Welcome to author Danita Minnis today! She's here talking about her newest book, Falcon's Angel.
Character Interview: Falcon
What is the Falcon like?
Falcon left home at the age
of seventeen. The world was his teacher. You would think that kind of life
would land him in trouble but he always knew right from wrong and does both when
necessary.
What drives Falcon to do the
things he does?
The mission drives him, the
injustices of his prey. Falcon doesn’t necessarily want or need to be a good
guy. He’ll be that guy if it fits his plan or gets the job done.
You are introduced to Falcon.
Is he happy to meet you?
Always. If you are being
introduced to Falcon it’s not an accident. He probably arranged the meeting,
along with some unpleasant arrangements for later.
What is Falcon’s weakness?
Women, of course. The only
problem is he always goes for the killers.
How would Falcon describe
himself?
He is judge and jury when it
comes to il Dragone.
Where does the Falcon go to
ground?
In an ancient castle on a
crumbling hill-top with a custom-built escape route underground.
What does Falcon live for?
Exterminating il Dragone.
Oh, and loving Angel. J
Falcon’s Angel – blurb
She’s a classical violinist and daughter of a dynasty, but
Angelina has never felt this kind of
want before.
Falcon wants the Stradivarius in her possession, and goes
undercover to track down a thief. But he is not the only killer in search of
the violin.
il Dragone, a devil-worshiping cult, wants revenge for a
past only they can remember.
Angelina wants to go unrecognized when she leaves her
family’s Yorkshire estate to play in a symphony in Italy. But the Stradivarius,
a gift from her deceased instructor, opens a door to hatred that is centuries
old.
Falcon’s Angel is a paranormal romance of a love that ended
in tragedy in eighteenth century England. That love is tested in a fight of
good versus evil some two hundred years later.
Excerpt
Naples, Italy
Falcon stood in the shadowed courtyard of the Naples
Conservatory.
She left the building right on schedule. She had arrived
early and stopped by the panetteria to pick up breakfast. She preferred the
sweet rolls. When she left the music school, it was near dark.
Her schedule of classes wasn’t that bad. It was the time
she spent practicing alone in whatever unoccupied classroom she could find that
kept her there all day. She was dedicated, and very beautiful.
She had bumped into him in the hall two days ago on her
way to class, “Scusi, Signore.” He did not know which was more shocking; the
sound of her rich contralto or those huge liquid gold eyes, a striking contrast
to the midnight waterfall
rippling down her back.
He had purposely stepped in her path that day to confront
her about the Stradivarius she carried. When he got a better look at her, he
smiled “Perdonami,” and let her pass. Her lithe form glided down the hall.
If this goddess is a
thief, she won’t have to take anything from me. I’ll give her whatever she
wants, and more.
Although he allowed her to see him just that once, he had
been watching her ever since. He did not know her name yet, but he called her
Angel. Her unusual eyes made her seem like a fairy. Her fluid grace only
enhanced the impression of an ethereal wood sprite.
The warm breeze lifting her summer print skirt silenced
those thoughts.
Damned if he was not holding his breath waiting for the
end of those legs before the gentle curve of her hips.
She crossed the darkening piazza and her full breasts
danced under the white camisole top, making his mouth water. She was on her way
home now.
She was staying at the Casa di Città on Piazza Avellino
and now so was he. The apartment, a few avenues away from the Conservatory, was
in the cultural Greco-Roman district, where the buildings themselves looked
like archaeological finds.
Falcon emerged from the cluster of fig trees in the
courtyard. He stopped when a man exited a side door off the Conservatory. The
man started walking behind Angel.
Turning toward the fountain in the courtyard, he gave the
man a head start. He fell in step behind the man, who carried no books, no
instrument. Is he a teacher, or a lover?
No, not a lover. The man didn’t even call out to the girl. He did not know her.
Falcon strolled along, looking into shop windows he
passed. The man ignored a streetlight, but Falcon stopped, making sure no one
followed him. With an idle shift from side to side, he waited for a car to
cross the intersection.
Across the street, a teenager sat on the steps of a closed
shop. He’d been there for the last few days. The car stopped at the curb in
front of the teenager.
Someone should pick him up.
He would not jeopardize his cover for drug trafficking. He
would leave that to the local polizia.
The light changed and Falcon crossed the street, satisfied
that the man following Angel was alone.
They were walking through the ancient Roman marketplace,
which was deserted now. When the girl got closer to the church built on the
site of an old temple, the man began to close the distance between them.
Falcon shook his head as she reached the church corner.
She never noticed the man who was just a few feet behind her now. When the man
pushed her into the gloom around the church corner, they were lost from his
sight. The girl screamed.
Sprinting, he rounded the corner. About ten feet away, the
man was trying to wrestle the violin case from her against the wall.
Falcon pulled out his gun and aimed. “Let her go.”
The man turned toward him, and the girl pulled at his ear.
The man bent, holding his stomach. He made an inarticulate sound before running
away along the side of the building into the darkness.
