Ella Jade: elyse whyles

What could be more dangerous than loving a rogue?

Condemned as a rogue and punished by his master, Angrail, one of the Seven Paradise Walkers, has wandered mortal and immortal worlds for centuries. He's determined to find those responsible for killing an innocent woman and the child she carried, no matter the cost to himself.

Ephynia, a demoness with scars, has spent a lifetime serving Nerafail, Lord of the Dead. When she unwittingly stumbles upon the one being who can end her loneliness, the battered Angrail, her life changes forever.

Unknown to Angrail and Ephynia, evil lurks in the shadows. There are those who believe Angrail and Ephynia are the key to preventing a coming war—a war that they need to take place—and they seek to end their lives.

Can Angrail find love in the arms of a demoness at war with herself? Or will the secrets hidden within the bowels of their worlds destroy them before they can find peace?

EXCERPT

Ephynia froze, a touch unlike anything she’d ever felt washing over her. Turning her head, she scanned the battlefield. Pockets of gray mist navigated the fallen as other demons and demonesses stalked their prey. All of Nerafail and Seraphine’s forces were out due to the numbers of dead and dying. Souls had to be collected, penance delivered…yet there was something tugging at her.

“Please, give me pity and I swear on my lord’s head I will honor it. Do not—”

“Silence.” Ephynia lifted his head. “Else I bind your mouth shut with your own tongue!”

Shaking the head, she ignored the vibration of the soul. Instead her attention remained on her search. Something was there. Someone who called to her.

“Where or what are you?” Ephynia tensed at the suffocating feeling of power around her.

“Why do you not return him to me?” Nerafail’s voice filled her mind.

“I cannot, master.” Ephynia closed her eyes. “Something holds me to this plane.”

“What?”

“I do not know. He comes even now. I shall return as soon as I have killed the one who binds me here.” Opening her eyes, she caught the gaze of another demoness of her sect.

“Ephynia, what is it?” The other demoness adjusted her bow.

“Take this bottom-feeder to Nerafail. He has been condemned.”

“What of you?”

Ephynia shrugged, she could not explain what kept her there, but she would. “I’ve a new hunt.” Ignoring the prickle of unease at Nerafail’s displeasure, she turned back to the battlefield.

* * * *

Angrail groaned, agony washing through him with the force of the tides. The mangled body next to him wheezed with his dying breath, his spirit confused. Cursing Nerafail for his binding, Angrail closed his eyes. He could do nothing to aid the warrior, to carry him to his rest. Instead he lay, trembling, freezing in the heat of the desert sun. Sweat pooled on his abdomen, blood congealed beneath him.

The tip of an arrow wiggled with each wracking cough of his body’s protest. He could feel the agony within the form he was bound to, and the gnawing pain had him wishing for death.

Gasping at the icy touch of one from his order, he opened his eyes to stare at the man above him. Compassion lay in those blue eyes as they drifted over Angrail’s body before moving onto the man next to him.

“Please.” Angrail swallowed against his swollen tongue. “Please, Thantos.”

“I cannot.” He guided the mortal’s soul to its feet. “Only Nerafail can release you from your torment.” Turning, he led the confused soldier toward the massive barge floating up to the battle.

“Your peace will come, brother.” Thantos’s words offered little comfort.

“Nay.” Angrail groaned, rolling toward his sword. His wounds would fester, the poison would consume him, but he would not die. No, his fate lay in the hands of one who had long ago forsaken him.

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Born in a small community, Elise Whyles lives in Canada with her son and husband. She’s currently working on the next book in the Canadian Heros Trilogy as well as the next book in the paranormal romance series Forsaken. Elise writes in multiple genres, paranormal, contemporary, erotic, m/m. To learn more about her or to drop her a note please stop by her website.

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Survivor Gillian Hilliard is finally healing from a nightmare past. Fearing no man will ever find her attractive, she hides behind simple attire and large glasses. When Gillian meets firefighter Jack Payle, she is instantly attracted, and enjoys a wild night of sex with him. But in the cold light of day she’s torn apart by guilt and shame, and retreats to the familiar comfort of her simple, if unfulfilling, life.

After years of chasing the wrong kind of woman, Jack is shocked by the instant attraction he feels for the mousy historian with shadows in her eyes and passion simmering beneath her surface. Jack can’t get past the lust firing his blood or the memories of her response to his touch, for passionate, sexy Gillian is everything he’s ever wanted. Are they strong enough to face down the demons haunting Gillian? Can she trust the man who holds her heart with her darkest secrets and accept his help to overcome the shadows of her past? Or will the darkness destroy them both?

