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ImageOn the days I offered Night Before Doomsday free at Amazon, I actually got in the top 50 with George R.R. Martin!!  To celebrate being that close to a great, I’m hosting another contest.  I’m offering a Black Swan t-shirt and 2 refrigerator magnets:  1 with the sigil of Azazel (star of Night Before Doomsday) and a Black Swan (a spicy vampire story) cover.  I could be persuaded to throw in an autographed cover flat.

Here’s an excerpt and link for Night Before Doomsday.  http://www.amazon.com/Night-Before-Doomsday-ebook/dp/B005YFBX0M/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1333671480&sr=1-1


One spring night I picked my way down a slippery path and found Ruth bathing in a moonlit lake. The sight took my breath away, and the song taking shape in my mind fled.

“Golden Azazel descends to his humble servant.”  Ruth twined her arms above her head, her wet, succulent breasts gleaming in the moonlight.

She forged into shallower water. Excellent night vision bared what the lake would have hidden.  The dark curls at her mound drew my gaze.

I averted my eyes. “I’ll leave you to your peaceful ablutions,” but anticipation rooted my feet to the sand.  She’ll come to me…I was certain.  I turned, placing my wings between me and temptation.

“Ho, Azazel!”

I angled my body so that I could see her.  Beckoning, she strode through the lake, shedding her mantle of water to stand naked on the beach.  Moonlight traced lush curves and the ivory globes of her breasts.  I could almost taste the rosy, pebbled nipples.  Wet hair streamed to her small waist.  My breath hitched.  My heart raced, pumping blood to the shaft tenting my robe.  Guilt plucked at my nerves, but I couldn’t look away.

Magdalene waited for me.  I should leave before trouble closed the distance between us.  My feet refused to move.  Enchanted, I stared at the feline huntress.  I might have conceived this sensual work of art, my own hands molding from river clay that perfect feminine shape.  A thudding awareness of the power she’d been born with, and that lust had given her, held me prisoner.  Then Magdalene’s face flashed before my eyes, turning me toward home.

Deep, throaty laughter mocked me.  “You’re afraid of me, Mighty Archangel.”

I spun to face her. “I am not afraid of you, Ruth.”

“Oh?” Her arms glided around my shoulders, her fingers massaging tense muscles.

She snuggled her face against my wings, her hands stroking the tender underside.  She must know that caressing my wings fired lust.  Which of my brothers was Ruth’s lover?

“Bad Ruth,” she purred, “Azazel is a married man.”

I held her back from me.  “I’m not a man. I’m an angel.”

“A fallen angel.”

Shame and anger jerked me free of her hot embrace.  “Mind your tongue.”

She teased my nose with a feather that had fallen from my wing.  “You committed the Original Sin.”

“The Original Sin was Disobedience.”

Her eyebrows flickered, her expression mocking.  “Did you not disobey when you took Magdalene into your bed?”

The truth tore a gasp from me.  Angels are the Word made manifest.  The Word no longer spoke in me.  I had betrayed divine trust.

She rubbed her arms.  “Your eyes burn my skin.  I’ve made you angry.”  With her hand, she traced my hipbone, her fingers then slid across my thigh.

I caught her hand before she could touch the hard evidence that I wanted her.

“Smite me with your Seraphic sword.”

“Ruth.”  Her name was a plea, a prayer to withstand temptation.

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw you.” She winnowed her fingers through my hair.  “Thick, straight, silky as the gold thread you’ve taught us to spin, your hair spilled over the whitest, grandest wings of all.  I wanted you then.  I want you even more now.  I can make you feel better than you’ve ever felt before.”  A fingertip dotted desire on my lips.  “I promise.”

Ruth made good her promise.  Her body clutched, sucked and milked me dry.  Delirium took me down, down, deeper and deeper.  As a delicious explosion tore me asunder, I cried, “My God, Ruth.”

No, not my God, any more….

PS.  This isn’t a religious story or one about evil.  It is my take on an old, old story that predates recorded history.