’s eccentric, undead friends, and by her own motley crew from Serafina’s, Sera and Blair uncover surprising truths about each other and about the mysterious Founder from whom all vampires are descended.

In the end, Sera draws on powers she never knew she had in a frantic fight to defeat the forces of evil and preserve the strange, complicated being she’s trying so hard not to love.

Author Bio:

Marie Treanor lives in Scotland with her eccentric husband and three much-too-smart children. Having grown bored with city life, she resides these days in a picturesque village by the sea where she is lucky enough to enjoy herself avoiding housework and writing sensual stories of paranormal romance and fantasy.

Marie Treanor has published more than twenty ebooks with small presses, (Samhain Publishing, Ellora’s Cave, Changeling Press and The Wild Rose Press), including a former Kindle bestseller, Killing Joe. Blood on Silk: an Awakened by Blood novel, was her New York debut with NAL.

Blog: Marie Treanor’s Romantic Theme Party: 

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Guilty Pleasures with debut author Beth Yarnall

The other night I indulged in a guilty pleasure.

While Mr. Y. took the boys to swim at his parents’ house, I whipped around the corner and bought Chinese food and those cookies with an almond on top. Then I poured myself a glass of cheap Shiraz (maybe it was more like 2) and sat down at the dinner table to eat, drink, and... read. The only thing that would have made it better was if I was sitting in the bathtub (although I would never do that-I have a weird thing about food in a bathroom-gross).

I have a few other guilty pleasures-
I love to watch American Idol, and am geeked out enough to know all the contestants’ names.
I love circus peanuts. You know, those spongy orange candies shaped like a peanut.
I love cheesy music from the 70's, especially disco. One hit wonders... bring 'em on.
I love to watch The Maury show. ‘You are NOT the father!’ So car-crashingly awesome.
I like to shop catalogs and circle all of the things I want (and then not order them).
I like to play solitaire on the computer. For hours. It's a sickness really.
I love to watch TMZ. I like how they make fun of all the celebrities. So awesome.
I love to take baths. Light the candles, pick out a good book, and press play on the iPod. It’s mommy time!
I love Ebay. I put a whole bunch of stuff on my watch list and then don't buy any of it. I suppose it's the on-line version of my catalogue shopping.
And I love social media. Especially Twitter. You can eavesdrop follow some really interesting conversations. I’m totally the Gladys Kravitz of Twitter.

Now tell me…what are your guilty pleasures?

Exclusive excerpt from Rush!

God above, she wanted him.
Taking his hand, she slipped down from her barstool and drew him off his. Without a word, she towed him to the big bedroom at the end of the hall. When she’d imagined them together, she’d pictured them here in his big bed with the walls of windows. Stopping at the side of the bed, she turned to face him. She reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. The city lights twinkling in the distance were the only illumination, but she could clearly make out his expression as his gaze roamed over her bare skin.
 Damn, but she was beautiful, Lucas thought, shucking his shirt in one fluid motion. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She glowed. The golden light gilded her skin, like the statue of a goddess, the gentle slope of her breasts the only shadow. She reached for the button of her jeans. His eyes followed the motion. Then she was standing before him in nothing but the smallest scrap of lace. He wasted no time following suit, kicking off his shoes and shedding his jeans. He didn’t dare look away from her. If she were going to retreat from him, he’d have to find a way to convince her to stay.
He stood before her, bare in more ways than one, wanting nothing more than the feel of her skin on his. She moved toward him, her lips curved into a coy smile as though she knew she had all the power. And damned if she didn’t. She put her hands on him, rising up on her toes to smooth her palms over his pecs, across his shoulders, down his arms and back again. He shuddered and she repeated the motion, adding a sweet little purring sound that locked the breath in his throat.
“Touch me,” she begged.

Rush~Book One in the Pleasure at Home Series

Someone is stalking Miyuki Price-Jones.
As the host of a very successful home shopping TV show that sells adult toys, Mi has become the object of an ex-con’s obsession, requiring the services of ex-Navy SEAL turned bodyguard, Lucas Vega. As the attraction between Lucas and Mi grows, Lucas has a difficult time keeping his feelings for Mi separate from his mission to keep her safe. A mission that is more challenging than anyone could have predicted.
    Damaged by their pasts, Lucas and Mi find more in common then they could have imagined and secrets they thought would tear them apart could be the ties that bind them together forever. But with the stalker growing bolder, Lucas and Mi must learn to trust each other or risk losing more than their hearts.
One of them could lose their life.

