Blitz: Forsaken (Legion #4) by A. D. Starrling + GIVEAWAY

**Forsaken by A. D. Starrling**

Good Morning, Everyone! So thrilled to see you all today! We have another new-to-me author and book! Please allow me to feature on the blog A. D. Starling and her latest release, FORSAKEN … Plus, a GIVEAWAY!

**A. D. STARRLING**

**BIO**

AD Starrling's bestselling supernatural thriller series Seventeen combines action, suspense, and a heavy dose of the paranormal to make each book an explosive, adrenaline-fueled ride. Her spin-off urban fantasy series Legion has been compared to Jim Butcher's The Dresden Files. If you prefer your action hot and your heroes sexy and strong-willed, then check out her romantic military thriller series Division Eight.

When she's not busy writing, AD can be found eating Thai food, being tortured by her back therapists, drooling over gadgets, working part-time as a doctor on a Neonatal Intensive Care unit somewhere in the UK, reading manga, and watching action flicks and anime. She has occasionally been accused of committing art with a charcoal stick and some drawing paper.

To find out more about Ms. Starrling, please visit:

         

         

https://www.facebook.com/groups/672130993177310/?source_id=382768535066991

**FORSAKEN**

Publication date: May 28^th, 2020

Series: Legion #4
Genres:  Urban Fantasy, Adult

**BLURB**

They thought they knew who the enemy was…

When the Vatican extends an official invitation to Artemus and his allies to visit Rome, Artemus is wary of their intentions. Especially since the demon inside Drake has turned out to be one of Hell’s strongest princes, while Otis’s newly awakened powers means he is their most powerful tool against Hell’s army. Heading for Rome despite his misgivings, their arrival precipitates a series of attacks that soon has them questioning everyone around them.

Daniel Lenton is a shadow. Afflicted by a disease that weakened him as a child, the priest has dedicated his life to the church and wants nothing to do with Artemus and his friends. Not when such an association would risk exposing the lie he wants to keep buried. But when an ambush rouses Daniel’s beast to defend him against a monster, he is left with little choice but to embrace who he was born to be.

After the precious cargo they are hired to protect is attacked by demons, Serena and Nate are convinced that Ba’al is after something hidden among the artifacts bound for an exhibition in Rome. The last thing the super soldiers expect when they arrive in the city is to come face to face with their past.

As a new and formidable foe grows closer, Artemus and his allies must decipher the mysteries that await them in Rome, help a guardian find his key, and uncover the location of the next gate to Hell, all before Ba’al destroys the Holy See.

**PLAYLIST**

**EXCERPT**

The bar was quiet for a Friday night. Considering the bloodshed of the last forty-eight hours, the man was not all that surprised.

After two decades of fragile truce between the authorities and the gangs that once made El Salvador the country with the highest homicide rate in the world, death had returned to the streets of the capital. Even as he stood on the doorstep of the rundown tavern, squinting slightly while his eyes adjusted to the twilight that bathed the interior, the shrill sounds of sirens reached the man’s ears. The noise echoed through the historic downtown district of San Salvador, drowning out the distant screams of people fleeing the latest clash between rival gangs and the police.

Forty souls would perish that night. The man knew this as surely as he knew that the sun would rise in seven hours. And of those forty souls, only thirty-five would be human.

In truth, the man did not really need to squint to see in the gloom. Nor did he need to fear any of the evils that walked the streets of San Salvador. He had faced far worse in his long and wondrous existence.

“You going in or what?” a truculent voice said behind him.

The man looked over his shoulder.

A boy stood frowning at him, his dark eyes unreadable in the shadows. He was dressed in jeans, a leather jacket, a T-shirt that brazenly told the world what it could do with its opinion, and shiny Doc Martens. The only color in his otherwise somber outfit was the wine-red leather belt with the silver buckle at his waist, the intricate bracelet on his left wrist, and his bright diamond earrings. .

The man sighed. “Oh. I’d forgotten you’d be here too.”

The boy scowled and stormed past him. The man wandered inside the tavern in his wake and followed him to the bar.

