Sample Chapter – THE DARK LANDS
Dear Readers,
I’m super excited to share chapter one of THE DARK LANDS with you!!! For those of you familiar with my work, you may have noticed that you can’t always (or perhaps ever) tell what the books are really about from the back cover copy. For THE DARK LANDS, you know Walker is in trouble, but not much else. Well, here’s your sneak preview of all things DARK LANDS! The full title launches in late September on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, iBooks, and GooglePlay.
Christina
THE DARK LANDS
Angelbound Origins Book 5
Chapter One
Worms.
Why does it have to be worms?
Purgatory hosts farms for cows, puppies, chickens, and—my personal favorite—baby goats. So why am I trudging through my homeland’s biggest farm for worms at this very moment?
Because my honorary older brother Walker asked me to.
Plus, Walker’s a ghoul and his kind love worms. Long story.
Gray clouds hang overhead. Neat rows of dirt stretch off in every direction, forming a landscape that reminds me of brown corduroy. The tangy scent of fresh earth fills the air. For Purgatory this is a pretty nice day, weather-wise. At least it’s not raining.
Walker and I trudge along a cobblestone path toward a distant farmhouse. Our goal for the morning? Visit that house, meet some quasi demons (folks who are part-human and part-demon like me) and then … Something something something something.
In other words, Walker’s being very sketchypants about the whole deal, to which I say: Meh.
Since I’m a supernatural being called the Great Scala—not to mention the Queen of the demon-fighting thrax—I do tons of official visits. Or in this case, an unofficial surprise visit at Walker’s request. No doubt, once the surprise part is over, things will revert to pretty standard stuff.
Shake hands.
Force smiles.
Pose for a group photo.
No biggie.
Then something unexpected happens. Walker lags behind me. The guy with mile-long legs and a constitution of iron actually limps along the cobblestone path.
Huh.
I pause.
Stare.
Do a double take.
Stare some more.
Nope, I’m not seeing things. Walker’s limping. Even worse, the sharp angles of his face pull tight with pain.
A chill of dread crawls up my neck. Walker has the magical power to self-heal. As far as I know, only Walker and his forebear, the archangel Aquila, have this ability. So why is Walker limping and in pain? He recovers from almost any injury with lightning speed.
I adjust my pace so Walker and I step in sync once more. My honorary older brother looks tall and pale in his long black ghoul robes. His hair is styled in a perma brush-cut with sideburns. It’s the same look Walker had when his mortal form passed away sometime in his mid-twenties. By contrast, I’m an eighteen-year-old chick with lots of curves, amber skin, long auburn hair, and a tail. The two of us don’t scream honorary brother and sister, but we make it work.
And did I mention that Walker never limps? He doesn’t.
“What’s wrong with your leg?” I ask.
Walker’s shoulders tighten ever so slightly. He’s bracing himself for something. That sets off my internal danger alarms because nothing worries Walker. In fact, I’ve seen my honorary older brother face down the dreaded Mordere, a demon that combines the worst of a humanoid vampire bat with the best in poisonous porcupine quill action. Fighting a Mordere should cause a nervous twitch or two at a minimum. But Walker? The guy didn’t so much as flinch. Then Mister Cool took that Mordere down in two minutes flat.
All of which adds up to one conclusion. Whatever’s bothering Walker today, it’s serious business.
“What happened to my leg indeed?” intones Walker at last. As always, his voice is deep and resonant. “That’s not easy to answer.”
My mind quickly sorts through recent Walker-related news. One item stands out in huge neon letters. “Mom said you had some trouble in downtown Purgatory. Is that when you got injured?”
For the record, I hate that Walker trucks around Purgatory without a guard. Why? Most of my people hate ghouls. Walkers a great warrior, but he’s just one guy.
“When did your mother say such a thing?” asks Walker.
“This morning when I dropped off Maxon.”
“Ah, and how is your sweet baby?”
“Giggly. Adorable. Perfect.” I wag my finger at him. “Don’t change the subject.”
Walker shakes his head. “Your mother shouldn’t worry. Neither should you, for that matter.”
“I know you, buddy. That’s your way of saying, yes Myla, my recent visit to Purgatory is exactly when I got injured. Care to elaborate?”
Walker gives me the side eye. “I visited downtown Purgatory to discover certain information. My trip wasn’t successful. When I first arrived, I was attacked.”
Attacked? Walker? Pure rage courses through my veins. “Who hurt you?”
“They came at me from behind, so I have no idea. My leg was injured during the altercation, but I will soon heal. End of story.”
End of story, my ass. Walker knows waaaaaaay more than he’s telling me.
I pause along the path. “Does this fight have anything to do with why you dragged me to a worm farm today?”
Walker stops as well. “Maybe.”
“That’s all I’m getting? Maybe? How about some details for your honorary younger sister and official Great Scala?”
That’s only my partial resume listing, by the way. I’m also married to Lincoln (aka the King of the Thrax and an all around awesome dude) and the happy mom to baby Maxon. I leave those parts out though. As the Great Scala, I’m the only being who can transport souls to Heaven or Hell. Normally, emphasizing that gets me whatever I want. To make my point extra clear, I gesture across my outfit—a white sheath dress that serves as my official Scala robes.
Walker follows my arm movement, but makes no reply. Sadness rolls off my friend in waves.
Yipes.
“Seriously,” I state. “What’s going on?”