Beth Yarnall
Beth Yarnall writes romantic suspense, mysteries and the occasional hilarious blog post. A storyteller since her playground days, Beth remembers her friends asking her to make up stories of how the person `died' in the slumber party game Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board, so it's little wonder she prefers writing stories in which people meet unfortunate ends. In middle school she discovered romance novels, which inspired her to write a spoof of soap operas for the school's newspaper. She hasn't stopped writing since.

For a number of years, Beth made her living as a hairstylist and makeup artist and co-owned a salon with her very best friend. Somehow hairstylists and salons always seem to find their way into her stories. Beth lives deep in the heart of `The O.C.' California with her husband, two sons, and their dog where she is hard at work on her next novel. For more information about Beth and her stories please visit her website-

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Tmonique Stephens Gets Cozy with Roman from her debut novel Eternity

A few years ago, I met Tmonique via Savvy Authors. We were in a critique group together, and I'm thrilled to host her.

Interview with Roman Nicolis

After weeks of begging for an interview, Roman Nicolis agreed to meet at a restaurant one block away from his Park Avenue townhouse. I was calm, cool and collected until Roman walked in. 6’7” and muscular with wavy dark hair and intense blue eyes, I swallowed the drool forming and nearly fanned myself. I had to stay focused. I wasn’t here to drool over the man. I had questions that needed to be answered.

His hand swallowed mine when he shook it. He sat opposite me and ordered a scotch neat.

“Would you like something Ms. Stephens?” he asked while the waitress waited.

Yes, but a fruity drink wouldn’t steady my nerves. “Water, please.” As the waitress walked away Roman’s full attention landed on me. “I don’t have much time so let’s get this over with.”

Thanks for the prodding. I whipped the tape recorder from my purse. We already agreed I could record the interview so I didn’t expect him to balk. He scowled, but said nothing. I pressed record and began.

“Hi this is Tmonique Stephens, I’m here interviewing Roman Nicolis, CEO of Nicolis Security. Formerly, one of the most eligible bachelors in New York City who has finally agreed to sit down and talk to me.

“Sir, you’ve been missing from your company and the city for two months. Why the disappearing act?”
Roman Nicolis. “I’ve been on an extended vacation.”

TMS: “To where. There’s no record of you leaving the country.”

RN: “Are you stalking me, Ms. Stephens?” (a smile tweaked the corner of his mouth)

TMS: “Yes, I am. Mr. Nicolis, there has been some speculation on how you’ve made most of your personal fortune. Some say your company is just a cover for illegal activity overseas. Care to comment?”

Roman Nicolis: “I don’t comment on speculation.”

TMS: “So you’re not issuing a denial?”

RN: “There’s nothing to deny or confirm.”

TMS: “O.K.” (shuffles through some papers) “How’s the wedding preparations coming along with your lovely fiancée, Bianca Maylor?”

RN: (his face becomes shuttered) “I’m no longer engaged.”

TMS: “Really, the wedding was three months away. Is it because of houseguest, Miss Stella Walker that you’re no longer engaged?”

RN: “My personal life isn’t up for discussion.”

(The waitress returns with his scotch and my water. He downs his in a single gulp while I try not to choke on mine. His lips are compressed into a thin angry line)

TMS: “Okay, next question. You have a very interesting family. Can you tell us more about them?

RN: “There is not much to tell. I have 6 brothers. Thane, E.J., Avery, Tyrone, Brayden and Quin. Oh, and Hector, my butler.”

TMS: “Yes, but they’re not really your brothers. Not biologically.”

RN: “Blood couldn’t make us any closer. Many are descendants of my sister Aria. They were orphaned and adopted by me.”

TMS: “Wait, descendants of you sister? Just how old are you?”

RN: (His smile turned and wasn’t warm or welcoming)

TMS: “You look surprisingly youthful for someone who adopted several young boys who are now adult men. What’s your secret?”

