An Angel Fallen: A Sons of Gulielmus Novella

Release date: November 17, 2014
An Angel FallenMark Mayer has fallen for a woman. Literally. He’s given up being an angel to chase after his would-be beloved, a werewolf who’s gone feral because she won’t settle with a mate. But eons of existence have taught him that without love, he’s not really living. He’s certain that trading his halo and wings for a mortal life with Sweetie is worth it.

Sweetie Wolff has known all her life that she needs the right man to stabilize her shapeshifter magic. She wants perfect, and good enough won’t cut it. Mark isn’t just the right man, he’s the perfect man. But Sweetie’s just a hillbilly wolf with a meddlesome mother. Being with him feels so right, but so selfish, too. He’s meant for greater things.

But Mark’s determined to convince one stubborn werewolf that together they can find heaven on earth. It just might take a Christmas miracle.

by Holley Trent

BUY NOWParanormal
Sensuality Level: Sensual

Author Bio:
Holley Trent is a Carolina girl gone west. She writes contemporary and paranormal romances that have both humor and heat. Find Holley Trent at www.holleytrent.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter @holleytrent.

 

An excerpt from An Angel Fallen:

The weatherman had wished for a white Christmas, and the asshole had gotten it, all right.

“Hope his junk falls off.” Mark Mayer pulled his cap down over his eyes and burrowed his hands in his pockets as a freezing wind from the Appalachian blizzard passed through him. He groaned. Angels didn’t feel pain, and now that he technically wasn’t one, Mark was being introduced to it in new and exciting ways every day. The damnable snow had to be part of his punishment for choosing to fall. He’d always thought snow was pretty before, but that was when he was still sipping the angelic Kool-Aid. And before he had functioning boy-parts that shrank painfully with each frigid gust through his jeans.

Freezing balls or not, he wouldn’t change a thing … except maybe falling sooner. He wouldn’t be trying to coax the woman whom he hoped was the love of his life out of the mountain woods if he’d manned up six months ago.

“Ah. There she is.” At the sight of a swishing, matted tail, he climbed up onto a short rock ledge and peered into the small cave atop it.

The wolf, with fangs bared and an unholy growl, poked its head out of the small cave it’d taken for cover. Mark put his hands up in the universal gesture of I come in peace and made soothing shushing noises at the animal. Pathetic beast. Her fur was matted and ribs visible beneath her fatless skin. She’d once been a beauty, both on four legs and two.

“Come on, Sweetie,” he said and hoped she recognized her own name, for that’s what it was. It wasn’t a term of endearment, though she was dear to him indeed. Her birth certificate read “Sweetie Evelyn Wolff,” and he knew this because in his months of transition after his fall, he’d had plenty of time to learn all about his werewolf.

Or at least, he hoped she’d be his. “No” seemed to be her favorite word when it came to mates, and she’d likely reject him just like all the rest.

She canted her head to the side and panted breathlessly. Her confusion and fear played across her canine face, but she knew him. Somewhere in that cluttered brain, there had to be a memory of him. As her friend, he’d held her and soothed her for so many hours before she’d walked down this feral path. His empty arms ached at the memory.

“That’s right, Sweetie.” He took a cautious step closer, never taking his eyes from her. “It’s me. Mark. You like me, don’t you? The lady inside you recognizes me. Tell my friend I’d like to say hello.”

All he needed was to get near the frightened wolf, and his touch would do the rest. Their energy had always been compatible, and though his power was greatly diminished now, he hoped he could still be her balm. His healing angel energy had kept her beast at bay in the months leading up to her wolf mania, but those were only quick fixes. Treatment, not a cure. The cure was taking a mate, but she wouldn’t.

She’d always been stubborn.

For more than a year before she’d been overcome by her wolf, he’d been her friend as well as her sometime-partner-in-crime. They’d shared a motley crew of friends and acquaintances comprised of part-demons, demigods, witches, and other sorts of supernatural delinquents. He’d been assigned to protect one of them—Ariel Tate—and Sweetie had been taken in by them, in a way.

Most folks probably didn’t expect to find an entire community of supernaturals living in the Eastern North Carolina boondocks, but Clarissa Morton fostered one there on her land. Not only was she Ariel’s grandmother, but a sort of collector of the paranormal huddled masses. When Sweetie had run from her pack to escape their increasing pressure to take a mate, Clarissa had put her up and Mortonville had gained a ferocious defender in this ray of sunshine that sometimes went furry.

He’d existed for countless millennium, but hadn’t known yearning until he met Sweetie.