Stepping in front of me, Walker grips my shoulders. With this move, my tail perks up. All quasis have one; mine is long, black, and covered in dragon scales. For the record, my tail doesn’t care that Walker is Mister Miserable today. All it knows is that someone’s giving me attention, and that interest should be focused elsewhere. Namely on my tail.
Any other day, I’d give my tail some lip about being an attention hog, but Walker has me too worried for regular levels of sass.
Walker’s large, soulful, and all-black eyes lock onto my gaze. “I’ve tried to tell you before,” he says, his voice rasping with grief. “It’s so hard.”
Before a little chill had been working its way up my neck. Now that sensation transforms into a full-on body freeze of fear. “You’re scaring me.”
“It’s been my privilege to help raise you,” says Walker, his tone still rough. “I want you to know that.”
I frown. “Still scaring me.”
“I was born part archangel,” continues Walker. He speaks with the careful rhythm of someone who’s practiced this speech many times. “When I became a ghoul after death, it should’ve limited my afterlife. Ghouls didn’t attend Heaven’s Citadel for warrior training. In fact, my older brother Drayden was the first ghoul ever accepted.”
“He sounds like a great guy.” And I mean it. The way Walker speaks of his brother, Drayden was a super ghoul or something.
“After Drayden died, your father brought me to the Citadel leaders and laid down the law.” Walker lifts his voice into a dead-on impersonation. “I’m the General of the Angelic Army, your father said. This man is Drayden’s brother. He gets trained.”
“That sounds like Dad, all right.” When my father makes up his mind on something, you have two choices: get out of his way … or get out of his way, fast.
“Without your father’s help, I’d never have become an angelic warrior. To this day, I live by the sacred values of his Angelic Army: honor, service, and sacrifice.”
I can only repeat that last word. “Sacrifice?”
Walker lifts his chin. “Yes.”
Oh, no.
“Hey, I’ve watched my share of movies on the Human Channel. No question what you’re up to here. This is a hero speech. It happens right before the good guy does something like…” I wave my hands, trying to find the words. “I’ve got it.” I snap my fingers. “Like fly his fighter jet slap-bang into an enemy battle cruiser. BOOM!” My pulse speeds. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
A sad smile rounds Walker’s mouth. “This is indeed a variety of hero speech.”
Panic shoots down my spine. My mouth starts moving on its own. “No way. Nuh-uh. You’re not flying your figurative fighter jet into someone else’s battleship. That whole concept stops right now. Share what’s up and spare no details. We’ll figure something out.” I point to the earth. “Your aircraft is grounded, buddy.”
“Not this time,” says Walker slowly. His gaze turns even more intense. “I can’t yet give you the information you seek. The most I can do is make a specific request.”
Every cell in my body wants to force Walker into blabbing every detail of his problem, pronto. Maybe I could wrestle him down with a sleeper hold. Anything’s better than allowing him to finish his hero speech.
Walker’s eyes fill with despair. “Please, Myla.”
Hells bells. That does it.
I’m a total sucker for Walker when he goes all big-eyed and says please. Nodding, I grip my hands behind my back. That way, I’m less tempted to pull Walker into the aforementioned sleeper hold.
“Go on,” I say.
“It took me ages to complete my training at the Citadel,” says Walker. “After I graduated, your father told me about his deal with Armageddon, the King of Hell. In exchange for your mother’s safety, Xavier had agreed to spend eternity as Armageddon’s prisoner.”
At this point, Walker has my rapt attention. Indeed, Dad agreed to spend forever in Hell for Mom; Walker said he’d watch over her. But then comes my favorite part, aka the big battle where I kick Armageddon’s ass, release Dad from Hell, and—as an extra bonus—free all Purgatory from ghoul rule. Just thinking about it makes me smile.
That was a good day.
Even so, neither my father nor Walker ever shared all the details about how they first connected. Whenever I ask Dad, he gets choked up and changes the subject. As for Walker, he always says he won’t say everything unless he has no other choice. That seemed cryptic for an answer, but I figured Walker would blab when he was ready.
I guess that moment is now.
“Xavier asked me to shoulder a great responsibility for him,” says Walker. “He requested I watch over your mother. Since I owed your father such a massive debt, I readily agreed. Then Xavier was taken by Armageddon.” A flinty look of rage enters Walker’s eyes. Armageddon spent years torturing my father. “Afterward, your mother announced she was pregnant. And you arrived.”
Knowing Walker all my life, I understand how his mind works. All of a sudden, it’s super clear why he saved up this story for today. Walker needs help. And based on this long lead up, Walker needs assistance of the big-ass variety.
“Now, it’s my turn to make a large request,” says Walker. “Only I don’t know where to begin. This situation has arisen rather quickly.”
“Look, you’ve watched over me since before I was born. I owe you a great debt too. Ask me anything. Let it out.”
I cross my fingers behind my back. Only, don’t disappear like Dad did. Growing up without a father was the pits. I don’t want to lose my honorary older brother as well.
Walker’s mouth thins to a determined line. “I require your assistance on something. After that, I must leave you. Forever.”
With that, one thought echoes through my head.
Fuck fuck fuckity FUCK fuck.
—End of Sample Chapter—
THE DARK LANDS Launches Sept 25, 2018
Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/yat2eajn
iBooks: https://tinyurl.com/yb3kpzm8
Barnes & Noble: https://tinyurl.com/y8zrn43o
Kobo: https://tinyurl.com/y87qdnm8
GooglePlay: https://tinyurl.com/ybtfq6so
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