RN: “Plenty of water and eight hours of sleep”

TMS: “Who lets a single man adopt young boys?”

RN: “Are you saying I did something illegal?”

TMS: “Did you?”

RN: (He gives a cool chuckle) “No. Next question?”

TMS: “Alright. Is it true there has been a Nicolis in every war since The Revolution?”

RN: “. . . Possibly.”

TMS: “More than possibly. I’ve done some research and dating back to the 1777 there’s documentation of one a Roman Marius Nicolis. And in each subsequent war I’ve found variations of that name until The Vietnam war. You come from a long line of military men.”

RN: “Is that an insult or a compliment, Mrs. Stephens?”

TMS: “Definitely a compliment. I also discovered some pictures of those men. They all have a striking resemblance to you. Any comment.”

RN: “Strong genes.”

TMS: “Speaking of genes, is there anything you’d like to say about your twin?”

RN: “My twin is dead. There’s nothing more to say. Next question.”
His anger surprised me. Flustered, I shuffled my papers trying to get the interview on track.

TMS: “Now that you’re single again the ladies will hang me if I don’t ask you some questions, so here goes. Blonde, brunette or red head?”

RN: “Brunette.”

TMS: “Miss Maylor is blonde while Miss Walker is brunette. Interesting. Petite or statuesque?”

RN: “Both.”

TMS: “Athletic or curvaceous?”

RN: (sighs) “This is ridiculous.”

TMS: “I must placate my female reader, please.”

RN: (leans closer) “You want to know what type of woman I’m attracted to? I’ll tell you without the silly questions. I want a woman with a mind of her own. One who knows what she wants and won’t stop until she gets it. One who isn’t afraid of life and living. A woman who will love me as much as I love her.”

Whoa! I can’t take my eyes off him. His intensity is intoxicating. A drug I would gladly get addicted too. I grab my water and slowly drain the glass. After a deep breath I was ready to continue.

TMS: “Have you already met the next Mrs. Roman Nicolis?”

A wry smile flashed across his face, but his eyes were forlorn.

RN: “I have time for a final question, Ms. Stephens.”

TMS: “What is your biggest regret, Mr. Nicolis?”

RN: “This interview.”

TMS: “Come on. Give me one.”

RN: “… I have many regrets. None I care to share with your rapacious readers.”

TMS: “Why did you agree?”

RN: “Lack of good judgment.” (He stood) “Your time is up Ms. Stephens.”

TMS: “One last question. If there was one thing you could change, what would it be?”

RN: (He pauses. For a brief moment his gaze becomes distant, almost wistful. Then his features became guarded) “I’d change nothing. I would live my life as I have, on my own terms with no regrets.” (He leaves)


