About Dancing on the Head of a Pin
Written by Kiernan Kelly
113 pages / 45000 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-223-2, 1-60370-223-7
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc
Angel Malak knows he owes demon Cael a debt of gratitude for saving his life at least a millennium ago. He's starting to crack under the pressure of Cael's flirting, which is good, because Cael's deadline to stay out of Hell is coming up fast. Still, Malak's not sure he wants to share his soul by sleeping with the most beautiful demon he knows.
When Cael's old boss shows up to remind him just what's waiting for him back in Hell, Asmodai's gloats a little too much, and tells Cael the end of days might be coming up a little earlier than planned. Can Cael and Malak find a way to keep Cael on earth and stop the impeding apocalypse?
Review:
Mychael Black, lover of angels, demons, and all manner of anti-heroes, co-author of The Prince's Angel, writes:
When the demon Cael saves an angel from the fires and destruction of Sodom, he knows the bargain they're entering into. What he doesn't expect is Malak's stalwart resolve, the angel's ability to withstand temptation incarnate for over three thousand years. But Malak's resistance is faltering--it's only a matter of time.
Time, however, is quickly running out. Lucifer has unleashed the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and it's up to Malak and Cael to stop them. This is one battle that's going to take everything they have to win--if they can win.
It's no secret: I'm a sucker for angels and demons--especially together. "Dancing on the Head of a Pin" had me from the start. If it weren't for life's necessities like food and sleep, I'd have finished it in one sitting.
Cael drives a hard bargain (among other things) and when Malak finally gives in... Dear GOD, those two melt the screen. It's also quite fun to watch Cael's wickedness rub off on his pristine angel. (grins)
The Horsemen grow more difficult to defeat, and the last battle had me riveted--especially with the appearance of a particular favorite celestial being.
Kiernan's trademark humor--combined with some intensely hot sex and wild battles--make this book a MUST READ.
Sample
Flinging himself over the railing, Cael let his blood-red wings shimmer into view, membranous and leathery, flapping slowly to ease his fall. He landed lightly on the sand below, his feet barely indenting the grainy surface.
Bending, he plucked Malak's latest creation from the ground. A slow grin creased his cheek as he contemplated the sand-splattered painting. The canvas showed two figures entwined, one light and one dark. Although their faces were indistinct, no more than smudges of color, it was clear to Cael who the subjects were.
Malak's subconscious was trying to break through the wall he'd erected between them. His desire was manifesting itself in his paintings, had been for centuries now, which was why Malak was unhappy with everything he painted. He didn't want to admit that he wanted Cael as badly as Cael wanted him. But Malak's wild, bold brushstrokes and his sensual use of color, in addition to his subject matter, told a different story.
He was losing control.
And none too soon, as far as Cael was concerned. Time was swiftly running out for him. If Cael didn't get Malak between the sheets soon, Cael was going to find himself right back where he'd started, with a pitchfork stuck in his ass and a permanent case of the hornies.
That was a totally unacceptable outcome. Cael would not go back, refused to even consider the possibility. Three millennia had done nothing to dim the memories of his life before he'd met Malak. He remembered all too clearly what it had been like, how much he had suffered.
Humiliation. Degradation. Subjugation. Deprivation. All tempered with a healthy dose of pain, they'd filled his every waking moment. And since Cael never slept, that translated to being miserable every moment of every fucking day.
No way.
He was not going back.
His hands clenched involuntarily, crushing the canvas with a splintering sound as the wooden frame cracked in his fingers. Letting it drop back onto the sand, he struggled to regain his composure.
Calm yourself, he thought. You have everything under control. He's going to snap any moment now, like a twig in a tornado. Cael took a deep breath, filling his lungs with clean, fresh air, willing his muscles to relax.
A few more days and Malak's resolve would crumple like tissue paper. That's all it would take, Cael told himself. A handful of hours and he'd have Malak naked, writhing underneath him. And once he'd had his fill of Malak's delectable flesh; once he'd spilled his seed deeply inside Malak's perfect body, or had Malak's semen fill his -- it didn't matter to Cael in the slightest which way it went down -- Cael would be safe until the end of time. A few more days and it would all be over.
It had better be.
A few more days were all Cael had left.