Realms of Fantasy

Summary:Angels and demons. Two races of beings, alike and yet not the same. The battles between them have raged for time untold. Realms of Fantasy is the tale of ten such creatures. At the heart of their eternal struggle lies the blinding pain

Summary:Angels and demons. Two races of beings, alike and yet not the same. The battles between them have raged for time untold. Realms of Fantasy is the tale of ten such creatures. At the heart of their eternal struggle lies the blinding pain of the greatest Fallen One of allLuciferand Michael, the missing half of his soul. As passions run high and balances of power shift, love is the only power that can save them all.

Excerpt: “I am to expect gentleness from you, Adon? Have you changed that greatly?” Amused, Irael stilled in front of him. “And exactly what kind of evidence are you looking for? Murder not sanctioned by the Council? You’ll probably find plenty of that here.”

“I do not recall an ounce of complaint when my whip tasted your flesh,” Adon whispered as he began circling Irael. “Tell me, Irael. Do you still bear my marks?”

Stepping back abruptly, Irael hissed out a warning. “What has that to do with your investigation? If the Council has just complaint, the cowards need to face me themselves.”

“I am the Council,” Adon snarled. “And you did not answer my question. Have you forgotten your place so quickly, pup?”

Irael’s wings outstretched in a threatening stance as he stood his ground. His normally short nails began to lengthen, resembling razor sharp talons. “Since you don’t seem to recall, I had no place to forget, Adon.”

The robe fell to the floor and black-feathered wings spread out. Adon’s smile was anything but warm. “You have forgotten.” He tapped the coiled whip, the smile turning sinister. “Perhaps a reminder is in order.”

It required every ounce of will Irael had to stop himself from reacting to the sight of his former master. Bristling in agitation, he refused to fall to his knees. Instead he turned his back on Adon and approached his throne. “Nothing is in order, Adon. If you haven’t noticed, it never has been.”

In a split second, the snap of Adon’s whip reverberated throughout the throne room. It coiled around Irael’s throat and, with a hard jerk, Adon had Irael’s back against him.

“You never learn, pup.”

Growling sharply with the pain, Irael tore at the leather strap, trying to get it off his throat. Slashing at his own skin, his sharp talons cut deep into his flesh. “Back off, Adon!”

Adon’s forked tongue traced the curve of Irael’s ear. “You’ve not changed,” he whispered. “You still crave this.” Another snap of his wrist and the whip left Irael’s throat, moving as if the leather were a living thing, retreating to Adon’s hand.