Bittersweet Seraphim!

    Will be released from Hell on 11.20.12! I wanted to give you guys a peek at the summary for the book. I'm really excited for this book for a lot of reasons, first because it resolves a HUGE cliffhanger *cough*Emma*cough* and second because I started it in my old house. After the hurricane, getting the rest of the story typed out seemed like an impossible task. There was so much to do. But after a lot of late nights and headphone alone time, Jack had his way with my mind. I started it in my old house and It will be released from my new house. It feels like a victory. 

    As with anything I every right, please remember I am a crazy person. The story will start very differently and I hope it works for you guys. 

    I've made it a tradition to stay up late and watch my books appear on the Internet so please feel free to join me on Twitter: @Debra_Anastasia on the evening of November 19th. It's set to go on sale 12:00am EST.

   Thank you so much for caring about Jason, Emma and Jack as much as I do. You guys make everything more fun. XO

Bittersweet Seraphim Summary:

Suffering is worst when you’re doing it alone. But Emma’s taking Hell like an angel—even though her languishing began with having her seraph wings torn from her back. Now her worst enemy lords his body and his evil desires over her while she tries desperately to remember the words to her favorite prayer. 

As Devil, Jack used to have Hell and its women humming like well-oiled machines. Too bad he’s nowhere near the place now. Stuck on Earth as a human, he must work with a ragtag team of exiled minions and half-breeds to save the angel who’s become all that matters. 

Rescuing a seraph is the plan, but breaking into Hell means letting evil things out. Once they collide, minions and angels converge in the battle of the ages: good versus evil. But which side is which? Will Jack destroy the world as he fights to save Emma, his true and timeless love, from a damnation he designed?

An action-packed sequel to Crushed Seraphim, this tale reveals—time and again—what happens when the heart’s deepest desires break free. With a story both sizzling and sensual, emotional and enigmatic, Debra Anastasia invites readers to join a battle with nothing less than love on the line.

Image by Carol Oates

Excerpt: Contains Spoilers!! If you haven't read Crushed Seraphim, you might want to pass on this until you're done. 