“Don’t ever run from me again,” he ordered inches from her lips. And though she nodded, her mind thought of inventive ways to make him kiss her like that again.
“Why did you run?” he asked when they were walking again.
“I didn’t run. I left. I needed some fresh air and what better place than the park?”
“I can’t say I understand what’s going on, Stella. In many ways, I’m as confused as you are to the how’s and why’s, and that is not something I’m in the least bit happy with. In a short span of time, much has happened to you. You’ve handled it as best as you could. Another woman would’ve cracked. Not you. For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”
Her chest swelled and her spine straightened a little more. When was the last time someone said that to her. Someone that mattered. And when did Roman, his opinion and approval, matter? And would he still feel the same way if he knew the truth. The truth that wasn’t included in the file he had on her?
She stopped at the edge of the Great Lawn. People still lingered as twilight gathered, but none close by. She sat beneath her tree.
“That was my favorite spot.” She pointed to a nearby hedge. “I spent a few weeks here after I ran away from my last foster home.” A summer spent in the park, hiding herself and the few possessions she managed to gather. A shudder raced through her and she chewed her bottom lip. Memories of cold, hungry nights choked her. Out of everything she could’ve shared, why did she pick one of the most painful?
She cast a fleeting look at him. Thunder engulfed his features turning him into a hulking menace. 
“What happened in foster care?” His voice dropped so low she barely heard him.
“N-nothing,” she looked away. Firm fingers clasped her chin and returned her attention to him. He searched her face, looking for a way to force her to tell him.
Would he hurt me?
With night gathering and no one nearby, he could kill her and dump her body in her old hiding place. No one would find her until she stank. She had to get away.
The fingers gripping her chin stroked her jaw and glided down the column of her throat, stalling her instinct to flee, making her long for something she never had. She closed her eyes against that traitorous emotion and tilted her face into the moonlight.
The wind bathed her in a cool breeze, lifting her bang off her face and revealing her scar. Let him look. Let him see exactly how horrible it is. Maybe then he could deal with the scars on the inside, the ones keeping her from moving forward and claiming whatever joy this life had to offer.
Brave thoughts didn’t give her strength to open her eyes. Pity and disgust wasn’t something she wanted to see on his face.
The calloused pad of his thumb stroked her scar and left an aching trail of awareness spreading across nerve endings that—until recently—slumbered blissfully ignorant of passion. Now they roared to life, demanding attention. Fear sliced through her. What if she looked and all she saw was revulsion?
Then you’d know. Her eyes opened.
Love stared back.
Unshed tears blurred her vision.
Roman’s hand dropped to his side. “Don’t cry. I—I won't—”
She leaped into his arms. He caught her, tumbling back onto the grass. She landed on top of his body.
Tears pelted his face. Another man would have flinched from her ghastly display and pushed her away or at the least, shield himself. Roman waited, one hand on the small of her back, the other pushing her tousled hair behind her ears and wiping away the river cascading from her eyes.
“Sweetheart, please, tell me what’s wrong?”
She couldn’t, at least not at this moment. Not when her heart was raw and wide open. With almost no effort, every wall she erected, Roman destroyed. Now the rubble lay at her feet. Instinct told her to rebuild—quickly—before it was too late.
As she looked down into his face, she realized late had passed days ago. Maybe it was the meals he fed her, or how he didn’t balk when she wanted to learn how to defend herself. Maybe it was the nights spent safely sheltered in his arms and the way his gaze caressed her? There was something about him she craved . . . even loved?
Oh God, anything but that!

Tmonique’s Biography

In high school, Tmonique Stephens wrote her first novel about a reporter and a hockey player after the U.S. hockey team won gold in the 1980 Olympics. She has a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing from City College of New York where she won an English Department Award for her play Tea with Salt in 1987. She took a break to graduate from college, get married, have a daughter, but she never gave up on her dream.

She loves paranormal and fantasy romances and will read anything about fairies, demons, or angels.  She also enjoys Stephen King and Dean Koontz. The first romance she remembers reading was a Harlequin about a sheikh and his forbidden love for an American woman way back in middle school. That’s before loves scene were included. Tmonique loves writing flawed characters who reflect the emotional baggage we all carry. She writes complicated stories for complicated people. Hopefully, you will enjoy her efforts.

Tmonique Stephens was born in St. Thomas USVI, but she grew up in The Bronx, New York one mile from Yankee Stadium. She loves the SyFy and History channels, and Asian cuisine. But her heart and stomach longs for anything from the Caribbean. Have any Caribbean recipes out there? Please share! Her mother died before she had a chance to teach Caribbean cooking secrets.
Currently, Tmonique is working on an Egyptian God series. Why the Egyptian Gods, you ask? She challenges that with, “Why not?” All the other gods have been extensively covered, except the Egyptians. Undiscovered territory has always appealed to her.

Expect her first book, Eternity, out this August from Soulmate publishing. You can find her on her fan page Author Tmonique Stephens and Like her.  

Also stop by for more information on future projects.

Eternity Book trailer on YouTube. 

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Abbey of Angels with Danielle Gavan

Book 2 Abbey of Angels
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Hephaestion Media

Gripped by crazed jealousy, the Angel of Death gave up on his happily ever after, until the day a shy redhead appeared. Could she be the cure Azrael’s madness?
Cassiela is plagued with lustful thoughts of the Angel she’s assigned to guard. Once bitten, Cassie is twice shy from the moment she sets eyes on Azrael. Lost in his dark eyes and easy smile, the Angel of Deliverance finds old hurt and pain coming back to haunt her—in more ways than one.

One Angel will stop at nothing to keep Rae and Cassie from claiming the life they never expected to have. A battle to rival the Great War in Heaven is begun by Rae and Cassiela’s need and love for one another. Will something even they never expected, and are unwilling to give up, turn the earth into a battle ground, and the lovers facing off against the biggest Angel of them all?

