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The Noonday Demon
Abra has her life in order. Selling vibrant oil-pastel angels that she
paints makes her a comfortable living. At noon a handsome
stranger strides onto her property to mess with all her plans. Val
sparks a passionate flame of desire with his shifting eyes and
cocky remarks. His presence causes her to question the faith
she's always held in herself. She can't get him out of her mind no
matter how hard she tries. His regular noonday visits leave her
wanting, and she soon realizes he's more than he appears to be.
It's only a matter of time before she sins.
Abra has her life in order. Selling vibrant oil-pastel angels that she
paints makes her a comfortable living. At noon a handsome
stranger strides onto her property to mess with all her plans. Val
sparks a passionate flame of desire with his shifting eyes and
cocky remarks. His presence causes her to question the faith
she's always held in herself. She can't get him out of her mind no
matter how hard she tries. His regular noonday visits leave her
wanting, and she soon realizes he's more than he appears to be.
It's only a matter of time before she sins.
"It is amazing how much
sexual tension Ms. Rabiyah
manages to incorporate into a
story that takes place on less
than thirty pages. I think
that if this were a full-size
book, it would kill me!"
-Paige Lovitt
for Reader Views
sexual tension Ms. Rabiyah
manages to incorporate into a
story that takes place on less
than thirty pages. I think
that if this were a full-size
book, it would kill me!"
-Paige Lovitt
for Reader Views
| Paranormal Erotic Romance Demon |
Available at:
Amira Press
In Print as a part of:
Demons and Vampires
Amira Press
In Print as a part of:
Demons and Vampires
Excerpt:
Abra walked among the rows of wheat, her fingers splayed to feel the soft kiss of each bulging
seedhead. The sun hung at the center of the sky, its glorious rays warming her pale skin. She wore a
tank top and a long, green cotton skirt with beads sewn into the seams. Her mother had given her the
skirt years ago, and she still loved it. Sandaled feet made small sounds against the earth she crossed.
Far in the distance, her parents’ house stood on a flowing hill dotted with pecan trees. This is my
heaven, she thought. My parents left me this paradise. What a great place to hide from the world.
She crossed the wheat and strode along the green meadow that separated her from the porch. For
days she’d read book after book in her newly made study, pored over her father’s collection of tomes
and news magazines until she couldn’t take any more. When she reached the steps to the wooden
porch, she realized that the stain was wearing thin on the planks. “Maybe I’ll start on that tomorrow.”
Abra climbed the five steps, her fingers skimming the banister as she hurried to the screen door. She
felt the strangest sensation that someone was watching her. At once, the midday heat felt too stifling.
Her skirt clung to her legs, and beads of sweat broke out across her brow. She felt weary, as if she’d
worked for a whole day when here it was just noon.
Being alone never bothered her before now. She shook her head, trying to ward off the unnatural
feeling. Sweeping a hand through her loose hair, she flinched when a gust of hot air blasted her face
and body, sending the blonde tendrils flying across her field of vision. She turned to look into the wind
and saw a lone figure walking beside the road. He crested the hill, his gait a gentle lope, the shape of
him not clear through the waves of heat in the air. She squinted, staring as he ambled along. A quell
rose in her chest. Is he going to stop here?
She backed to the wicker chair her mom favored when she was alive, and sank into the cornflower
blue cushion. Picking at the corner of it, she waited. His voice carried on the ill-wind, a basso that
thrummed out a lulling, manly tune. He crossed the ditch that separated the road from the fence, and
ran his hand along the barbed wire, lifting his fingers every time a metal thorn might prick his skin.
Abra thought she ought to ease back, maybe even close her eyes against his approach. He’ll pass by.
No one stops here. No one has any reason to. There’s nothing to see or find in this empty old house
except. . .me. The thought startled her. Did she want to be found by him?
He moved like a panther, a shadowy man with tanned skin and jet black hair that fell in straight locks
around his face. The wind tousled it, and Abra decided that the wind did so at just the right time. He
wore a white t-shirt, simple and clean. His blue jeans looked a little worn in the knees and beige leather
hiking boots made a deep crunching sound in the dry November grass.
At the gate by the drive, he stopped. The stranger held one hand to his forehead, his gaze searching
even from such a distance for. . .Me, Abra thought.
He waved in a casual manner, as if he knew her, and strode past the slight opening in the gate.
Abra walked among the rows of wheat, her fingers splayed to feel the soft kiss of each bulging
seedhead. The sun hung at the center of the sky, its glorious rays warming her pale skin. She wore a
tank top and a long, green cotton skirt with beads sewn into the seams. Her mother had given her the
skirt years ago, and she still loved it. Sandaled feet made small sounds against the earth she crossed.
