Thursday, June 28, 2018

Exile of Angels by Ron C. Nieto

Fall From Grace
Exile of Angels Book 1
by Ron C. Nieto
Genre: Urban Fantasy

Hell was meant to be a timeless prison. It’s not.

Henry Black, former Archangel of Secret Knowledge, wants some peace of mind after untold millennia locked up in Hell, but the guilt of inhabiting a body that is not his own and of having left behind his brothers and sisters still damned to solitary confinement eats him up inside.

Old sins are hard to cleanse.

He thinks he can atone by doing the right thing—play the older brother to his host body’s kin while upturning every secret buried in Creation until he finds a way to free every single angel who fell—but with every fact uncovered, he finds himself one step further from the release he craves and one step closer to more chains that bind.

Maybe the only way to be at peace with himself is to face a new war head on…

The “perp” raised his head the moment the door opened, regardless of how silent the hinges, and the tension in the room hit me like a hammer. Demon or not, Malik Sadik was pissed and not making an effort to hide it.
“Hey,” he said, not trying to mask his dislike for the situation. “Are you the infamous Sergeant Gray?”
I shook my head. “Henry Black,” I introduced myself. “A consultant.” The word felt wrong leaving my lips. Partly because it came too close to a lie, regardless of how stretched the term “consultant” was, but mostly because I shouldn’t have had to introduce myself. He should have recognized me. He should have felt I wasn’t human, just like I could tell there was more to him than met the eye. But he didn’t, or if he did, he gave no indication, and so I sat down, settled the papers meant to serve as a prop in front of me, and took a deep breath. “I’m here about last evening, Mr. Sadik,” I said.
“What else would the cops want to talk about? Sergeant Gray called me in, though. I wasn’t expecting a consultant.” He loaded the term “consultant” with a sneer that broadcast how he felt about clinical psychologists in general and me in particular. It wasn’t a flattering opinion, and new tension threatened to spill over the nonchalant fa├žade Sadik projected. His lack of patience, and the way to emote it, was very human.
I still got the feeling the rest of him was not.  

Rise To Freedom
Exile of Angels Book 2

I am a demon possessing the body of the late Malik Sadik. Truth.
Yes, the former Archangel of Truth now inhabits the body of coffeehouse barista Malik Sadik. But Malik wasn’t a willing participant to this possession, not like Henry Black. The human Henry Black willingly gave over his body to the Archangel of Secret Knowledge. Malik, on the other hand, was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I still feel human. Truth.

Yes, Malik still feels human. But he’s not human and a war is brewing. When Hell threatens to unravel and its black hunger eats and corrupts those Malik has learned to care about, he must make a choice between what he knew as an angel and what he has begun to feel as a man.

So, what happens when Truth isn’t right?

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“What happened?” John called out the moment he was within five feet of Malik.
Malik shrugged—again, fuck it, can’t I do anything else?—his shoulders scraping against bare brick, the rough edges bruising even through his winter jacket. “What do you mean?”
John mirrored his stance, about a foot of empty wall between their shoulders, and failed to rise to the bait. “You don’t like running from Henry,” he said. “You claim it makes his smugness worse. So what happened?”
Wish I could tell you. Hell, wish I knew. “Y’know, you seem to be awfully happy with Henry in charge.” John tilted his head enough to make sure Malik saw his raised eyebrow, and Malik snorted, glaring up at the sky. “He’s not a cop. Hell, he isn’t a government official. I doubt he cares all that much about the city.”
“I don’t know about that. I think he’s more concerned than you give him credit for,” John said at length.
“He’s a demon, John.”
John opened his mouth, shook his head, and let whatever words he’d been about to say bleed into a soft laugh. “That doesn’t make him too different from every other Commissioner with political inclinations we’ve had, I suppose.”

The most important statement of that argument went unsaid. “You’re also a demon,” John could have said. And for all Malik knew, that was true. Never mind that I don’t remember anything but being Malik, and even that’s spotty sometimes. I’m supposed to be a demon. Just like Black. 

Ron C. Nieto is a fantasy and romance author who has been writing in her secluded fortress for the longest time. Recently, she had a talk with her cat and decided that she should share her creations, because it was selfish to hoard them all for herself.

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Marcy Meyer said...

Sounds really interesting. Thanks for sharing.

Marcy Meyer said...

I love the wings on the covers. Looks great.