Falcon darted past the girl and followed the man into the
shadows.
What the hell?
Something flitted overhead, darker than the darkness in
which he now stood alone. He pointed the Glock upward even as a figure walked
up the side of the building. It looked like a black cloud but more solid than
it should be.
Before he could get off a shot, the darkness disappeared
over the side of the roof.
Staring at the dead end in front of him, Falcon put his
gun away. No doors or windows on either side.
Where is the guy?
Must be a hidden door somewhere, he’d check it out later.
Falcon turned back toward the girl. Beyond her, across the
street, the man he had been chasing got into a car.
“No way,” he murmured as the car sped off. No way could
the man have gotten past him in the alley.
The girl had both arms wrapped around the violin case in
front of her. She was leaning against the church wall, crying.
A street
lamp flickered on above them, belatedly bathing the passage in revealing light.
She did not seem to realize that he was there.
“Did he hurt you, Signorina?”
She looked up. He lifted his gaze from her heaving chest.
“Grazie,” she whispered, wiping her face with the back of
her hand. She shook her head. “I am fine.”
“You should not be walking alone at night.” The harsh
reprimand in his voice surprised him. She was very young. Her tears wrought
such vulnerability that he softened his tone when he came to stand in front of
her. “Do you know that man?”
“No, I have never seen him before. But ... he knew me.”
“What did he say to you?”
She looked down at the violin.
He stared at her until she looked up. Ah, she had just
found her story. It was in her eyes, and it was not the truth. The fear in her
eyes told him that story would never change.
“He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at me...”
Her chest heaved again. He almost smiled; she was having a
hard time with this lie.
She stared at him. “You are from the Conservatory. I saw
you the other day.”
“Antonio Russo, Tony to my friends.” She did not hesitate
to shake his hand, and he did smile then. She might be lying to him but at
least she did not see him as a threat. She continued to stare at him. She must
want more. “I’m taking classes at the Conservatory,” he added. “I play piano.”
“Oh yes, I’ve seen you in Signor Gattano’s class.”
He had signed up for the class because it was right next
door to hers. So, she had noticed him, too. He smiled wider.
“Signorina, I could call you Bella, but that would not
satisfy my curiosity.”
She lowered her eyelashes over cheeks flushed the color of
the terracotta tiles on his mother’s sunlit patio in Tuscany. She tanned well for one so light.
He almost lifted his hand to touch her cheek. There would be little
satisfaction in knowing her name now that her skin was singing a siren’s song
to him.
“My name is Angelina Natale.”
“Ah. You are an angel, after all. I have not seen you
around here for very long. Did you just fall from heaven?”
He watched her full lips while the sound of earthy
laughter, though shaky, amped up the adrenaline coursing through his veins. A
vision of her lying naked beneath him, her golden eyes glazed in passion,
teased him.
“I am from England.
I’m here for the symphony.” Her Italian was excellent.
“Angelina Natale, I would be honored if you would let me
escort you home.”
She put the violin case under one arm. “I would like
that.”
There was blood on her closed fist.
“Are you hurt?” He moved closer.
She moved her hand behind the folds of her skirt and
backed into the wall.
He waited, leaning his hand against the wall above her
head, inhaling her perfume. A beguiling combination of ... amber, apples and
musk. The scent suited her, organic, delicious. He wanted to lift her skirt
right now and take her against this wall, those long legs wrapped around him.
Angelina examined the buttons on his shirt that were in
such close proximity. Stepping away from him would be cowardly, and he would
guess she was made of sterner stuff. When she looked up it was with the
defiance he expected from a cornered tigress.
He held her gaze, reaching behind to bring her fist out
from the folds of her skirt.
The bloody gold in the center of her palm was a heavy
medium-sized loop engraved with a stylized dragon. She had pulled it from the
man’s ear and he had not made a sound.
“A memento?” He whispered in English close to her lips.
“I don’t want it. You can have it,” she answered in her
native tongue. Now, that was the truth. Her British accent was tinged with a
weary sadness. He wanted to pick her up against his chest and carry her home.
She had courage. Even while his mind worked to figure out
what her role was in the mystery of the Stradivarius, he admired that.
He couldn’t leave her alone now. Not on a street where men
escaped him when cornered in an alley and black clouds slid up church walls.
“Are you hungry?” Their lips were inches apart and he
wanted to kiss her, but that would have to come later.
“I forgot about lunch. I had caffe at four. I’m starving,”
the beautiful tigress admitted.
Danita Minnis Bio
If you asked me which is easier,
writing songs or writing novels, I would say it was the former. Melodies and
rhymes are second nature. What my characters want is another thing entirely.
With my debut novel, Falcon’s
Angel, I learned to listen to my spunky
heroine and sinfully confident hero. They’re funny and in danger, and that’s
just the way they want it. Lesson learned: don’t try to save them.
When I’m not writing, I
exercise my lungs at my son’s soccer matches and our favorite theme park,
because everyone knows it’s easier on the stomach to scream your way down a
roller coaster.
I’m Here
