BetrayalBetrayal, ANGELS OF DEATH

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(about the book)

Heather Bowen, a drug and alcohol counselor, has always been able to see auras, but now she’s being haunted in her sleep by a red-eyed man who’s peddling a psychotic drug to her clients.  After her sister becomes his next victim, Heather is determined to prove her sister’s innocence. Life as she knows it becomes more unpredictable when the new counselor, Scythe Angel, arrives. It doesn’t take Heather more than a first meeting to determine this larger than life man is commanding, pushy, determined and downright sexy. However there’s something about him she’s not sure she can trust, no matter how she finds herself drawn to him.

Scythe knows he can clear Heather’s sister’s name, but to do it he must confront his elusive and dangerous brother who seems to be bound to the dark side. With his own wings on the line, Scythe has to discover a way to save his brother’s soul before it’s too late. An arduous task for Scythe becomes even more complicated by his unearthly attraction to Heather.

For both of them to succeed they will have to learn to trust each other or fail; losing everything they hold dear.



Praise for Betrayal, Angels of Death –

M.L. Guida pens her characters strong in this well written face paced story. This book will capture you right from the beginning and keep you enthralled until the end.

—Susie, at My Cozy Corner

I was able to visualize what I was reading and the descriptive details were enough to make me FEEL what was happening in the book. Overall, the story was excellent in terms of characterization and detail, and I really felt drawn to the story itself.

—Destiny, at Destiny Isn’t Free

The action in this book is non-stop, but we have a steamy romance thrown in, but it’s not that the focus is not on the romance, there is a story to tell, and it’s told very well.

—Michelle, at Michelle’s Paranormal Vault




Chapter One

 In her pink nightgown and barefoot, she stood on a rough pebbly ground.  A harsh male voice said, “Now, you’ll know what true pain is.”   

The red eyed man glared at her with undaunted hatred. Her feet were rooted on the black tar pavement.   Her legs trembled.  She shrunk from his glare and wanted to hide, but couldn’t move.


Sweating and moaning, twenty-five year old Heather Bowen tossed and turned on her queen size bed.  The dream faded, and she woke with a start.  Perspiration drenched her night gown, and tears streaked her face.  The sheets wrapped around her legs.  Her thighs throbbed.  The iPod alarm clock read three a.m.

She scanned the room, but there was no sign of the red-eyed man.  She sighed, but her relief was short lived.  What did he mean by she would know true pain?  Was he kidding?  Seriously?  Her life sucked.

In her dream, there was something familiar about the bright and buzzing green, red and white flickering lights.  But what?  She frowned.  Gas.  She had smelled gasoline in her dream.  Oh, shit.  7-Eleven.  The bastard was with Rosemary.

She flicked on the lamp and snatched her phone and dialed Rosemary’s cellular.  Answer, answer, answer, but a recording came on– “The number you have reached is…”

“Damn it,” Heather said.  Why did Rosemary have to have such a piece of crap phone?

She called information.

“This is information,” a bored female voice said.  “City and State, please.”

“Westminster, Colorado for 7-Eleven on seventy-second and Lowell.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have a listing for that address.”


“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the operator said, “but there’s no listing.”

“Fuck,” Heather slammed the phone onto the oak nightstand.

She jumped out of bed.  She tore off her Minnie nightgown and gasped.  Three long scratches marred her inner thighs.  She winced and wobbled to the bathroom and wet a wash cloth, and dabbed the bloody river on her legs.  How the hell did that happen?  God, her legs looked like Freddy Krueger swiped her with his razor fingers.

Within minutes, she slid into her gray Pathfinder.  “Ouch!”

The damn cloth seats pulled on her thighs that still pulsed from the antiseptic.  She stepped on the gas.  The street lamps glowed in the darkness, and the abandoned street stretched forever as her tires ate up the pavement.   She glanced at the clock.  Three fifteen.   She gripped the wheel and turned on Kipling Street and roared down the road.  At the stoplight, there were no cars, including cop cars, so she gunned the pedal.  “Hang on Rosemary.  I’m coming.”

Except for her speeding SUV, the dark houses remained quiet on the empty streets.  With his fluffy tail curved around his body, a red fox sat on the sidewalk and watched.  She shook her finger at him.  “You stay there.”

Maybe this was a good omen.  In animal symbolism, a red fox meant passion and desire and God, knows she wanted her sister alive.

She peeled onto Seventy-Second Avenue, running another stoplight.  Huge green cotton wood trees reached for the sky along the way.  Lilium, orange pixie lilies, and long ornamental grasses with whitish plumes lined the vacant street.  At the end of the street, a streetlight darkened at Majestic Park.  Hidden in the shadows was a car.  As she sped by, red lights flashed on.

“Shit, no!”