Sunday Stories – My Angelic Offering

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alternate history, angels, demons, Doomsday, fallen angels, fantasy, Linda Nightingale, Queen Tutt's World of Escapism, Sunday Stories, The Great Flood, The Grigori

NIGHT BEFORE DOOMSDAY

In Genesis, “The sons of God saw that the daughters of men were fair; and they took wives for themselves from those who were pleasing to them.”
Azazel was a leader of the Grigori, the angels sent to Earth to teach Mankind after the oust from Eden, how to survive in a less hospitable environment.  Nine-tenths of the Grigori fell from Grace, but was it love or lust?
This novella presents the Grigori’s tale in first person from Azazel’s point of view–the temptations, his struggles and the final realization that Heaven doesn’t speak to him anymore.

EXCERPT:

Autumn sped into a bitter winter, and out of a crusted December dawn, Lamorak came with the woman Ruth in tow.  When I opened the door, he thrust her into the candlelight.  She stumbled and fell at my feet.

“Take it.” Disgust rasped his throat.  He shoved a bundle of rags at me.  “It’s yours.”

Memory snapped me back to that glade of tall grass, and the first half-breed infant born. The sense of doom that had suffocated me then smothered me now.

Lamorak grabbed my arm.  “What you sow, thus shall you reap.”

Nausea bubbled in my stomach.  I folded back the blanket.  The babe gazed at me with my own eyes, his hair pale and soft.  Angel fragrance, very similar to mine.  A tiny finger brushed my lips.  My heart hitched in my chest.  I bent and kissed my son’s milk-scented cheek.

Ruth’s eyes were dark pools of sorrow, her smile trembling. “He’s beautiful.”

“He’s an Abomination.”  Lamorak spat on the floor.

I flashed upright, wings flared, teeth bared.  “Man, you’ve forgotten your place.”

He cowered back. “Not as much as you forgot yours.”

I spread my fingers over his face.  “Speak again and strangle on your words.”

Lamorack coughed, clutching his throat.

“Azazel.”  Magdalene, the only mortal given the celestial pronunciation of my name and thus dominion over my Spirit, stepped between us.  “What would you do?  Slay poor Lamorak for your sin?”  Tears softened the awful accusation in her eyes.  “Give me the child.”

“Magdalene,” I whispered.

“Go Lamorack. Come Ruth.” She scooped the child from my arms.  “Help me with the morning meal.”

At the door, Lamorak raised a fist.  A nasty smile bared yellowed teeth.  “She’ll soon cuckold you, Shining One.”

Marooned with two women—one of whom I loved, the other the mother of my child, I stared at the closed door.

What reviewers are saying:

Intriguing Insight! Great Read!
First let me say that this is a great read, the first story about the fall of the angels I have read that is more realistic on how the angels took to human women. The author connects you with the characters immediately by giving you the insight of the angel’s thoughts and their duties for being on earth along with the many temptations forced on them from the women.  …Ronda Tutt, Queen Tutt’s World of Escapism

Available from Amazon.

Take a look at the other blogs for more Sunday Stories!

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Wanted to share a snippet of my WIP — The Summons

Tags

Arawak indians, Jamaica, Linda Nightingale, paranormal romance, spirits, works in progress

Whipped by wind, sweet and strong as Jamaican rum, the white robe fluttered behind her.  Wet hair flailed her staring eyes.  She ducked her head against the gale.  Around her ankles, the sea foamed.  The drums beat louder, their wild rhythm echoing in her veins.  In her head, the Whisperers’ chants echoed, urging her deeper.  Deeper, Heather.  The pain will soon be over.

Death was the only way to silence the agony eating her alive—and to banish the Whisperers from her mind.  I am alive, and they are dead.

If she surrendered to the sea, she could join her husband and her child.  For a heartbeat, she searched the demarcation line between heaven and earth, searching for a reason to go on living, but any sense of self had long since vanished in the Whisperers’ seductive promises.

Death was so final.  She’d known that when she saw the ruins of their Volvo wagon—the funeral pyre where Jahill and Ariel had been cremated alive.

The old despair rose in her.  She threw back her head to cry out, but the words dried up in her throat.  On the beach behind her, the chants throbbed—men’s voices thundering with the sea; women’s voices trumpeting with the wind.  Above her, pinpoint stars, diamond-bright, pierced the inverted black bowl of sky.  The blue topaz Caribbean, at night, was Coke-bottle green.

The sea threw its arms around her shoulders.  The wind kissed her feverish face.  As if a star had fallen, one of her precious diamond earrings—a Mother’s Day gift from Jahill—splashed in the dark water and sank.

“Jahill,” she whispered and reached for the falling star.  A wave slapped her face and she fell.  As the water closed over her head, she screamed her son’s name, “Ariel!”