Chapter One

My day turned to shit faster than a vampire high on junkie blood. One moment, I was enjoying a quiet cup of lavender tea under an apple tree in the orchard outside my room, the wind lifting the hem of my sundress, flashing my pale knees to anyone near enough to see. The next moment, I stood dressed in dark green, leather warrior gear in an unfamiliar room resembling the aftermath of a nuclear explosion.
“What’s going on? Why am I here and in this outrageous getup?”
Verchiel, the second in command of the Angels of Power, cocked a jet black eyebrow at me. “Hell if I know, Cassiela. The Protector said to fetch the Angels of Deliverance and Silence and get both your asses over here, so voila.”
I surveyed the debris-filled room and its occupants with mild curiosity. The twisted remnants of what appeared to be a bed littered the floor. Tufts of mattress stuffing floated through the air. What in hell had gone on here?
The Angel of Power explained that Metatron, the Angel of Creation, had left moments earlier with another Angel and her werewolf mate in tow. Those left were Zacharael—another Angel of Power, Silence, myself, and one I sensed to be the Angel of Death lying broken in the corner. Silence, my best friend—dressed in gear colored her trademark sooty gray—looked ridiculous in the ill-fitting clothes. I sympathized with the gangly, bookish angel as she fidgeted on the other side of Verchiel.
“But, Silence and I are clerics. Unless you want one of us to write an account of what this room looks like, we’re out of place here.”
The big guy shrugged and, hearing Zacharael call for assistance, turned toward the broken Angel in the corner. A stretcher lay on the floor and, despite his size, Zach was unable to move the injured man alone.
“Come lend Zach a hand, Cassie. You too, Silence. Azrael’s got some nasty injuries and we’ll have to move him with care,” Verchiel said with a sneer on the last word.
I looked over the fallen Angel everyone had been chasing for the last month. A big man, the bulge and lines of his muscles were well defined beneath the shredded clothes and coating of blood covering him from head to toe. Blue eyes blazed from beneath dark brows. Walking over to the corner, I couldn’t help but notice his straight, regal nose above indecently sexy lips—ones that seemed to beg to be kissed.
Crap, what am I doing? I shook my head and sighed as I bent to help move Death onto the stretcher. Remember where the last handsome face got you, Cassie. Remember.
“On three.” Zacharael knelt at the other end of the stretcher and had a hand under each of the Angel’s shoulders. One was clearly dislocated given the odd angle at which the arm sat. “Three.”
Death screamed in pain as we moved his broken body onto the stretcher in fits and starts. Silence and I hadn’t expected Zach to jump straight to three and were late to join the fray when he and Verchiel moved the rest of him over. “Jesus, Zach, a little warning next time would be nice.”
“Why? Azrael deserves whatever he gets, and then some, after what he did to Ardeur.” Zacharael wrapped a hand around one of the handles of the stretcher and motioned for the rest of us to follow suit. “Crazy or not, you don’t tamper with another man’s mate.”
Verchiel chuckled and shook his head as he bent and picked up his own handle. “Up we go, kiddies. Lift.”
The stretcher cleared the floor and I looked down at the empty outline Death’s body left in the debris. In the blink of an eye, we were in the antechamber of the Angelic Council Chambers.


