“Because men like me are selfish and would steal you away.”
In the next breath, he pulls away and is halfway to the door, throwing me a cheery, “Have a pleasant evening, Ms. Valkoinen.”
“But,” I start again.
He motions to the plate of uneaten food. “Do eat the rest of your supper before that odious man returns.”
The door closes behind him with a barely audible click and I sink into his abandoned chair, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
Only one thought haunts my mind as I absentmindedly finish everything on the plate.
Who in blazes is Herrick Vorst?
DOWNLOAD NOW
THE 9 HELLS SERIES
So a super model walks into the first level of hell, searching for the soul of her dead boyfriend...
Hi.
I’m Kathra Stiles. And I’m a demigoddess. Yep, you heard that right. My mom is Aphrodite or Venus or whatever the hell you want to call her.
I’m half goddess and I’m also a super model. Cliché, I know but, hey, path of least resistance, right?
Before you start thinking my life is this perfect story book, it’s not. My mom’s a bitch and my boyfriend, Hunter, just died.
Here’s the kicker: Hunter didn’t die from natural causes… his soul was stolen by this asshole god named Gaul—the Lord and Master of the 9 Hells. Regardless, my boyfriend is gone and I want him back.
But getting Hunter back isn’t going to be easy. It means traveling through each of the 9 Hells and braving the demon gods of each level. So that’s fun.
What’s even more fun? The fact that some of the inhabitants of the 9 Hells aren’t exactly what you’d expect. I’ll give you an example: his name is Aram... Aram looks like a towering gladiator of shredded man muscle, wearing only a loincloth and those braided sandals that were in about a year ago—the ones that go up to your knees.
Anyway, Aram needs my help as much as I need his because he’s basically a sexual slave to the demoness of the first level of Hell, Azhrea.
Did I mention Aram is hot? And you pictured the banana hammock, right? And there’s also the fact that I’m spending lots of time with him? If this were a math question, the answer would be something along the lines of Kathra having a hell of a time trying to avoid temptation.
So there’s that.
Buckle up bitches. This is gonna be a bumpy road.
DOWNLOAD NOW
OR
Read on for a sneak peek!
EXCERPT FROM HELL CAT
KATHRA
My mom isn’t the easiest woman to get ahold of. It’s not like I can just pick up a phone and call her or get in my car and drive to see her. She’s in a place beyond the mortal world, beyond anywhere you can reach with wheels and wings and jet engines. The only way to reach her, to reach any of them, is to fall asleep and dream of Elysium—the home of the gods, most of whom are irreconcilable douchebags.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. I lie on top of my covers in sweatpants and one of Hunter’s t-shirts, staring at the ceiling. It’s too warm in the apartment. I run my bare feet along the beads sewn into the comforter. I bunch it up in my hands. There’s this grayish smear across my mind, like I wrote my thoughts in charcoal and smudged it all with my hand. There are no words, just colors. Just this haze of black and white like television static.
I take some NyQuil. That’s usually enough to knock me the fuck out, but I lie awake for hours. Chris calls again, but I let it go to voicemail. I text him, tell him I’m fine, I’ll call him in the morning. My phone is the only light in the room. Out the window, I can see the city, glittering. Like Zeus dropped all his fairy lights on the lawn.
I close my eyes. I toss, turn, I can’t get comfortable.
I keep reaching across the bed, looking for him. For Hunter. No one’s there.
Please, I think. Please, I just need to sleep, I just need to get to fucking sleep. Let me sleep.
A prayer, but it’s not to anyone in particular. Just something I’m flinging out into the universe. Sometimes someone catches it and answers. It’s not like they’ve got anything better to do…
It doesn’t feel like anything changes. But when I open my eyes, I’m not in my room anymore.
I’m standing at the edge of an elevated garden. It’s a vast expanse of marble flower beds and bushes overlooking a tumultuous sea. On the far end of the garden, there’s a circular terrace, ringed by columns. On the other end is the temple, a white fortress of marble flanked by statues of naked gods and goddesses going about their divine business: Artemis with her bow, Apollo at her back with his lyre; Dionysus, wreathed in vines and dolphins; Zeus chasing after a nymph, his lightning bolts forgotten on his belt. A bulbous moon hangs above it all, backlit by a multitude of stars. They’re all so much bigger here, so much closer. Like someone zoomed in on the sky.
And then there’s mom.
Blond hair, huge lilac eyes, small and pert nose, pale skin, and a true “rosebud” mouth. Her movements are unnaturally fluid as she paces through the garden. Flowers bloom a little brighter as she passes. Their colors get sharper, and they lean towards her. It’s as though she shines a flashlight on their beauty. Their potential. Telling the flower what it wants to see in the mirror.
Aphrodite. Cold and poised and perfect. From her blond ringlets, down to her large breasts, her tiny waist and her flared