She battled to the surface, flailing her arms and legs.  Silence shocked her.  The drums and the chants had died.  Her thoughts cleared.  She was neck deep in the ocean, but the sea lay down and licked her fingers.  Relief sharp as fear razored through her, but respite was short-lived.  A massive wave rose on the horizon, gaining speed and height as it rolled toward her.  The wind stopped singing, and the warm ocean chilled.

In utter panic, Heather whirled.  He comes for you.  Meet your fate.

She clamped her hands over her ears, but the Whisperers were in her head.  The outbound tide washed the sand from beneath her feet, and she crashed face down in the calm water.  Gasping for air, she surfaced, running, getting nowhere.  Now that death stared her in the eye, she’d never felt more alive.  Tears and salty spray trickled down her cheeks.  She glanced over her shoulder.

The tidal wave stretched, white fingers brushing the sky.  Heather watched, helpless, as the ocean crouched, ready to spring.  The little waves woke up and pulled at her.  Her hands shot up to cover her mouth as she repeated, like a prayer, “Jahill.  Ariel,” until the two names merged inseparable.

Lightning speared the ocean.  Thunder rumbled, shaking the ground.  The wave reared higher.  The shrieking wind churned water into a gigantic human shape.

 

Bianca Swan’s Celestial Sin is #3 in the Preditors & Editors Poll

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angels, Bianca Swan, Celestial Sin, demons, fallen angels, Grigori, Preditors & Editors, The Wild Rose Press, The Wilder Roses

Final tallies are in, and Celestial Sin, is #3 in the erotic novel category of the Preditors & Editors poll.  For a video, blurb and excerpt visit Bianca at http://biancaswanblog.wordpress.com/celestial-sin/

While browsing, check out the free erotic read, The Gatekeeper’s Cottage, and the Hot Spanish Nights page.

Celestial Sin is available at The Wild Rose Press.

Fabulous Five Star Review for Bianca Swan’s Celestial Sin!

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Bianca Swan, Celestial Sin, demons, erotic romance, fallen angels, Hot Spanish Nights, Queen Tutt's World of Escapism, Ronda Tutt, The Grigori, the preditors & editors poll, The Wilder Roses

Check out this fabulous review at Queen Tutt’s World of Escapism and see what Ronda Tutt has to say about Celestial Sin–a hint:  “The connection between the characters was breathtaking and electrifying. I loved Cam-ael’s curiosity about everything and Essie’s was the perfect female, strong, yet tender when need be. Their erotic love scenes were steaming hot…”

(The hottie to the left is the way Bianca sees Cam-ael, the hero!)

Bianca Swan’s Celestial Sin has been nominated in the Preditors & Editors Poll!

Tags

angels, Bianca Swan, Celestial Sin, erotic romance, fallen angels, Order of the Powers, Preditors & Editors, romance, The Grigori, The Wild Rose Press, The Wilder Roses, urban fantasy

Celestial Sin is available from The Wild Rose Press.  Bianca is sharing a blurb and excerpt from this hot story of love and lust.

Blurb:

Early on, Essie McBane set her standards high and waited for true love. She never expected the answer to her prayer to literally fall from heaven in the shape of a warrior angel with chestnut curls and a celestial body. As much as she’d love to teach the divine creature a thing or two about sex and lust, can she be responsible for leading him into temptation?

Sinfully handsome Cam-ael, an angel, is wounded in the second war between heaven and hell and plummets into the arms of a beautiful human. But Cam knows he must return eventually, no matter how much he likes the material pleasures of earth. Not to mention the sensual pleasure he’s found with Essie.

But when his mortal feelings for Essie draws a demon into the midst, can Cam protect her or will he learn the true meaning of the word sacrifice?

Excerpt:

Whoa, Essie, he’s an angel and a lot younger than you.

His feathers rustled as he unbuckled the fastenings under his arms and bent to place the armor on the floor. What did his ass, hidden by sleek white wings, look like? My, my, he was just too much for a girl to resist. She gave in to temptation, stroked the shiny, soft feathers. He backed into the caress, and a long sigh escaped him.

“That feels incredible.” His voice came husky, and butterflies hatched in her stomach.

It had been a long time since she’d felt belly tugs or the fire of passion licking through her, but when she touched him, the world as she’d known it ceased to exist. He untied the leather tunic and stepped out of it. His wings drooped. He swayed on his feet. She felt guilty as hell, lusting after an angel too weak to stand.

Shakily, he turned to face her. Ginger hair spattered his chest, drew a thin line down his stomach, disappearing in the V-neck of the robe he wore beneath his armor. The loose shirt was thigh-length. The fabric appeared to be linen but with a subtle sheen.

“I’m afraid I can’t remove this.” He lifted a fold of the toga, giving her a tempting glimpse of his upper thigh, very near his cock. “I’m wearing nothing beneath.”

Bianca would love your vote for Celestial Sin at Preditors & Editors.