Authors: Felicity Heaton
|Her Dark Angel|
|Her Angel |
|Dark Rose Publishing (2010)|
An angel trapped in Hell for centuries, Apollyon is tired of guarding the Devil. He longs to break free and feel the wind in his feathers, but he cannot leave the endless darkness without permission from above. When he senses someone calling him, he seizes his chance for freedom, but soon discovers the call came from a beautiful woman he has watched over from Hell, a woman who casts a spell on him and awakens the darkest desires of his heart.
Serenity is shocked when a wickedly sensual black-winged angel shows up in her city of Paris claiming that she called him when she was only casting a simple vengeance spell. He's no other than the angel of death! When the lethally handsome warrior offers to obey her and give her revenge, Serenity can't resist the temptation, but can she resist the forbidden hungers the dark angel stirs in her?
Intense and passionate, Her Dark Angel is a tale of desire and deepest forbidden love guaranteed to set your heart racing.
The books in the Her Angel paranormal romance series are joined by world rather than story, so you can enjoy reading them in any order.
Books in the Her Angel paranormal romance series:
Her Dark Angel (Her Angel romance book #1)
Her Fallen Angel (Her Angel romance book #2)
Her Warrior Angel (Her Angel romance book #3)
Her Guardian Angel (Her Angel romance book #4)
Her Demonic Angel (Her Angel romance book #5) - COMING SEPTEMBER 15TH 2012!
Book one in the Her Angel romance series
I write passionate paranormal romance books as Felicity Heaton and F E Heaton. In my books I create detailed worlds, twisting plots, mind-blowing action, intense emotion and heart-stopping romances with leading men that vary from dark deadly vampires to sexy shape-shifters and wicked werewolves, to sinful angels and hot demons!
If you're a fan of paranormal romance authors Lara Adrian, J R Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Gena Showalter and Christine Feehan then you will love my books too.
If you love your angels a little dark and wicked, my best selling Her Angel series is for you. If you like strong, powerful, and dark vampires then try my Vampires Realm series I write as F E Heaton or any of my stand alone vampire romance books I write as Felicity Heaton. Or if you want to turn up the heat a little and like your stories more erotic, try my new Vampire Erotic Theatre romance series I write as Felicity Heaton.
In 2011, four of my six paranormal romance books received Top Pick awards from Night Owl Reviews, Forbidden Blood was nominated as Best PNR Vampire Romance 2011 at The Romance Reviews, and many of my releases received five star reviews from numerous websites.
An angel without a mission, Apollyon lives trapped in Hell guarding the bottomless pit. Surrounded by endless darkness, he longs to fly free on Earth once more but his master hasn’t called him in centuries. When the call finally comes, it’s to serve a new master, a beautiful woman he has often watched over, a woman who has always captivated him.
Serenity is shocked when a gorgeous black-winged angel shows up in her city of Paris claiming that she called him when she was only casting a simple vengeance spell. He’s no other than the angel of death! When Apollyon offers to obey her and help her have revenge on her cheating ex-boyfriend, she can’t resist the temptation, but can she resist him? Can an angel as dark as Apollyon ever fall for a mortal woman like her?
Dark, passionate and erotic, Her Dark Angel is a tale of intense desire and deepest forbidden love guaranteed to get your heart racing.
he images in the bright pool flickered past Apollyon’s eyes at lightning speed but he could see them all, could bring each into focus and pause there a moment to understand what was happening in the scene. He had watched over the mortals since eternity began, had watched the world change and forget his kind.
No one believed in angels anymore.
And his master had not called him forth from the bottomless pit in Hell in many long centuries.
Yet Apollyon waited for the call to come, faithful and patient, committed to his duty even as others around him chose to live by their own commands. Many of his fellow warriors had softened and fallen for mortal women, their devotion wavering and their commitment altering to their love. He would do no such thing. He had no interest in mortals.
His dark blue gaze darted around the silvery pool, following the history it was recording, stopping a moment on images that interested him. Wars. Death. Bloodshed. It was something that never changed. One day, his master would call him and Earth would know the true meaning of destruction.
The pool cast pale light on him as he crouched near it with his elbows resting on his knees, his hands dangling in front of him. The intricate gold metalwork on the black greaves protecting his shins and the vambraces around his forearms caught the light and shone.
With a sigh, Apollyon unfurled his mighty black feathered wings and stood. He stretched, causing the chest plate of his armour to rise as he lifted his arms, and then stared up at the endless black above him. The fires of Hell burned at his back. Their smoke filled the cavern, making him long to go to Earth. It had been eternity since he had left the pit and spread his wings, breathing the refreshing air and feeling it beat against him. He ached to soar above the cities again, unseen and unknown, and to speak with the angels that walked on Earth and watched over the mortals.
He longed to be free of the choking fires of Hell.
Apollyon was about to turn away and go to the edge of the pit when his blue gaze caught on something in the pool. He frowned and crouched again. The long strands of his black hair fell forwards as he leaned over the pool and stared at the image he had stopped before him.
A lone female.
He often saw her. She liked to walk in the park alone these days and her expression was sometimes troubled, as though she bore a heavy weight on her heart. What was she thinking when she looked like that? The park wasn’t the only place that he had noticed her. He had seen her indirectly too, picking her out of a crowd or seeing her passing through an image that had interested him, and each time his gaze had followed her until she had disappeared from view.