EXCERPT:

“That’s it, Miss Hilliard. As per your request, I leftmost of it down.” The young woman leaned down, her hand on Gilli’s shoulder. “You’re going to knock ’em dead.”

Gilli offered a short, weak laugh and patted the girl’s hand. “Thanks.” She slipped her glasses on and rose to totter toward the door on the stilettos her mother persisted she wear. As she exited, the door closed behind her with a click. Gilli turned, smacking face first into a tall, hard wall of flesh before her. Heat seared her body at the touch of his hands on the bare flesh of her back. Putting a couple of inches between them, Gilli glanced upward. Her heart dropped before galloping in place.

Dark brown hair curled over a tanned forehead, green eyes as dark as pine stared at her, bemusement sparkling in them. “Excuse me, miss.”

She shuddered at the slow drawl curling like a lover’s touch into her core. Her labia pulsed beneath the lace of her panties. A flush crept along her throat to heat her cheeks and she ducked her head to hide the wave of color washing over her face. She cleared her throat. “No, pardon me. Entirely my fault.”

Scurrying down the hall, she gasped at the sensitivity in her breasts. Heavy, full, the nipples throbbed beneath the layers of satin and lace. Desperate to cool her blood, she darted past a couple of women and into the ladies room. The thin metal door offered minimal protection as she locked herself into a stall. A thud filled the silence as she let her forehead drop and leaned against the icy metal and inhaled.

Gods above, Zeus in the flesh right before me. What I wouldn’t give to have him … but he’s not going…Arousal scorched along her veins, pooling between her legs and soaking her underwear. Like venom, her ex’s sneering tone filled her mind. You couldn’t turn a light bulb on, Gillian, sexless. You should get a boob job. Can’t count…

The soft clunk of the heavy public bathroom’s door opening preceded Barbara’s biting tone. “Gillian, don’t think I didn’t see you…”

An uneasy cringe escaped in spite of the relief at the shattered memory. Gillian squeezed her eyes shut. “Mother, can I not use the facilities without you harping at me?” Gillian smoothed her skirt down, rolling her shoulders forward in the hopes of hiding her erect nipples. “I’ll be therein a moment.”

“Well hurry up, they’ve already got everyone seated. Goodness, child, you’d think you’d remember this was my wedding!” The bathroom door clicked shut on her mother’s tirade.

With a roll of her eyes, Gillian stepped out of the stall, shot a look at her reflection in the mirror and inhaled.

“There’s no point in getting hot and bothered over the likes of him. He ain’t going to want you.” Gilli waved a hand at her reflection, a perfect imitation of her mother. “Horn-rimmed glasses, mousy-looking hair, notits. Didn’t Mike teach you a damn thing, Gillian? Men don’t want a mouse, they want a sex pot and you’re not it.”

With a quick shake of her head, she smoothed her skirt down, sucked in a deep breath, and pulled open the bathroom door. She glanced around carefully before darting into the hallway.

Pressed close to the wall, she took her place before her mother, feeling like an over-stuffed Easter egg as the wedding march began to play. A smile pasted on her face, she gripped the flowers in her hand tighter and began the slow but steady shuffle toward the preacher.

Focused on getting there without falling, Gilli gasped at the man standing next to the altar. Laughing green eyes watched her, his lips turned upward at the corners. A slight shadow covered his square jaw. The dark suit he wore clung to his broad shoulders, tucking in at his waist. She wondered if beneath his suit coat, his ass was as good as the rest of him. Embarrassed, she stepped back, narrowly missing tripping on her own gown’s hem. Her mother’s pointed clearing of her throat drew her attention to the woman sashaying along, the yards and yards of tulle and lace out of place on a woman in her fifties—who’d had six previous husbands and more lovers then Gillian thought healthy. The unspoken warning in Barb’s eyes pierced clearer than any shouting match could be. There would be hell to pay if any attention slipped from the bride.

“Typical.” Gilli glared at the flowers, disgust rolling in her nauseous gut. She offered a prayer the ceremony would draw to a quick end so she could ditch the shoes, the flowers, and find a quiet corner to relax in, with the help of an expensive bottle of champagne.

She shot a glance across the aisle, heat suffusing her face when she caught sex in a cummerbund’s eye. Screw the wine—what she wouldn’t give to get lost in him. Maybe if she’d been different… Pushing aside the vague thought, she focused on the drone of her mother’s voice as she spoke her vows.

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