Tate's Angel: Sexy Sins Afterlife Retreat, #1

By Lilith Darville

Warning: This book has one strong woman and four dangerously sexy immortal men.

She's been their fated mate in every life they've lived and they refuse to live one without her.
Read this book if you like why choose romance with a paranormal twist and hunky guys times 4!

Tate Spencer's biggest problem isn't that she's supposedly dead, or that she has four sinfully sexy men claiming she's their fated mate. Her biggest problem is that one of the men says he's the Angel of Death, but he looks exactly like her recently deceased husband.

Angel of Death, aka, Bob Morrison can't believe he's getting a second chance with the woman he loved on Earth and lost.
But before things can heat up between them, he has to help Tate save Sexy Sins Afterlife Retreat from a demon invasion and help her safely navigate the supernatural realm.

Talk about a wild mid-life crisis. Today is the day Tate finds out reincarnation is a real thing, discovers she has supernatural powers of her own and falls in love with four guys determined to make her every fantasy a reality.

Imagine fated mates, a spunky mid-life heroine who doesn't know just how special she is, off-the-charts-chemistry, a smoldering cast of broody, hot-blooded, protective heroes, and an irresistible story that will keep you turning the pages late into the night. Grab Tate's Angel today, the first book in Lilith Darville's sizzling Sexy Sins Afterlife Retreat series. Feed your fantasies!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lilith Darville
• Release date: Feb 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201202514

Lilith Darville

Lilith Darville is a USA Today bestselling author of dangerously delicious romance, including sizzling paranormal reverse harem. With over forty years of storytelling experience, her stories are guaranteed to make readers flush and blush.  

Book preview

Tate’s AngelTitle Page

CONTENTS

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Celestial Email

1. Tate

2. Robert Morrison

3. Tate

4. Joe Bob

5. Tate

6. Joe Bob

7. Tate (a.k.a. Anya)

8. Joe Bob

9. Tate (a.k.a. Anya)

10. Joe Bob

Celestial Email

11. Tate (a.k.a. Anya)

12. Joe Bob

13. Tate (a.k.a. Anya)

14. Joe Bob

15. Tate

16. Bob

17. Tate

18. Bob

19. Tate

20. Bob

21. Tate

22. Bob

23. Tate

24. Bob

25. Tate

Next up for Tate…

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About the Author

Mick's Mission

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Mel—when thanks are not enough, you get a book in your honour!

CELESTIAL EMAIL

To: Zeus, King of Olympus & God of the Sky

Poseidon, God of the Sea

Hades, King of the Dead

Aphrodite, Goddess of Love & Beauty

Apollo, God of Music & Healing

Ares, God of War

Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt

Athena, Goddess of Wisdom

Hephaestus, God of Fire & Forge

Dionysus, God of Wine & Fertility

Hermes, Messenger God & Trickster

From: Hera, Queen of Olympus

Date: Celestial time

Subject: New Director for the Sexy Sins Retreat

Tribunal, as you’re all aware, an incubus infiltrated the Sexy Sins Afterlife Retreat and captured the director. Since that time, chaos reigns, and we have reason to believe incubi have infiltrated the school. Snatchings have reached epic proportions since the incubi’s powers now work whether the victim is asleep or awake. The guardians can no longer identify them to keep them at bay.

Hades and Hermes are unable or refuse to shed light on this infiltration. We are in desperate need of a director, and I’ve found the perfect candidate. Tonight, a sniper accidentally hit Tate Anya Spencer, and she’s in a coma at Mount Sinai Hospital. Normally, it would fall to the examiners to determine her status, but she meets all of our search criteria for a director, so Athena sent her file directly to me. As the heavenly beings would have it, Tate is the destined mate of all four examiners, so we can kill two birds with one arrow.

The examiners are losing power and motivation, especially Francis and Caleb; however, the survival of the examination center is paramount. Aphrodite will use a cloaking spell on all five parties to ensure they don’t recognize each other until the incubi are cleared from the school. She will insert an extra thrall to ensure Tate doesn’t remember her past lives.

Concerns?

To: Hera

From: Hermes

Subject: re: New Director for the Sexy Sins Retreat

Bite me, Hera!

To: Hera

Cc: The Tribunal

From: Aphrodite

Subject: re: New Director for the Sexy Sins Retreat

Tate’s spell won’t take firm hold until she’s through ascension cold fever. Since Robert will heal her symptoms, I’ve added a charm to make her think she’s hallucinating if Robert’s likeness slips through the spell and she recognizes her husband. Serves the little fucker right for rejecting my advances. Caleb’s imprint will recognize her as his destined mate, so I’ll add a little thrall to his spell to occupy his mind and to make her think he’s just horny. Rest assured, none of them will recognize each other, and any personal details will be meaningless, as if they’re strangers.

To: Aphrodite

Cc: The Tribunal

From: Hera

Subject: re: New Director for the Sexy Sins Retreat

Get over it. We have a job to do!

To: Hera

From: Hades

Subject: re: New Director for the Sexy Sins Retreat

Tate’s mine! Hands off.

