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Blurb:
A
bratty angel…
First
Patrick is accosted by a hellhound with a yen for fries and ketchup. Then he
encounters a beautiful, but bratty angel who doesn’t seem to understand the
concept of ‘no’… or personal space. Not to mention he demands Patrick pleasure
him, which Patrick refuses to do. So why does Patrick feel a connection to this
unruly seraphim? And why can’t he forget him?
Two
weeks later, the brat is back, making more demands. But Patrick makes it clear
he doesn’t do demands. That should be the end of it, right? Or not… Maybe
there’s more to this bratty angel than meets the eye. If Patrick has the
patience to get past his bratty ways.
Excerpt:
Patrick rounded the corner fast, almost too
fast. He barely kept his balance, groaning when his left knee twisted,
reminding him that his ability to outrun anyone or anything had taken a turn
for the worse. If that damn thing he'd only snatched a brief glimpse of got
him, he'd be mauled and killed.
The huge, nightmarish thing panted as it
chased after him, gusts of his surprisingly clean-smelling breath wafting to
him. As Patrick raced through the deserted streets—because who the hell took a
shortcut at this time of the night—he searched for a hiding spot. A fire ladder
would work too, or whatever. Anything really, so he could put a safe distance
between himself and the grotesque creature. He could have avoided all of this
but, damn him, he'd indulged in his human body's desire for junk food. Next
time he was going to order his food in—if he lived long enough.
Patrick's lungs burned, and his leg muscles
screamed bloody murder at him. Fuck the universe for rendering him incapable of
flying. He’d been trapped in this human body for twenty-three years already,
and no one would ever think he'd once been strong and—best not to go there.
Nothing good ever came of his memories.
Patrick stumbled, and a hot gust of air tickled
his neck. He plunged face forward to the ground, all air rushing out in one
short pained gasp. Reflexively he put his hands behind his head to protect his
vulnerable neck.
The freaking thing growled and yanked at the bag containing
Patrick's junk food. Patrick yelped when the bag tore open, spilling its
contents all over.
Curled up on the ground, Patrick peeked over
his shoulder when a chuckle drew his attention. Someone hunkered down next to
him before gentle fingers pried the last string of the bag from his hand.
Patrick gritted his teeth, wishing he was in possession of his power instead of
lying there, almost whimpering in fear.
“Don't worry, he's not malicious. He just wants
your fries,” a soft, melodious voice informed him. The fries-loving beast
growled, sending goose bumps up Patrick's spine. The voice added, “Right. He
wants your fries and your ketchup. You see, the ketchup is majorly
important.”
The person who'd spoken to him withdrew, and
the creature's paws clicked on the ground as it followed the voice. Whoever it
was rustled the wraps of his food and talked soothingly to the yipping beast.
Carefully and slowly, Patrick turned on his side to take a look. His heart
thumped painfully hard against his ribcage, almost causing it to burst.
In the corner of the badly lit alley crouched
something that seemed to be a mix between a large dog and a wolf, but the size
of a pony. That wasn't even the strangest characteristic of the beast. No, the
strangest characteristic was the dark brown, folded wings on the beast's back.
That couldn't be!
Patrick's gaze traveled to the hands that
dumped his fries on the torn bag, generously spreading ketchup all over them.
The beast licked the hand in a grateful gesture before it dug into the food.
Patrick's breath caught when he observed the
naked man who knelt next to the creature. The man's face was beautiful, no
doubt about that. Patrick's gaze slid along a slender throat, finely toned
shoulders, and a slight frame. A white, feathery wing
covered the man's crotch.
An
angel.
Chris
T. Kat
Chris T. Kat lives in the middle of
Europe, where she shares a house with her husband of many years and their two
children. She stumbled upon the M/M genre by luck and was swiftly drawn into
it. She divides her time between work, her family—which includes chasing after
escaping horses and lugging around huge instruments such as a harp—and writing.
She enjoys a variety of genres, such as mystery/suspense, paranormal, and
romance. If there's any spare time, she happily reads for hours, listens to
audiobooks or does cross stitch.
Links:
Twitter: http://twitter.com/christi_kat
GoodReads:http://www.goodreads.com/ChrisTKat
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ChrisTKat
Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Chris-T.-Kat/e/B008FQQH2Q
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