The boy plonked himself on a wooden stool that had seen better days and addressed the silent figure in a hoodie on his left. “Here, churros.”

He removed an oil paper wrapping from inside his jacket and laid it on the counter.

The guy in the hoodie put down the shot of tequila he’d been about to drink and studied the meager offering. “Was there nothing else?”

“No. It was either churros or two packets of out-of-date chips. The boy sneered. “This place is a shit hole.”

The man climbed onto the bar stool on the boy’s right and leveled a steady stare above the latter’s head at Hoodie Guy. He could see a hint of fair hair under the covering. “Is it me or has your companion grown too familiar with this world? His language has become most foul.”

“He’s in character right now. And he’s hangry.”

As if to prove his point, the boy downed two churros in the blink of an eye.

Or the shake of a crow’s wing.

“I heard that,” the boy muttered.

“You should stop spying on people’s innermost thoughts,” the man said with a grunt.

“You’re not people.”

Hoodie Guy’s lips twitched.

The man narrowed his eyes at the boy. “May I remind you that I have seniority over you?”

“Eight hundred human years is hardly seniority,” the boy countered sullenly.

The man looked at Hoodie Guy. “Let me guess. He’s supposed to be a cranky teenager.”

“Bingo.”

“Can I put him over my knees and spank him?”

The boy bristled at these words, his entire body vibrating as if shaken from within by tremors. His clothes trembled for an infinitesimal moment, the layers quivering like feathers, a hint of golden light flashing between them.

Had he been human, the man would have missed the phenomenon.

Hoodie Guy blew out a sigh. “Stop antagonizing him.”

“He started it.”

The boy had lost interest in their conversation and was staring hungrily at the remaining churro.

“You can have it,” Hoodie Guy said magnanimously.

“Hey, what about me?” the man protested. “No one asked if I was hungry.”

The boy flashed him a dirty look and pursed his lips. “We should have asked the chef to make us something.”

They followed his gaze.

Framed in the serving window that took up the middle section of the wall behind the bar was a guy with scars all over his face and arms. He was currently skinning a chicken with a carving knife. Bits of fat and flesh peppered his apron and the grimy T-shirt beneath it like bullets scoring a target. 

The man made a face. “I don’t think that would have been a wise idea. He looks like a walking advert for salmonella poisoning. Besides, he’s gonna be dead in two minutes.”

“One minute twenty-eight seconds,” the boy mumbled.

The man frowned. “You sure? I’m getting two from him.”

“Arael is right,” Hoodie Guy said.

The man studied the wisps of darkness that had materialized above the chef’s head. They were invisible to everyone but the three of them.

“Well, what do you know? The crow is indeed—”

The tavern door opened. Four figures stumbled inside, bloodied machetes in hand. They were still human. Barely.

The black cloud crowning their heads visibly thickened.

The man scratched his jaw. “Aren’t they early?”

A glass shattered on the floor. Someone knocked a chair over.

The few patrons lurking in the tavern’s shadows had seen the writing on the wall and were beating a hasty retreat toward the fire exit at the back. The bartender made the sign of the cross and followed them. Fear radiated from his hot gaze as he glanced at where Hoodie Guy, Arael, and the man still sat at the counter.

“Correr!” he shouted weakly before vanishing into the gloom of a rear alley.

“I’m afraid there will be no running for us,” the man murmured as the bartender’s footsteps faded in the distance. “Tonight or any other night.”

Hoodie Guy downed his tequila, winced, and climbed off the stool. “You’re being strangely eloquent.”

Arael hopped down beside him.

An almighty crash came from the kitchen.

Something was happening to the chef. Something few humans had ever witnessed and lived to tell. 

The knife fell from his grip. He grunted, his face flushing impossibly red. His nails lengthened and thickened to dark claws. His eyes rolled into the back of his head before twisting forward again, the whites fading to black and the pupils brightening to a sulfurous yellow. He bowed his spine and let out an animal sound, his body growing in height and girth as the demon who had awakened inside him took over his physical form. He turned his head and glared at them through the serving window, his obsidian gaze filled with loathing.

