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My new book "Angel in My Heart, Devil in My Soul"
launches to today win door prizes and more at 2 EST and 7 EST
Here are some excerpts and blurbs from my book.
Angel in My Heart, Devil in My Soul
By Linda Hays-Gibbs
He was a minion of the Devil. She was an angel of goodness. They were meant for each other but things had gone horribly wrong. The only hope for them was in their love. As she searched for him to love, he searched for her to kill her. His job was simple and he had done this many times before but there was something about her, some strange scent and feeling.
She fell down the stairs and lost consciousness at his feet. He picked her up in his arms to take her to a room and make sure she was dead. He had his command and knew his job well.
Would he kill her or love her? Was there hope for a killer? Could he ever love anyone?
A tall man in a scarlet cape with jet-black hair and a mustache
entered the library. He leisurely strolled over to the fireplace and
threw up his hands for warmth. Immediately, a fire blazed up in
the fireplace, overheating the room. He was extremely handsome,
but evil blistered from his black eyes. His tongue slithered from
his lips as he stared at Neville. A fog seeped in his wake, bringing
smells of sulfur and rotting flesh with it.
A hissing, breathy voice came as the room filled with sulfur
fumes. “I made my agreement with your family. I sssssssettled the
gambling debts and sssssset up your household. You owe me.” He
towered over Neville.
“I have the document in my hands. It states that you had my
father and me bound by it but not my son. You cannot corrupt
an innocent baby. He is God’s own. Surely you see that he had
nothing to do with this agreement?” Neville’s voice shook, and he
perspired profusely. He turned away to catch his breath and calm
his heart as he choked on the sulfur.
“I will have what I will. You cannot
The man in his sights looked around nervously. John knew
there was no chance that his prey saw him. He blended into the
smoky shadows. His silent footsteps followed the echoing ones of
the terrified man who hurried to get home. The man’s eyes darted
side-to–side, hopeless in their plight to spot the horror that he
knew in his heart followed him in the night. As the man rounded
the corner, he stopped to mop the sweat from his brow, searching
again the maze of tall buildings and ghostly shadows in the
blackness. His heart racing, he tried to focus and adjust his eyes
to the dark. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in alarm.
He forced in a breath and shook his head. Certain people wanted
his life. He straightened and continued on his path, resigned in
his plight. His eyes dart from left to right, still searching and still
afraid. He walked faster to keep the dangers away. John slithered
in behind the man.
Peering into the dark, the man called to the shadows, “Hello?
Who is there? I warn you, I have a gun. I am armed. I will not be
taken easily. You’d best move along.” The man narrowed his eyes.
This man was neither good nor bad. He was just a man who
was in the way of another man, and he had to be removed. John
stalked the night on many occasions just like this. It was second
nature to him. The inky, black void was as comforting to him as a
A dark void paced beside him as he penetrated the black and
saw his prey. John caught the man by the throat and smiled into
his desperate face. A swift dagger into the ribs, and ultimately
the victim’s heart, would end this quickly however, John wanted a
little fun in his game. The man gurgled a half scream as his eyes
widened in horror. The dagger sliced the back of his leg. The left
wrist came next. As blood spurted, the man screamed until John
jabbed smoothly into his neck. The man stumbled away, limping.
Now, nothing came from his mouth. His eyes searched John’s
face, but he found no pity, no help for his life. Silently, the man fell
into the gutter like a rag doll. The street claimed another life in
the rat holes of London.
John quietly and leisurely walked away. As he sauntered
through the night, he thought of his next victim.
Rachael was a beautiful girl with wide, yellow
eyes and dark brown chestnut hair and red and gold highlights
running rampant through it. Her hair fell in waves below her
waist and was tied with a yellow ribbon to keep it out of her eyes.
She sat down by a sad, old oak in a mossy mound of a tree root
that looked like a cradle. She stared into the sky, and her heart
spun in her chest. Her mind tried to grasp and hold to the truth
of things. Why do people always assume the Devil is a fairy tale?
Something told by people to frighten children. She knew the devil
was real, and Hell was a place you do not want to go.
Quietly, she picked a clover and tied it to another, making a
chain for a necklace. She spied a four-leaf clover.
“A lucky clover!” A wide grin lit up her beautiful face.
Rachel had dreams and visions, and one of her special dreams
was of a beautiful boy that was anything but beautiful in his ways.
He was cruel and hurt people, but she knew he had been hurt, too.
She saw him hurt in visions that started when she was very small.
She felt sorry for this boy but thought she was in love with him
too, or with the boy he was supposed to have been. Where was he?
Why did she dream about him?
Some part of her heart was drawn to this evil person, and she
did not know why. It was a mystery for her, but she knew she could
help him, if she could find him. She swallowed hard to hold back
tears, for she knew he suffered. She bit her lip hard to stop the
sobs. Her sad eyes roamed the hills, searching for answers
John Monroe was now six and a half feet tall, broad of shoulder,
with coal black hair, dark blue eyes, fringed with long thick
lashes. His face had high cheekbones, a straight aquiline nose,
black slashes for eyebrows, and a cleft in his chin. When he smiled
he had dimples surrounding a mouth of perfectly carved lips
so sensual as to make women weep. With the grace of a cat, he
moved through shadows aloof and confident in his own power as
a minion of the devil. He did not know for how long he had killed
people. Days and nights merged into each other forming a haze
of horror. Sometimes it was as if he looked out from a window
at what he did. It was not him doing murder, but some other evil
John. If only it was that simple. He shook his head in dismay at
John arose from his bed of daydreaming and washed his face.
He put on his shirt and breeches. He had a dark green superfine
coat and a silk brown vest with stags embroidered on it. His
breeches were brown leather and his black boots shined like glass.
His cravat was tied in several intricate loops