A fallen angel with a mission and a medical examiner who’s lost her faith are fighting for their souls in a glittering, near-future Manhattan…
Blind faith is for fools. That’s what Dr. Morgan Sterling believes. And she’s going to prove it by curing the zombie plague ravaging her city’s slums. She’s certain it’s not a sign of the End of Days, but a nasty disease—until an angel appears in her morgue in a flash of glory.
Luniel is not just a fallen angel. He’s a powerful warrior sworn to fight evil in hopes of a chance at redemption. He’s after the demon princes who are stealing the seven vials of holy wrath which, when perverted, will unleash eternal hell on earth.
To stop the plague, Luniel needs Morgan’s help, and her faith. But Morgan believes science is their salvation. If the zombie plague is a demonic curse—and if Luniel is true—he’ll have to prove it. Even if he loses his heart to true love or his soul to Hell…
Awesome, huh? REVELATION is the first book in my Seven Signs series, apocalyptic paranormal romance. Fallen angels, demons, plagues of unholy wrath, loads of action and hot romance. Oyy!
And for the record? I am so in love with this crazy cover. What's not to adore about this guy?
You can buy REVELATION in the UK from Amazon UK and Book Depository UK. And the first chapter is on my website.
To celebrate, here’s an exclusive excerpt! Special, new, never-before seen! … well, except in the book. You know what I mean.
Just for something different, let's meet one of the nastier characters: the archangel Michael, whose job it is to stop demons hijacking the Apocalypse and twisting the Seven Signs to their own evil ends. But Michael has his own agenda, as our hero and heroine will soon discover…
Michael lounged on the soft black couch and watched his angels vanish, his feathers twitching.
Fucking demon scum. This story better not be true.
Rage flashed his ice-blue wings bright, and he grabbed his phone and hurled it at the window, glass splintering in flame. He’d slaughtered so many demons, his dreams were hip deep in blood, drenched in ragged screams. And it never. Ever. Stopped.
How many times had he throttled evil down to hell? And how many times had he watched it rise again?
It was enough to fucking tire you out. And after five thousand years, Michael was over it. Let the bloody world end, for all he cared. At least he’d get some rest.
Briefly, he debated calling Gabe and washing his hands of the whole mess. You’re the Annunciator, big brother. Go fucking announce this, and let’s get it over with.
But doubt nagged, and he tugged his ice-blond hair into a thoughtful handful. He’d always told Gabriel that keeping those vials was a goddamn stupid idea. If the demon princes really were hijacking the Apocalypse—twisting Himself’s wrath to their own ends—someone better call the Kid and have him resurrect St. John of Patmos, because there’d be some serious rewriting to do. Funhouse mirror Revelation. Not a pretty sight. Their eventual goal? To pervert the prophecy, of course. Satan’s victory at the End of Days. Hell, quite literally, on earth.
Well, screw that for a shitty idea. Michael had tangled with too many demons in his time to think he’d get off lightly if the hellmunchers won. He’d be first on Satan’s buttfuck-with-a-pitchfork list if the stinky little weasel ever broke out of prison and stayed out.
No, letting the demons have it all their own way would never do. And besides, in the good version, Michael got to hack Satan’s guts out at the end. After a few plagues, and so forth, but that was immaterial. The monkeys got the trouble, Michael got the glory.
And Michael had always craved glory.
Still, that didn’t mean a deal couldn’t be done to smooth things over for both sides. That was what he’d invented the Tainted Host for. Damning disobedient warrior angels was a waste of good talent. So the Tainted were neither damned nor saved—he just took their souls off them for a while, as incentive. They were no longer bound by heaven’s rules, and there was the added bonus of plausible deniability if they fucked up.
But Dashiel and his Tainted gang remained frustratingly honorable. Even Japheth had turned into a rebellious little snot lately. Still, the Tainted weren’t Michael’s only tools . . .