Far in the distance, her parents’ house stood on a flowing hill dotted with pecan trees. This is my
heaven, she thought. My parents left me this paradise. What a great place to hide from the world.
She crossed the wheat and strode along the green meadow that separated her from the porch. For
days she’d read book after book in her newly made study, pored over her father’s collection of tomes
and news magazines until she couldn’t take any more. When she reached the steps to the wooden
porch, she realized that the stain was wearing thin on the planks. “Maybe I’ll start on that tomorrow.”
Abra climbed the five steps, her fingers skimming the banister as she hurried to the screen door. She
felt the strangest sensation that someone was watching her. At once, the midday heat felt too stifling.
Her skirt clung to her legs, and beads of sweat broke out across her brow. She felt weary, as if she’d
worked for a whole day when here it was just noon.
Being alone never bothered her before now. She shook her head, trying to ward off the unnatural
feeling. Sweeping a hand through her loose hair, she flinched when a gust of hot air blasted her face
and body, sending the blonde tendrils flying across her field of vision. She turned to look into the wind
and saw a lone figure walking beside the road. He crested the hill, his gait a gentle lope, the shape of
him not clear through the waves of heat in the air. She squinted, staring as he ambled along. A quell
rose in her chest. Is he going to stop here?
She backed to the wicker chair her mom favored when she was alive, and sank into the cornflower
blue cushion. Picking at the corner of it, she waited. His voice carried on the ill-wind, a basso that
thrummed out a lulling, manly tune. He crossed the ditch that separated the road from the fence, and
ran his hand along the barbed wire, lifting his fingers every time a metal thorn might prick his skin.
Abra thought she ought to ease back, maybe even close her eyes against his approach. He’ll pass by.
No one stops here. No one has any reason to. There’s nothing to see or find in this empty old house
except. . .me. The thought startled her. Did she want to be found by him?
He moved like a panther, a shadowy man with tanned skin and jet black hair that fell in straight locks
around his face. The wind tousled it, and Abra decided that the wind did so at just the right time. He
wore a white t-shirt, simple and clean. His blue jeans looked a little worn in the knees and beige leather
hiking boots made a deep crunching sound in the dry November grass.
At the gate by the drive, he stopped. The stranger held one hand to his forehead, his gaze searching
even from such a distance for. . .Me, Abra thought.
He waved in a casual manner, as if he knew her, and strode past the slight opening in the gate.
The Noonday Demon is a
dark gem of a tale framed by a
realistic setting. The author is
gifted at imagery, metaphor
and descriptions, flooding the
mind and imagination with
colorful words and visuals.
For this reason, I’ve come to
appreciate the lyrical and lush
style of her work. Like Abra,
Anastasia Rabiyah uses the
page as canvas to create a
love, lust, hope, self-discovery
and new beginnings."
-Patrice F.
JoyfullyReviewed.com
dark gem of a tale framed by a
realistic setting. The author is
gifted at imagery, metaphor
and descriptions, flooding the
mind and imagination with
colorful words and visuals.
For this reason, I’ve come to
appreciate the lyrical and lush
style of her work. Like Abra,
Anastasia Rabiyah uses the
page as canvas to create a
love, lust, hope, self-discovery
and new beginnings."
-Patrice F.
JoyfullyReviewed.com
"This is a very erotic story of
a woman and the demon who
wants her. The setting of a
lonely farmhouse is perfect
for this tale and the author’s
descriptions of the two
characters and their
relationship is very vivid.
Abra is a very strong willed
woman and she resists Val
pretty successfully, finding
out his name and getting
what she wants without
giving up herself to him. I
also liked the descriptions of
the angel and demon
paintings and the hints of Val’
s self before the Fall. The sex
scenes are very descriptive
and very, very hot; making
me glad Abra did not lock
her gate after all."
- Maura
Coffee Time Romance
a woman and the demon who
wants her. The setting of a
lonely farmhouse is perfect
for this tale and the author’s
descriptions of the two
characters and their
relationship is very vivid.
Abra is a very strong willed
woman and she resists Val
pretty successfully, finding
out his name and getting
what she wants without
giving up herself to him. I
also liked the descriptions of
the angel and demon
paintings and the hints of Val’
s self before the Fall. The sex
scenes are very descriptive
and very, very hot; making
me glad Abra did not lock
her gate after all."
- Maura
Coffee Time Romance