This weeks Sweet Saturday comes from the new adult paranormal romance I’m writing called Bonded in Exile. This book is definitely not sweet 😉 So this weeks post is PG-13 due to language. It’s a flashback of Silas, my main character, who’s an Atillian warrior angel, trapped on earth with his legion. Hope you enjoy it! 🙂
Paradise lost—that’s what this was, and a damn crying shame if you asked him. Weak-minded fools, gullible imbeciles—what part of “Don’t eat the fruit” was missed in translation here? They had it all, they really did—but all wasn’t good enough for them, was it? Unappreciative, inconsiderate—
“So, tell me again, what exactly are we doing here?” Archer asked, casting a glance over at Rictor, the leader of the Brethren.
With graceful hefts of their giant black wings, four warrior angels glided gracefully to the earth. Atillian—handpicked and chosen specifically for a time such as this. Rictor, Archer, Gnash and Silas. It wasn’t their first mission together, and it certainly wouldn’t be their last.
The moment Silas’s feet touched the dry desert soil, he fought back the involuntary shudder which rose up his spine. The heavy air was saturated with grief. Balmy regret blanketed the garden. As he drew the tainted oxygen into his lungs, he resisted the cough triggered by his body’s effort to expel the toxic air. He was so ready to get this over with, and get the hell out of here.
“I told you,” Rictor snapped impatiently. “They have to go.”
Silas rolled his eyes impatiently and cleared his throat, trying to rid the sand from his lungs. “So we get to come down here, all fire and brimstone like, and evacuate Eden. Have I thanked you yet for volunteering me for this shit—fuck you very much.”
“Hey, He wanted four of the best, so quit busting my balls about it. We’ll get in, find the human’s, adios their asses, ax the serpent, and be done with it.”
“If you think it’s going to be that simple and he’s just going to let them go, you’re deluding yourself.”
“I don’t care if he lets them go or not. He can have ‘em—just not here,” Rictor snapped.
Silas reached up to his chest, his hand brushing against the hilt of his daggers, encased in the leather harness that crossed his chest. Stone embossed handles, glinted in the sunlight.
Rictor stepped ahead of the Brethren to lead the way into the garden. He too subconsciously reaching up for his own weapons check. One by one, each of them followed suit, arming up for an evac that entailed locating two skittish humans and one deceptive serpent. No big deal—except this serpent, really wasn’t a serpent at all, but a shape-shifting archangel who took the big plunge from grace, and had a chip on his shoulder, and a score to settle with more than one of them. Shit—he fucking hated snakes…