He knew what they were.

“Wow. He’s one ugly sonofabitch, isn’t he?” the man muttered.

Hoodie Guy made a tutting noise. “Language.”

Arael smirked.

Guttural shrieks rose from the figures in the doorway. They dropped the machetes and headed toward the bar, their deformed bodies now under the full possession of the hellish creatures that lived beneath their skin.

The man turned to Arael. “You take the chef.”

The demon in the kitchen smashed through the serving window.

Arael frowned as plaster and wood rained down around them. “Why do I have to take him?”

“Isn’t he a friend of yours?”

“I met him an hour ago.”

The demons leapt.

Golden light exploded across the tavern.

Arael and the man blinked as the brightness slowly faded.

Choked gurgles escaped the five demons where they lay scattered across the floor, black blood pooling under their twisted, broken bodies.

Arael and the man looked pointedly at Hoodie Guy.

He shrugged. “You were taking too long.”

“Spoilsport,” the man muttered.

“Show off,” Arael mumbled.

They headed over to the dying demons and gave them their final rites.

Black ash filled the air as the creatures’ remains crumbled to dust. Hoodie Guy opened his hands and gathered the spiraling cloud into a ball that hovered above his palms. A sad light darkened his eyes for an instant, turning them silver.

He pressed his hands together. “From dust you were born. And to dust you shall return. Be at peace, my Fallen brothers.”

His words made the very room tremble. All that remained of the ash when he parted his hands was a fading, golden mist.

“That never gets old,” the man murmured.

Hoodie Guy arched an eyebrow. “It was you who first brought this prayer to life.”

The man rubbed the back of his head. “I must have been feeling sentimental.”

Arael’s face crunched up. “Why are you always such an ass?”

“Genetics, probably.”

Arael sucked in air. “That’s blasphemy.”

He stepped back and looked expectantly at the ceiling.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for the bolt of lightning to strike you.”

The man rolled his eyes. “He’s not into smiting these days.”

Thunder boomed outside the tavern.

The man sobered. “Then again, maybe he is.”

Arael grinned.

Hoodie Guy followed them as they headed for the back door. They stepped into the balmy night and strolled to the end of the alley.

Redness filled the sky to the north. Another fire was raging across the city.

“So, you gonna tell me what you guys are doing in my territory? Last I checked, the U.S. border was still over 2000 miles from here, as the crow flies.” The man glanced at Arael. “Pun unintended.”

The Angel of Crows dipped his chin sagely. He had lost all appearance of the ornery human teenager he had been emulating and had assumed the regal pose in keeping with his station. 

“Can’t an archangel be neighborly?” Hoodie Guy said lightly.

The man’s face hardened as he scrutinized his friend and brother in arms. “No, Uriel. And I strongly doubt the two of you dropped by just to say hi.”

Uriel pulled his hood back. His hair shone in the night, his divine power casting a golden glow all around the human form he had assumed to walk the Earth.

And walk the Earth we all have, for thousands of years.

“We bring a message. Do not interfere.”

The man frowned. He cocked a thumb at the sky. “Is that from Him?”

Uriel sighed. “It would be nice if you wouldn’t point to our Heavenly Father with so little deference. And no. It’s not from Him. It’s from the rest of Us.”

The man stiffened at that. “By Us, I take it you mean the Divine Army? The one I once led?”

“There he goes again,” Arael muttered. “I told you he’d get like this.”

Uriel ignored Arael.

“We all are aware that we won the war against the Grigori because of your strength and leadership,” he told the man quietly. “But it doesn’t mean we can look away from what you’ve been doing for the last three decades.”

The man straightened to his full height. “And what is that, exactly?”

“Interfering.”

The man snorted. “Don’t give me that crap. I know full well you butted into the fates of your own bloodline. And you still visit those kids.”

Uriel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked like he was counting to five.

