Hell Over Heels

Being an angel sucks.

Well, a low-ranking angel, that is. Who'd have thought that one of the tasks in Heaven assigned to those not blessed with brain-melting power is shoveling unicorn poop?

Not me, that's for sure, although I don't even remember who I was as a human before being turned into an angel. So, here I am, living my best, most boring angel life, trying to climb up a rank in the hierarchy so I can ditch my annoying roommate and get a suite of my own, not to mention that if I get promoted, I won't have to clean up unicorn crap anymore–which, by the way, is not made of sparkly rainbows. Much to my chagrin.

And then he shows up. Looking all Tall, Dark, and Handsomely Mysterious, like he just strolled right out of a dream . . . and my world tilts sideways when I realize that might actually be true.

His power feels so familiar. The things he does and says cause an echo of knowing deep within me. Could I have seen visions of him before he ever stepped into my life? Or is there another reason I feel like I've known him for years?

While I’m falling for him . . . I can't shake the feeling that he could cost me more than my heart.

Contains mature themes.

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Hljóðbók: 8 september 2026