“Our Father who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done…”  Emma’s voice was just a small whisper, and the sound of it echoing off the cement walls made her feel more alone.
She tried to remember who she was, what she was. “What I still am,” she said aloud. She held her arms and legs tightly to her body. The floor was alarmingly cold. It was cold for any floor, but particularly harsh considering Emma was in Hell.
“I’m an angel in Hell. I have a purpose. I have people I love. I have a purpose.” She took a breath to steady herself. Then she tried again, “Our Father who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name...”
If she wasn’t so dehydrated, she might have teared up. The prayer was one of the first things she’d learned as a young girl. Soon after learning her name, Emma knew how to say the Lord’s Prayer. The lack of those words in her mind was a defeat.
Emma was in her worst nightmare: the Hell hallway designed specially for her by Jack, the previous Devil. As innocuous as the simple hallway looked, it was filled with traitorous internal plagues, separated only by slender respites from the exhausting, painful tortures. Right now she was between anger and confusion.
Perhaps it was the air next to her, which was laced with confusion, that had stolen the soothing words from her mind.
Her mind. Such a simple thing to take for granted. She never knew it could be attacked from within. After Everett had tossed Emma into the hallway, she’d panicked. She’d wanted to be a strong, fearless crusader for right. So much for wishes.
Emma sat up as carefully as she could, desperately wanting to avoid a bout with the traps so close on either side of her. She stretched her back, wishing she still had her angel wings. Surely she could shield herself and her mind by tucking them tightly around her body like a feather-covered shroud.
Emma grabbed fistfuls of the short, flouncy skirt on the French maid’s costume she’d been forced to wear, trying to keep her elbows close at her sides. The power in the air on either side was very tangible.
Emma needed more gumption to try to escape. She looked at the gaping exit, seemingly so close. But where to go? When an angel (okay, former angel) is sentenced to one thousand years in Hell, she has a certain desire to see her sentence to the end, follow the rules. Even if the rules hurt every second of her existence.
Everett had left her in disgust, and she hadn’t seen him since. Which was good, although probably bad in the long run. She remembered how her ruffled panties had stayed stubbornly in place when he’d tried to force himself on her. It had infuriated him and confused her. Did she have someone or something on her side here in Hell? She tried again. “Our Father who art in…” The words scrambled from her grasp. “Damn it.”
“Who arts in something? I always thought that was the most bullshitty of prayers they fed us.” Everett walked through the doorway, exuding cocky arrogance. “Are you trying to remember the words to that one? Still a believer after all you’ve been through, Emma?”
She hated that she started shaking when she saw him. She was scared of him, and not only was it embarrassing, she felt shamed by it. Everett bit his bottom lip, trying to hold back his huge grin at her obvious fear. He was unsuccessful.
“Not talking? That’s okay. I don’t need you to talk,” he said. “As long as you can grab your ankles, we’ll be fine.” He began to unbutton his silk pajama shirt.
Emma wanted to look away—to at least deny him her attention if she could deny him nothing else—but she watched him like she would a poisonous spider. His chest was sculpted with muscle. He took a step forward with every button he unfastened.
Emma squirmed and closed one eye. This man was the Devil. He had everything, anything at his disposal in this damned place. Her flimsy panties would not shield her for much longer.
Everett untied his pajama bottoms and inched the fabric down slowly. The muscles below his hips were defined in what seemed like a promise of horrible things. “You can’t wait to see my goodies. I know, good things will come in those who can’t get away.” Everett took another step closer, just inches from the Hell hallway entrance.
The first trap in the hallway assaulted him as he stepped into it, and he instantly backed up. “What the fuck was that?” Everett pointed at the space in front of him.
Emma almost smiled. “That? That first one’s hunger. It’s the easiest one because hunger moves you forward in search of prey. The second? That’s depression. That one’s a bitch.”
He sputtered with anger. “But, but I’m the Devil. I can go anywhere!”
“Try again. It’ll give me something to watch.” Emma shrugged.
Rejection, with a tinge of fear, created a lace pattern of dismay on his face.
He tried numerous things to get to Emma: throwing a rock, which bounced off the air in front of him like a wall and hit him in the head. He tried running with a large pole he’d dug up from somewhere. It cracked in half, and the pointy end stabbed him in the balls.
He paced back and forth like a caged tiger, snarling at Emma whenever they made eye contact. Finally, as if they were having a conversation instead of experiencing his cascading failures, he demanded, “Well, just come over here then.”
Emma shook her head.
Everett tried pointing and snapping. He tried closing his eyes and concentrating.
Emma gave him the finger.
“I will get in there. You probably know better than anyone the crap I have access to in here. If I have to tear this place apart, I’ll get to you.” Everett pointed again.
Emma rubbed her forehead. It had been days, maybe weeks, since she had a drink of water, a bite to eat. She’d be dead if she were a human on earth, but a human in Hell wasn’t granted the freedom of death.
She tried to pull her long blond hair out of her face, but gave up when her elbows came close to the traps and let it tumble around her shoulders. “I hope your blue balls poison you.” Emma looked at her feet, fairly confident that she was out of his grasp, for now.
Everett crouched down to deliver his next promises. “When I can finally lick your face? Do you know what I’m going to do next?”
The sounds of Hell seeped in around his words. She looked over her shoulder, and he wiggled his tongue at her.
“Um, stick your Smurf nuts in some panties just like these and put heels on?” She tried to hold his gaze as she pointed to her underwear.
His face contorted into a very convincing mask of evil. “You think you’re sassy, but you’ll pay for every word with screams. Every insult with blood. I’m going to chain you by the neck to my ankle for at least a hundred years. You’ll lick my feet clean. I’ve so much time to play with. This hallway is just a speed bump. You should fear every moment.” He stood, and her new best friend, fear, crowded into her heart again.

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