Azrael lay in a pain-filled world. He’d made breakfast for the exquisite Angel in his bed that morning and spent a pleasant moment chatting with her about the children she was carrying.
All of that had gone straight to hell when his twin, Metatron, showed up with a few of his friends and proceeded to rip his idyllic world apart. The werewolf Tate brought along for the ride had not only broken Azrael’s skull, but had shattered his left femur and dislocated his right shoulder as well. The crazy bastard even had the audacity to growl about Rae’s woman and children being his family.
As if Ardy would ever give herself to a hideous beast; she had him to love her as she deserved and fill her belly with adorable Angel babies.
Insult was added to injury after they whisked his golden beauty away. Zacharael and Verchiel, both Angels of Power, slapped an angelicore collar on him to jam all of the power the gold cuffs they locked on his wrists didn’t block. He was as helpless as the humans they were designed to protect and watch over. Yeah, his life sucked right now.
There he lay, Azrael—the biggest, baddest of the Angels of Death—reduced to a powerless mass of pain on a stretcher in the great hall outside the Court of Angels with Zacharael, Verchiel and two female Angels he couldn’t recall meeting before. They waited for their orders and he waited for his fate to be decided upon.
Azrael understood why the Powers were there; Zach and Verchiel were two of the strongest soldiers amongst their ranks. When it came to reeling in an Angel of Death, especially one as strong him, who better to send than the Powers? What didn’t make sense were the two females present. They weren’t warrior Angels, he was sure of it. The fidgeting in their leathers told him the women weren’t used to wearing warrior gear.
Since moving his eyes was the only thing Rae could manage without causing an avalanche of pain, he studied the others while they watched the ten-foot solid gold doors for signs of movement. The redheaded female with pale green eyes turned to look at the other female Angel. This one stood silent, tight jet black ringlets cascading down her back and citrine eyes focused on the entrance they all waited to pass through.
“What are we waiting for, Zacharael?” said the redhead, still fidgeting. Short, pink oval nails worried the seam of her dark green leather pants and her feet shuffled against the marble floor.
Verchiel sneered and answered instead. “Probably Michael. For one as exalted as he is, the boy has some serious OCD issues.” His amethyst eyes glittered at her. “He’s got a stick up his ass when it comes to making sure all his I’s are dotted and T’s crossed.”
The blush creeping over the skin of the red-haired one was lovely but paled in comparison to Ardeur’s. The color filling the Angel’s cheeks made him want Ardy more. “You shouldn’t speak of the Protector in such a way, Verchiel,” she said.
“Or what? He’ll lob an energy blast at me and sentence me to a century among the humans?” The Angel of Power rolled his eyes and grinned at her. “Please, Deliverance. He can’t afford to lose me and he knows it. Unlike this poor bastard,” Verchiel nudged Azrael’s injured shoulder with the tip of a boot and earned an angry snarl for all the pain the touch sent racing through his battered body. “I’m not replaceable.”
Deliverance? Rae’s eyes swung from the red-haired Angel of Deliverance to what must be the raven-haired Angel of Silence as some of the pieces fell into place. Silence and Deliverance went everywhere together, but why were they there? The two women weren’t warriors or guardians and their presence puzzled him more than anything else.
Deliverance was saved from having to respond by the creak of hinges. The doors to the Court groaned as they were pushed open by what Azrael knew was a host of cherubim to reveal the seven Archangels seated at the far end. The four who stood guard over him each grasped a corner of the stretcher Rae lay upon and carried it into the bright Court of Angels.
Azrael blinked at the blinding light, which set off sunbursts of pain inside his poor bashed-in head. The damn werewolf cracked his skull when he’d pounded it into the floor. Though the pain in his shattered leg and dislocated shoulder had lessened, it roared back to life with each jostling step toward the fate that Azrael’s brethren believed fit the list of crimes they claimed he committed against one of their own.
The one voice he had hoped not to hear called out from somewhere ahead of the procession, “Bring the offender forward so that he may be healed and sentenced.”
Michael. Damn. The Protector would not go easy on him. Azrael never cared for the arrogant bastard and the sentiment had been more than mutual. It was no wonder the golden boy was there. He’d made it a point to be present whenever Rae’s ass was called on the carpet and, now that he’d committed a laundry list of crimes against one of their own, the bastard showed up to ensure the full letter of their laws was enforced.
Another round of pain shot through Rae when the four who’d been carrying his stretcher put it down without any sense of delicacy. “You assholes best be careful. My Ardy is an Angel of Anger and Wrath. Keep treating me badly and she’ll kick your asses.”
Deafening silence greeted his statement.
“Death appears to have lost his mind, my lords.” Zacharael stepped forward and knelt at the base of the platform where the seven most powerful Angels ruled.
Verchiel snickered next to Deliverance. “More like joined the cast of Loony Tunes. Wiley Coyote’s got nothing on this crazy nut.”
“Please try to remember where you are, Verchiel.” Raphael descended to the floor and knelt by the stretcher. He touched a hand to Rae’s dislocated shoulder and the delicate touch brought on a flinch with the renewed pain it caused. “Rest easy, Azrael. Your pain will lessen in a moment.”
The green glow of Raphael’s healing touch forced Rae’s eyes shut. An intense ache began, akin to someone using his head to scramble omelets. “Where’s Ardeur? Where did you take her? Are my children alright?”
“They are not your children, Death. You are not capable of parentage with Ardeur. It is the nature of our kind; you know my words are truth.”
It served no point to lose his cool in a room filled with some of the most powerful of Angel-kind. Azrael knew they would silence his words without warning and speaking out would only worsen the sentence.
“Wise of you to keep your tongue, Azrael.” Raphael patted the healed shoulder and helped Rae into a kneeling position. He was denied the right to stand and face the room as a peer; his claims of innocence would fall on deaf ears.
Being guilty didn’t prevent him from facing off against Michael with the most insolent and disrespectful look he could muster. “So, Michael, what’s the verdict? A millennium in your service, or maybe eternity as a human? Both would be equally torturous.”
Michael sighed and fixed his sapphire eyes on the stormy blue ones several feet below him. “No, you would enjoy either too much and we are not here to provide you with entertainment. You will be stripped of all power except that which allows you to usher souls. You will only escort those of infants and children.
“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Azrael shrugged with his newly healed shoulder. The smile beginning to curve his lips was cut off by Michael’s next words.
“Tartarus will be shut to you and your rank as ruler there shall be conferred to another more worthy of the role. Your wings will be clipped, their pain a daily reminder of what you inflicted upon another.” Michael stepped down from the platform and walked a slow circle around the group of lower ranking angels. “You will spend your time between souls confined to the grounds of the Abbey. Silence and Deliverance will be your guards. The portion of soul which you gave to Ardeur has been removed so that you may never find her again.”
His words sparked a deep-seated horror at what they’d done. Michael and his band of toadies had cursed him to the worst kind of fate. “No. Not my Ardy. You can’t take her from me!”
Zadkiel, the most merciful of the Archangels, stood and approached. “You will have plenty of time to reflect on what you have done. See that you learn the error of your ways.”


