Goddesses, Gods and Warrior Angels

I'm writing in a different genre, far from my historical dramas - an urban fantasy in first person POV. It's a challenge to change directions, but it's exhilirating and has so far, been a blast. It's amazing the research that goes behind this story of mine, especially mythology and esoteric philosophies. It's as intensive as my historicals. Can't seem to get away from it. *grin*

My protagonist is a priestess with a secret. My antagonist is an angel with a secret. There wouldn't be a good story without conflict, so hence, all the secrets! Keeping the secrets straight is my job, but sometimes, my characters take a u-turn or else travel down a different path. I had a writer ask me once what I did when my characters veered from my story. I reel them in and forcibly make them tread on the path I've created for them. After all, I'm in charge of the story - at least - I like to have this illusion that I'm in control.

In the Shadow of the Goddess, unedited excerpt (subject to change!), Vicki Gaia, copyright, 2008:

Across the bay, the Golden Gate's trestles flickered orange-red from behind gray mist. A cold picture of orange-red steel illuminated by the full moon and street lamps. Strange were the black mass of ravens clustered around the bridge struts. I pulled at the collar of my thick wool sweater, a deep black mass of fear overwhelming my confidence.

Tendrils of fog rose up the cliffs like clinging ivy. Any moment I'd be shrouded in damp, dreary mist, blotting out the twinkling lights of the city. I prayed this wasn't an omen of things to come.

The overhead branches rustled and the angel stepped out from the shadows. My neck cramped from looking up. Long disheveled hair glittered silver in the moonlight, dusting his shoulders, creating a cobweb of tangles. A face ageless and beautiful, and ravaged by eternity.

“The ravens lining the bridge struts failed to herald your entrance.” I said, using my sarcasm to sharpen my wit.

The angel bowed, his arm sweeping in an arch. "Your goddess sends her most trusted servant to meet with me. I'm honored."

"I'm no servant, and you asked for me." I spit out the words through clenched teeth, the angel's terrifying beauty blinding. "Why did you ask for this meeting?"

"Information, of course."

The angel's insufferable white toothed smile provoked me. Angels weren't fluffy sweet cherubs strumming their harps in the sky. By nature, they were dangerous and cunning and shrewd.

He sniffed the air and the atmosphere thickened. An angel's perfection was well known, but this one different, somehow. It showed in the hollow depth of his cheekbones, his eyes and tight mouth. Only for a fraction. But it was enough for me to sense his wariness. A feathery tinge in my stomach warned to be alert. An inner alarm I never ignored.

This angel was special. Very special. So special it make my blood curl.