She stood staring up at the Eiffel Tower, her back to him and the gentle breeze catching her short red dress and tousling her long fair hair. He didn’t need to see her face to know that it was her. No other mortal captivated him as she could.
Roses framed the view, obscuring much of her legs. He cocked his head to one side and ran his gaze over what he could see. He had never seen her dressed like this. She had always worn layers of clothing in the past, her legs covered and a thick black coat encasing her slender frame. The seasons had passed so quickly and he hadn’t noticed that it was almost summer on Earth. The image changed, panning up the height of the Eiffel Tower and he wanted it to go back to her until he saw the stretching blue sky above the top of the tower.
Apollyon reached out to the pool, desperate to touch that sky and feel the sun beating down on his wings as he flew.
The image drifted away, replaced with a succession of others that he had no interest in. It was summer. He stood and imagined flying in that blue sky and how exhilarating it would be. He imagined the whole of Paris stretched out below him. He had never been there but he knew it well from the images he had seen. What would it be like to see such a city?
To see such a female in the flesh?
He shook that thought away and reminded himself that he had no interest in mortal women.
If he didn’t, why did his heart stop whenever he saw her?
Apollyon looked back into the pool and then turned away from it. His duty was to his master. He had to remain here, guardian of the bottomless pit, suffering the acrid fires of Hell, until his master called him.
No one was going to call him. He was going to spend the rest of eternity trapped in his own personal Hell.
A dark curse rolled off his tongue and a noise like thunder rumbled in the distance.
A familiar feeling built inside him, a sense that someone was speaking his name. He listened, trying to hear the voice of his master, knowing he would be the one who called to him. It wasn’t clear.
He felt the call but couldn’t discern where it was coming from.
Apollyon grabbed his sword, buckled the sheath to his waist, and didn’t wait for the call to come again. This was his chance to escape Hell and he would take it. His master was calling him from somewhere. He had a mission again at last.
He spread his wings and with a single strong beat lifted into the air. The wind from them blew the dark smoke back and they raised him higher and higher, until he reached the ceiling of his prison and stretched a hand up to it. The black rock parted before him and he turned and flew upwards, faster now that he could see a crack of blue sky above him. Hundreds of feet of rock passed him at a blurry speed and he finally broke free into the fresh air. He shot upwards, his black wings beating furiously against the warm air, and didn’t stop until he reached the clouds.
Apollyon hovered there, casting his dark blue eyes over the world at his feet, the chill wind blowing through his long black hair. It was as beautiful as he remembered, more so in fact. The cities the mortals had built fascinated him. He swooped lower, searching for his mission and listening for his master’s call. What did he desire him to do? Apollyon would do anything for his master. He had destroyed many cities in his name and cast many sinners into the bottomless pit. He had even fought the Devil and defeated him.
He frowned when he saw the city.
The desire to go to the Eiffel Tower and find the mortal female was strong but he resisted it and flew over the city, trying to find his master. The call was quieter now and difficult to locate. It burned within him, relentless and driving him to search, even when he was beginning to wonder if he would be searching forever and if this was just a cruel joke because he had cursed.
The Devil would do such a despicable thing. He had a strong voice and could throw it well. He had always promised Apollyon that he would pay for all the times he had cast him back into Hell.
Apollyon swooped lower, effortlessly cutting through the warmer air, delighting at the feel of it tickling his black feathers and washing over his skin. Turning, he dived down a side street, skimming low above the heads of the mortals, causing a wind to gust against them. He smiled when they shrieked and grabbed their clothes to keep them in place. It was wrong to take such childish pleasure from doing such things, but all angels had a tendency to misuse their invisibility.
A strong beat of his wings and he was soaring upwards again. He landed on the edge of the roof of an old pale stone building and looked across the city towards the Eiffel Tower. It speared the clear sky, surrounded by lush green at the base. He was about to fly there when he felt as though someone was speaking his name again.
Apollyon focused, frowning as he tried to discern the direction it was coming from. His gaze shot back to the Eiffel Tower. There?
He ran to the far edge of the building and leapt off, waiting until he was close to the flagstones of the square below before he unfurled his wings and beat them, shooting straight across the square only a few feet above the ground. He ducked and weaved through the people and came out over a grassy bank. The river was ahead and beyond it the Eiffel Tower. He flew straight for it and then came to an abrupt halt in mid-air when he heard the call again. It was behind him.
He scoured the people below. Was his master down there, amongst them, calling to him?
His master had several guises. Apollyon’s eyes darted over the mortals, stopping for barely a second on each face. None of them matched how he remembered his master.
The call came clearer this time, beating in his heart. His gaze shot in the direction it had come from and his eyes widened.
A fair-haired mortal female stood beside one of the fountains below, her back to him and the warm breeze playing with the short skirt of her dark red dress. The jets of water from the fountains sprayed high, the droplets catching the wind and settling on his skin when it blew towards him.
It had to be the Devil’s work.
He had been watching her, had cursed, and then she had called him. It was ridiculous. No mortal had the power to call an angel, and he had not had a different master since eternity began and the angels had made a pact with him.
Cautiously, Apollyon swooped down, closer to her, hovering bare metres above her head. Had she called him?
She raised a hand to her face and it lingered there. He couldn’t see what she was doing. Her shoulders heaved and a wave of sorrow and anger washed over him. She was hurting.