Tyndle and I exchanged shocked looks at the news of our assignment to watch over the disgraced Angel. It wasn’t difficult for me to read Silence’s reaction.
“My lords, we aren’t warriors. Aren’t there others more suitable to such a task as you have set for Silence and me?”
Michael stood at my side and touched a gentle hand to the dark red curls hanging down my back. He offered a benevolent smile while petting my hair. Too busy wallowing in my own anxiety over the situation, I didn’t notice how creepy the touch felt or that the smile didn’t quite reach the Protector’s eyes. “You have been chosen for a reason, Deliverance. In time, you will learn why. ”
A gentle nudge from my friend forced a sigh from my lips. “As you wish, my lord.”
“Then it is settled.” Michael cupped both of our faces and smiled. “You will guard Azrael day and night for the period of six hundred years and no less.”
I looked down at the Angel of Death and saw the insanity lurking behind the handsome face. “Six centuries?” My knees went weak and a pair of strong arms wrapped around my shoulders before the world went black.


Book 1 Abbey of Angels 
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Hephaestion Media

Born a necromancer…

Sold by parents who wanted a normal child, Ardeur Lisle now hosts a demon and was trained to be a killer for hire. As an adult possessed, dreaming of escape and of a kind face from her childhood helps keep her sane.

If she breaks free from her captors, what will this new world full of paranormal beings hold for her? Ridding herself of her demon parasite will be her first priority.

A promise kept...

Brody Callaghan never forgot the angelic blonde from his childhood. After years of military service, he swears to track down the face still haunting him from his youth.

But Brody has a furry secret of his own; one unveiled with each full moon. Will the two hold onto love with danger, deception, and an obsessed angel driving them apart?

About the Author:

Danielle Gavan lives in Ontario, Canada with her husband and their two sons.

She loves a good book and is usually found with her nose in one. Danielle has an extensive list of them on her book pile. When she's not writing or reading, Danielle keeps herself busy designing book covers and working as a publicist.

Her guilty pleasures are her favorite television shows Lost Girl, Ghost Hunters International and Hawaii Five-0.

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