To: Hades

From: Hera

Subject: re: New Director for the Sexy Sins Retreat

Remember how I made Hercules suffer? I’ve got something even more exciting for you if you cross me. Just saying!

To: Hera

From: Hades

Subject: re: New Director for the Sexy Sins Retreat

Bitch!

To: Hades

From: Hera

Subject: re: New Director for the Sexy Sins Retreat

Charmer!

1

TATE

Am I dead?

Those are the first words out of my mouth after I land flat on my ass in a throne room. At least, I think it’s a throne room. One minute, I was hovering above my comatose body, hoping the angel of death would actually look like Joe Black—yes I have a Brad Pitt fetish. The next, I was plucked out of the room and deposited here. Still dressed in my haute couture hospital gown, I might add. *sigh* Yeah, that’s exactly how I want to be dressed when I make my appearance at the pearly gates. Wait—pain and nausea grip my middle. So, not the pearly gates. My head swims, and I keep it bowed while I take inventory.

I pinch my arm . . . Ouch. Okay, I have corporeal presence. Visions of the tornado in The Wizard of Oz drift through my mind. Not the pearly gates. Not Kansas. Oz is also highly unlikely. Then where the hell am I? I turn in a circle and find my bearings in the iridescent eyes of a stunning woman sitting on an ornate chair. Her flowing gown shimmers as she raises her arm. A second later, a blanket wraps around my shoulders. I tug it across my front, suddenly aware that I’m freezing. At least I’m not in hell . . . I doubt they have manners there.

No child, you are not dead. You’ve been chosen for a special mission. We don’t have much time before the transition sickness takes hold. Please listen carefully. My name is Hera, and I’m Queen of the Olympian gods.

Where am I? I don’t care who she is, and this nausea is making me more than a little salty. If she thinks I’m going to sit here quietly and just take whatever she’s dishing out, she’s got another thought coming.

I open my mouth to speak . . . and can’t. The mouth opens, but not a sound comes out. What the fuck? I glare up at Hera. She graces me with a guess-who’s-in-charge smile.

You are in Bardo.

I give her the stink eye. I studied the classics in university, and I know that, as queen of the gods, she has few redeeming qualities.

She looks down at me and smiles. Don’t believe everything you hear. I’m sure I have many good traits.

Name two.

You’d do well to watch that mouth of yours. I’ve killed for less.

So, she reads minds. Great.

Bardo is the realm between realms. Welcome. This will be quick because we have very little time before the ascension cold fever takes over. Right now, your earthly body lies in a coma, allowing you to do the work we need. You will take over as director at one of our schools for one of your Earth months.

Delight battles pain as I realize what she’s saying. If this is the afterlife, I can find out what happened to my husband, Bob. Find out if our love was so pure that he’s gone on to another life. My heart hammers with fear and hope. Maybe, just maybe. My teeth chatter so hard I’m scared they’ll chip, but I manage to stammer out the words.

Is my husband here?

Yes. He’s here doing the work he needs to do.

My heart does a happy dance, dampened by this damned sickness that’s overtaking me. I need to see him.

Child, I’m going to speak in your vernacular. Refuse to do this work for us, and we’ll pop your ass right back in your body where you can wait another fifty years to see your beloved Bob. Or, do the work you’re chosen for and spend the rest of eternity with him.

Well, that was clear.

At least I know how to run a college. But you can’t solve organizational problems in a month. Definitely not. Nothing much gets done in the first ninety days if any manager worth her salt is doing the job properly.

And if this examination center of yours isn’t in order in a month? I so want to give her the stink eye again, but she’s just so damned intimidating. Everything about her screams, Don’t fuck with me. It’s insane that Zeus was able to fuck around on her and live to tell the tale.

Hera showers me with a triumphant smile. I have every confidence that with the examiners’ help, you’ll set things right at the Sexy Sins Retreat.

And speaking of all things weird, who on earth picked such a cheesy name? I mean, really. Of course, then again I’m talking about an entity that marries her brother who, in turn, cheats on her—

The pain ratchets up a notch.

You’d do wise to park that attitude of yours up here.

More mind reading. Awesome.

I don’t need to read minds when looking at a face as expressive as yours. The name was my idea, and I certainly hope one of the lessons you’ll learn is to be far less judgmental.

By now, the pain and nausea are so bad I can barely breathe. I. Am. Not. Judgmental.

Ah, the ascension cold fever has set in. You’ll need that taken care of. Once you’re over the transition symptoms, the examiners will orient you to your role. Good luck, child. Hera stands and disappears in a flash of light. I lie huddled in a muddled mass of misery.

Wait. But . . . but all I can do is hold my head as a severe headache hits and intense cold racks my body. Then, I’m in the air and snuggled against a large, warm body. Heat.

I look up and catch a glimpse of brunette curls framing the most beautiful and familiar face. My mind searches for a thought it can’t find—only pain and the need to get rid of it exists. Hera’s voice, real or imagined, echoes in my brain.

One last piece of advice, child, things here are not always what they appear to be. Follow your heart, and all will become clear.

