Stranger at the Hell Gate: A Paranormal Romance Novella

By Ash Krafton

Recruited by higher powers, an angel seeks out the only man who could prevent an apocalypse from happening—but how can someone born of Hell be a vital part of Heaven's mission?

Jagger is a warrior who has dedicated his existence to fighting the demons who enter the world through hell gates. A man of conflicting ideals—a demon who fights evil, a loner who offers shelter to a strange woman—he's too rough, too dangerous, too cocky for Sonya's delicate nature.

Dedicated to her cause, she's determined to discover the reason for her mission. She needs Jagger's help to uncover her true objective but, if he gets himself killed before she can figure it out, the world may fall to Hell's dominion.

Sonya knows it's a game Jagger cannot win on his own, so perhaps it's time for divine intervention--even if it means losing him forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ash Krafton
• Release date: May 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781946120137

Ash Krafton

USA Today Best-Selling Author and Pushcart Prize nominee Ash Krafton is a speculative fiction author whose work has been featured in Bete Noire, Niteblade Fantasy and Horror, and Red Penny Papers. She's the author of the Demimonde series, The Demon Whisperer series, and several urban fantasy and paranormal romance stand-alones. Ms. Krafton resides in the heart of the Pennsylvania coal region, where she keeps the book jacket for "Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter" in a frame over her desk. Visit www.ashkrafton.com to learn more about her books and upcoming appearances.

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Cover art and interior design/formatting

by Red Fist Fiction

Second edition 2018

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information can be found at www.ashkrafton.com

STRANGER AT THE HELL GATE: A Paranormal Romance Novella by Ash Krafton

Recruited by higher powers, an angel seeks out the only man who could prevent an apocalypse from happening—but how can someone born of Hell be a vital part of Heaven's mission?

ISBN: 978-1-946120-13-7

Smashwords Version

Copyright © 2018 by Ash Krafton

CONTENTS

Dedication

Start of Stranger at the Hell Gate

About Ash Krafton

Other Books by Ash Krafton

Connect with Ash Krafton

DEDICATION

To my family:

My husband, my children, my friends.

Most especially, for Tricia…my friend, my confidant, and my best writer friend. One day, I’ll find the right words to express my gratitude. Until I do, I’ll sling ‘em into another book.

ANGELS

Nightfall never came without a price in this city.

Like so many others in this world, the city was a conglomeration of concrete and chrome, its suburbs spinning off from the center like great galactic arms. Humans huddled together, heaping dwelling upon dwelling, building their spires in admirable attempts to pierce the skies.

In time, the city’s heart had grown so thick and congested that sunlight could not penetrate its depths. Day and night alike were eternally cloaked in a blanket of electric illumination. People moved in masses, caught in the ebb and flow of common, unremarkable life. Desperate to live. Desperate to survive. Desperate to exist in this hostile, wretched plane.

Further from the city’s center, the architecture thinned, the population thinned. Here, the sunlight reached the earth, washing the slower pace of less-urgent living in a warm glow. By daylight, the streets were touched by light’s grace, each cloudless day a blessing.

By night…that blessing was forgotten.

A woman in travel-worn trousers and a half-cloak hurried through the trash-strewn streets. Soon, the sun would fall below the horizon and night would begin its chaotic reign. Sonya Camael didn’t want to spend another night hiding in a church. She didn’t want to spend another night looking for a church to hide in.

The sunset painted the buildings with a fiery wash of sullen orange, doing little to gentle the harshness of weathered stone. The retreating light created long shadows, shadows she‘d swear moved as she strode through the deserted streets.

She covered her mouth and nose against the abrasive scents of smoke and sulfur, so thick in the air that she tasted it. The woman knew full well there were dark things that kept to the shadows, waiting for daylight to die. Those dark things were hungry for the moment when the shadows would swallow the city, giving them free range.

Careful to keep to the still-sunlit center of the street, she moved quickly and determinedly through the city, whispering a quick prayer of thanks when she caught sight of her destination. A green neon sign over the porch blinked sporadically, gleaming through the rising shadows: DEMONIC INTERVENTIONS.

By the time she’d climbed the steps, sunlight had surrendered to the damnable dusk. She pulled her dusty cloak tightly around her shoulders and shivered.

Not a good omen, she mused. It wasn’t in her nature to be superstitious, but she couldn’t suppress the chill that snaked around her very bones, squeezing.

It wasn’t the nicest building in town. It may well have been the least inviting. Something about a stone door bearing strange symbols made a person think twice about knocking.

Or maybe it was the deep claw marks that marred it. That could have been it, too.

She lifted her hand, slender fingers curled into a resolute fist, and knocked twice. The sound seemed to disappear into the wood, swallowed, devoured.

When the door was yanked open by a silver-haired man wearing little more than pants and a pair of leather boots, Sonya almost turned and ran down the steps. Thin lines of scars dotted his body like dewy cobwebs and a black leather strap crossed his chest, hinting at a weapon on his back. But that wasn’t what scared her.

It was the flatness of his stare. He had the coldest eyes she’d ever seen. Those eyes told her that scars and weapons were both daily exercises.

The man did a quick up-and-down glance before crossing his arms, filling the doorway. I think you got the wrong address, lady.

Everything about him screamed run. It took a lot of effort not to listen to his unspoken signals.

She swallowed and planted her feet. No... I’m quite sure this is the right place.

He smiled a cocky slant that flashed teeth and leaned against the door. His chin lifted. Who ya looking for?

You. She reached into a cloth pouch on her belt and pulled out a crystal wrapped in dull grey wire. A rosy glow pulsed from within like a gentle heartbeat. Definitely you.

His brows lowered but his expression didn’t change. What the hell is that thing?

A compass. The bright crystal generated heat as well as light, warming the wire to the point of discomfort. She turned it over in her palm before it could burn her hand.

Doesn’t look like any compass I ever seen.

Slipping it back into the pouch, she shrugged. I don’t think they give these out at scout camp.

I ain’t a boy scout.

No. You aren’t. She licked her lips and braced herself. You’re a demon.

He twisted an arm behind him. Metal scraped against hard leather, the sound of a sword sliding free of its sheath. His arm whipped a tight arc over his head, weapon in hand.

Relax. She raised her hands and backed away from the sword he pointed at her chest. You don’t need that.

Look, lady. Anyone comes in here callin’ names like that makes me a little jumpy.

She tilted