My Wicked Weekends today is all from one author, the fabulous Janine Ashbless.
The Prison of the Angels
by Janine Ashbless
The Prison of
the Angels,
the final novel in the Book of the Watchers
trilogy, and the story of a young woman who releases a fallen angel from centuries
of imprisonment, is now available from Sinful
Press.
“When there’s
war in Heaven, on which side will you stand?”
Genres:
Hot M/F/M Romance, Thriller, Supernatural
Pages: 388
Blurb:
I thought I was a good girl. I thought that no matter
what others did for my sake, I could stay innocent. I thought that as long as I
acted out of love, I’d be blameless.
I was wrong, wasn’t I?
Milja Petak’s world has fallen apart.
Her lover, the fallen angel Azazel, has
cast her aside in rage and disgust. The other contender for her heart, the
Catholic priest Egan Kansky, was surrendered back into the hands of the shadowy
Vatican organization, Vidimus, after sustaining life-threatening
injuries.
She has killed and she has betrayed.
She is alone, homeless, and at the end of her tether - torn apart by guilt and
the love she has lost. But neither Heaven nor its terrifying representatives on
Earth have finished with Milja. Both of her lovers need her in order to further
their very different plans, and both passionately need her, though they
may try to deny it.
Milja is once again forced into a
series of choices as she uncovers the secrets Heaven has been guarding for
centuries. But this time it is not just her heart at stake, or even the fate of
a fallen angel.
This time, the choices she make will
change everything.
This time it’s the End of the World.
Praise
for this series:
“An
absolute must-read.”
—Rose Caraway, The Sexy Librarian
“Dan
Brown’s The Da Vinci Code, only much better written and with much more
sexiness involved.”
—Clitical
"Damn, if Dostoevsky wrote
smolderingly hot erotica about fallen angels, he’d be Janine Ashbless."
—Samantha MacLeod
“The
first two books of this series are smart, sexy, literate, gripping, and moving.
I can’t wait for the third.”
—Jaqueline Brocker
“Oh it's incredible. I love this
series and the final book is a masterpiece.”
—Anna Sky, Sexy Little Pages
Bio:
Janine
Ashbless is a writer of fantasy erotica and steamy romantic adventure – and
that’s “fantasy” in the sense of swords ‘n’ sandals, contemporary paranormal,
fairytale, and stories based on mythology and folklore. She likes to write about magic and mystery,
dangerous power dynamics, borderline terror, and the not-quite-human
.
Janine
has been seeing her books in print ever since 2000, and her novels and
single-author collections now run into double figures. She’s also had numerous
short stories published by Black Lace, Nexus, Cleis Press, Ravenous Romance,
Harlequin Spice, Storm Moon, Xcite, Mischief Books, and Ellora’s Cave among
others. She is co-editor of the nerd erotica anthology Geek Love.
Her
work has been described as: "hardcore
and literate" (Madeline Moore) and "vivid and tempestuous and dangerous, and bursting with sacrifice, death
and love." (Portia Da Costa)
Excerpt:
I
was bootless and naked, almost knee-deep in a drift. I still had my panties in
my right hand, but they seemed purposeless so I tossed them away with an
uncomprehending laugh, starlight fizzling against my bare flesh. I shook out my
hands and lifted my arms to the moon, feeling its glare lap me like a cold
tongue. Every particle of my flesh was filled with its glow.
My
hair unwound itself from its braid and spread out on the air, a dark cloud.
“Milja?”
It was Egan’s voice, all resonance flattened by the snow. “Are you okay?”
“I’m
just fine! Over here! Look at the aurora!”
He
waded into sight between the small trees, looking around himself in confusion;
up at the laden branches, down at his hands. “I can see every flake,” he said
wonderingly. “I could see where you danced in the snow.” He finally caught
sight of me properly. “Ah.”
I
came to him through the snow, feeling the squeak of its compression beneath my
bare soles. He was muffled up in all his outdoor gear, and I recognized my
discarded clothes in his gloved hand.
“You’re
not cold then?” he said faintly.
“I’m
hot,” I giggled, pulling the garments out of his hand and dropping them aside,
then catching his gloves and drawing them off to discard too. I put his hands
on my waist so that he could share my body-heat; they felt cool to me.
“I
can count your eyelashes,” he whispered. His pupils were hugely dilated, making
his eyes look black and empty.
“I’m
impressed,” I laughed, drawing his hand up to cup my bare breast, where it
belonged. “My eyes aren’t even down there.”
He
made a valiant effort to lift his gaze back to my face, but failed. He seemed
hypnotized by the sight of my naked body, by the in-curve of my waist and the
swell of my breasts. “Oh God. That mead was spiked. There was something in it—I
don’t know what.”
“Angel
blood.” I quivered as his fingertips found my erect nipple. “It’s made with
blood.”
“What’s
it doing to us?”
“Don’t
worry.” I stretched up to brush my face against his, and the press of my body
forced him to move his hands around to my back and my ass, skin gliding over
skin, testing the slopes and curves like they were snow mounds he dare not
deface. “Just enjoy.”
He
made a broken noise in his throat, but his hands were everywhere.
I
brushed my cheek against his, teasing his lips with the promise of my own. His
frozen breath had formed a crust of rime on his stubbled jaw and I kissed it
away.
“Milja.”
The word was thick with desire. “Don’t.”