2

ROBERT MORRISON

My bracelet buzzes, and I put down my coffee to make my way to the portal. Another apprentice needs to ascend from Earth, and I just happen to be the lucky guy who got the job of angel of death. I look at the half-full mug longingly, considering bringing it along. It was a brutal night at the examination center. Total chaos. But I decide to be professional and hurry to the portal instead.

Just as I was about to step through to the earthly realm, Hera summoned me. In fact, she summoned four of us, the examiners: Francis Fraser, Nameless, Caleb Murphy, and me, Robert Morrison. It’s our job as examiners to assess accidental-near-deaths to find out whether they’re ready to enter Bardo or need to return to their earthly life. But, for some reason, this apprentice is different, and when Hera calls, we answer. Not that we have any choice; she’d just snatch our asses, and we’d pay for the delay.

As you’re aware, we have a new apprentice dropping today, Hera said. We’ve ascertained that this one meets our search criteria for director of the examination center.

Just our luck, another of your fuck-ups, Nameless mutters, so low I almost don’t catch it. But, of course, Hera does and turns her formidable gaze on him. That man just never learns.

You really are skating on thin ice, Nameless. But perhaps you’d rather rot with Hades in the Underworld. Hera lifts her hand.

Nameless quickly bows although none too humbly. Sorry. It won’t happen again, he says and sinks back into his own private funk. Silly demon. He isn’t much different here than he was in life. Lucky me for having unfinished business with him in the hereafter.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, we’re not sure how bad it will be, but Tate is at risk for a severe case of ascension cold, Hera says.

I’m on my feet before my brain registers the movement. Tate, my Tate? She’s coming?

Hera turns her gaze to me. "Calm down, Robert. This is not your Tate. This is someone named Tate, and she’ll need your healing breath and Caleb’s heat to bring her through. Athena expects it will be about a week before she’s recovered."

A gut-punch of disappointment knocks me back in my seat. A week of breathing? That’s going to take a lot out of me. Especially with some random stranger. I stare at Hera without expecting any sympathy. That goddess has one cold heart. I wait for the sermon about doing my job and the requirements in Bardo, but, surprise, surprise, she actually smiles at me and softens her voice.

Told you you were her favorite, Nameless grumbles.

Suck it up. I can’t say I’m displeased. There’s room for a bit of ego in Bardo. Hera’s smile turns to a frown faster than a blink. I hide my pleased smile and wait. Hera never lets anything go.

Fortunately for you, she’s an empath. She didn’t make good use of her gifts on Earth, but they’ll do her well here. Basically, you’ll both be in a position to heal each other.

How?

Hera’s smile deepens. You’ll find a way.

If I were prone to blushing, I would now.

Caleb bounces in his chair. Do we get to bop her?

Hera gives him her amused smile. "If by bop you mean have sex, that will be entirely up to Tate. That being said, she’s here to do a job, and that comes first. I hope I’m making myself perfectly clear."

Perfectly. Caleb bows his head, probably not so much out of respect as out of the need to hide his joy. Caleb is one horny bastard who doesn’t make any secret about his prime directive. But then again, maybe that’s how it goes with werewolves. As immature as he seems, given his vast age, I can’t help but like his boyish enthusiasm and all-around good humor. He and Francis are practically inseparable.

You said we’d find Gianna, Highness. Will this one bring us any closer? Francis, our strong, silent vampire, funneled his skills and gifts into one thing, finding his destined mate. Blood exchange during sex fuels his ether, the purest type of energy or essence, and his is fading . . . fast. It’s been two centuries since he got laid, and he refuses to be with anyone but his beloved Gianna. Silly man. Not that I should talk. It’s been six months since I last saw my Tate and a year and a half since we last had sex. I shake off the thought and turn my attention back to Hera.

One last thing, Aphrodite has cast a cloaking spell on all of you. You are visually unrecognizable to your destined mates and blocked from revealing identifying information. Time enough to continue your search for them when the school’s back in order.

Unacceptable, Francis says.

How long will that take? Caleb always looks for a bright side.

Great, just fucking great. Nameless, on the other hand, rarely cracks a smile.

There’s always a way to break a spell. I can’t help myself. That’s the way my mind works. Hera graces me with another of her magic smiles.

Yes, there is. There is, indeed.

She gives a royal wave of her hand and disappears. We gather around Francis, and in the blink of an eye, he transports us back to the residence.

That’s how this Tate came to be lying in my arms seized with spasms of pain. Something about her pulls at me, but there’s no time to lose pondering that if we’re to save her from oblivion. Ascension cold isn’t pretty. Those afflicted suffer severe headache, burning cold, and spasms, each of which would weaken her corporeal being that’s still lying in a coma back on Earth. Hera seems confident we can save her, but I don’t envy either of us as she suffers through the symptoms, even with what healing breath I can give without losing my own essence. There’s no use whining, though. There’s something different about this one, or Hera wouldn’t have intervened.

I rush Tate to our private quarters at the Sexy Sins Retreat. The woman in my arms shudders before another spasm takes hold. She has the worst case of ascension cold I’ve ever seen, which means she’s one of the gifted humans. She’d have to be for Hera and Athena to approve of her as the new director. But, there’s one thing particularly peculiar about this one—she’s not dead yet. And, if we’re following the usual