“I did nothing that would directly affect their destiny,” the archangel finally said. “And the children enjoy my company, as I do theirs. Nowhere in our edict does it state that we cannot meet with the ones we have bestowed our sacred gifts upon, once they have come into their powers and know of us.” He paused and gazed steadily at the man. “It’s different in your case. Artemus Steele’s very existence is something that has long been called into question. That you were ultimately correct in your suspicions about the Grigori’s plans doesn’t take away from the fact that you chose to lay with a woman. Technically speaking, you’re a Fallen Watcher.”

The man smiled thinly. “You forget. She wasn’t just a woman. And I slept with her to save her, and the world, from what that bastard Samyaza was planning.”

Uriel sniffed. “I am fully aware that she wasn’t just a woman. I can’t believe you yourself didn’t realize this until, well—” he waved a hand vaguely, “after the fact.”

The man’s smile widened to a full grin. “I was preoccupied.”

Uriel narrowed his eyes at his carefree tone. “There’s more than just the fact that you lay with a human. There’s also that incident the night the boy turned six. You know, when you grabbed Cerberus from his den and dumped him in that field with the boy and his pet rabbit?”

“That poor kid had nightmares for years,” Arael murmured. 

“I thought it was the appropriate time for them to meet,” the man said defensively. “And I wanted to see what the boy would do.” His tone turned maudlin. “Did you know Cerberus bit me?”

“You deserved it,” Arael said unsympathetically.

“Oh, and let’s not forget the gun,” Uriel continued, undeterred.

The man pasted an innocent expression across his face. “What gun?”

“You know full well the weapon I mean,” Uriel snapped. “You’re not going to stand there and pretend you didn’t guide Karl LeBlanc’s hand when he made that gun for Artemus? Or deny that you created the barriers that would protect Artemus and his allies in the future? It’s bad enough that Gabriel visited Ronald Stone and influenced his decision to auction the Scepter! And let’s not even talk about Camael setting up shop in Bangkok so he could sell his sword to Yashiro Kuroda!”

“No, I’m not going to deny what I did,” the man said quietly. “And it was Artemus and Drake’s mother who created the divine wall around Karl LeBlanc’s mansion.” He had rarely seen his friend in such a state. “What’s going on, Uriel? Why are you really here? Because this feels like more than just a warning.”

Uriel faltered. He exchanged a troubled glance with Arael. “Stay away from Rome.”

The man felt his heart grow cold. He glanced to the east. “Why? What’s going to happen in Rome?”

A muscle jumped in Uriel’s jawline. “Things you should most definitely not interfere with.”

The man watched his friend for a timeless moment. “Thanks for the tip.”

Uriel sighed. “It wasn’t a tip.”

The man turned and headed out of the alley. “I hear Rome is nice this time of year.”

“Your actions may very well change the course of humankind’s destiny, Michael,” Uriel warned. “You of all people should know that.”

Michael stopped and cast a lopsided smile at the archangel and the Angel of Crows over his shoulder. “That may very well be true. But Artemus is my son. And the burden he will one day carry would unnerve even Heaven’s most powerful warriors.” He paused. “Have you ever stopped to consider whether our—interference, as you call it, was also preordained?”

Uriel ignored his question. “Drake is Samyaza’s son. He will fall to Hell. And if you keep pushing Artemus, your son may fall too.”

“Artemus will save his brother,” Michael said coolly. “That, or he will die trying.”

He turned and headed off into what remained of the night.

***

Arael shook himself into his true form and flew onto Uriel’s shoulder.

“That went well.”

Uriel frowned at the space where Michael had disappeared. “It could have been worse.”

He twisted on his heels and headed in the opposite direction, the crow’s feathers warm against his cheek.

“You know that was a tip, right?” Arael muttered.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“You practically told him to go to Rome.”

“I warned him not to interfere.” Uriel paused. “Besides, she’s in Rome. I doubt he’d want to meet her.”

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**GIVEAWAY**

Blitz-wide giveaway (INT)

$10 Amazon Gift Card

2 x eBook Copies of FORSAKEN

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HAPPY READING!!!