Hey, everybody, I could use your help. In my last post, I told you all about the book Ree and I published. If any of you bought it (it's $2.99), would you be willing to write a review on Amazon and to maybe mention it in your own journals? If so, please use the link, since there's at least one other book with the same title. Sorry about all this, but I haven't been able to find a good way to advertise.
Here's the link:
http://www.amazon.com/Angel-Moon-Zone-13-ebook/dp/B0088NS4I6/ref=sr_1_25?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1338852898&sr=1-25 If you don't have a kindle, this link will take you to a free PC kindle reading app so you can read it on your computer:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html/ref=kcp_pc_mkt_lnd?docId=1000426311 Here's the part of the story that Amazon offers as a sample:
She was a pretty little thing. Golden brown hair with just a hint of red and a bit of a curl to it hung down a little past her jaw. Her complexion was clear, but she lacked the plastic Barbie perfection of Hollywood, and while he could see much of her skin, she didn't ooze the desperate sexuality of the painted pretties selling themselves across the street. She was.... wholesome.
She was sheaves of wheat gently swaying in the breeze, an untamed meadow blooming under the spring sun, a warm, freshly baked apple pie cooling on the windowsill on a summer afternoon. She was everything he thought someone from one of the higher planes should be. The pale, buttery yellow wings invoked the whimsical image of her feathers spread neatly along a slice of fresh bread.
He had come for the whores, planning to kill them for his master as soon as the incubus strutting amongst them was picked up. He didn't fear the lust demon, but he knew such a creature would put up a fight. He preferred his prey helpless and afraid. Like the wholesome little angel.
He would save the tarts for another time. He had killed enough for his master for now, harvesting terrified little souls for him to play with. Tonight would be for himself. Tonight, he would have pie.
~*~*~*~
The night streets were cold and dangerous, shouts and screams blending with the distant wails of sirens and the not-so-distant cajoling of the streetwalkers to create a symphony of desperation and despair. It wasn't unusual to witness at least one or two violent crimes a night in this part of town, and all but the most peaceful of beings carried a weapon or had some other way of defending themselves.
Rena had no weapon or way to defend herself.
Despite that, she wasn't afraid. Her large, feathery wings clearly marked her as a visitor from one of the higher planes, and very few base planers would dare lay a hand on her out of fear of heavenly retribution. She wasn't a true angel - true angels had no set physical form and were immeasurably powerful - but "angel" was what the beings of the base plane tended to call the higher planers, and it had stuck.
While the danger of the night didn't touch her, the cold did. She hugged herself, rubbing her hands along her upper arms for warmth. The toga-like wrap garment that was the traditional attire for this kind of job somehow managed to be modest, but it didn't offer much in the way of protection from the cold. The glance she cast towards the scantily clad prostitutes - even the incubus dressed in a mesh shirt and tight leather pants that left little to the imagination - had more to do with sympathy than dismay at how close they were to the church that had been her access point to the base realm.
While she wasn't a Biblical angel, her kind had a strong connection to churches, the prayers and needs of the faithful calling them down to the base realm. She couldn't strike down armies or wield a flaming sword in the protection of the innocent, but she did have power. She could spread joy simply by being near those who needed it.
That's why she was walking the night streets of the bad part of Zone 13. A local pastor had prayed for the family she was on her way to visit, asking for a little joy to be brought to their lives. That heartfelt prayer had opened a way into the plane of joy, and she had been sent through.
She entered a more residential area and turned down a small side street, slowing as she approached the house where the night's assignment lived. That poor family.... The "house" looked more a large, rusty shed that only stood upright because it hadn't realized yet that falling over was an option.
The door opened, and Rena darted to the side of the house, hiding in the shadows as a middle aged man exited. It was the pastor whose prayer had brought her here. He must have been praying for the family before visiting them. His name was Daniel Hunt, and she'd seen him on many of her assignments. He was a good man, watching over his people and trying to help them through the hard times.
His visit should make my work easier, she thought, leaning against the building. And I need all the help I can get.
It hadn't always been that way. While she wasn't one of the more powerful denizens of the plane of joy - they had bright canary yellow feathers while her own were a pale buttery color - she had once been able to extend her aura out to fill the average sized house. Now... well, now it was a good thing that the family she was here to help lived in such a small house. It was hard to project joy to others when she had so little left within herself.
And thinking about the past isn't going to make anything better, least of all for this family, she thought with a sigh as she willed her aura of joy to spread and fill the house. It was a gentle power, slowly seeping into the young woman, little girl, and baby boy inside the ramshackle building. She kept still and silent, not wanting to waste any of the energy she needed to maintain her power. It would take some time to help this family.
She closed her eyes, still focused on her task, and couldn't help remembering what her boss had said about this family. They had started young, the now husband and wife losing themselves in a moment of passion when he was seventeen and she sixteen. Their daughter was born - full term - only five months after the rushed wedding.
With their parents' help, the couple had finished high school, but neither had gone on to college or had any kind of career training. They had had to work hard - she at two different fast food places and he in retail and a gas station - to even afford the run down shack they called home. Currently, the wife was on maternity leave and the husband in the hospital after being shot during a robbery at the gas station. He would live, but the healing process would be slow and hard.
Rena had worked with several families doing this badly or even worse, but this particular one... her heart ached for them more than for any other, even as she felt a flash of jealousy. Their parents and community had helped as much as they could. They hadn't been shunned. Hadn't been driven to....
She took a deep breath as her aura faltered and forced herself to focus. She wondered if she'd been sent to help as a reminder of what a moment of letting passion rule over reason could lead to, or if it was because she could understand and sympathize.
All it takes is one night.... one moment... one stupid mistake. Unbidden, Naomi's face floated into her thoughts. Her puzzled delight at seeing her family waiting for her to return from the base plane changing to horror and despair as most of them literally turned their backs on her. Rena had reached out for her, but she had been grabbed and pulled away just as Naomi was dragged back to the access point, her wings brutally torn off before she was exiled to the base plane.
She fell to her knees with a muffled sob, her aura practically nonexistent. She bowed her head and prayed as tears slid down her cheeks. She prayed for the strength to finish her assignment.
Gradually, a measure of peace came to her. Her heart still ached fiercely, but she felt like she could continue. She took another deep breath and flared her aura, letting it fill the tiny house once more.
The sadness inside slowly began to lift. By the time they were all ready for bed, sorrow had been tempered with joy. Their family was still whole, and the community would be there for them, helping them through their time of need. And all that would be asked for in return was that the family help others when they could.
Okay, time to head back. She got to her feet, glancing through the window before she made her way back to the street. Keep your spirits up. It will be okay.
She made her way back down the streets, towards the church she had used to enter the base plane. Her thoughts were so focused on the past, she didn't notice the blood until she stepped in it, her sandals losing traction. She fell forward, landing on something strange and lumpy. Her hand sank into something.... squishy.
For one blissful moment, her mind refused to comprehend what she'd fallen on. Then she recognized what was left of a face. A familiar face. With a horrified whimper, she threw herself backwards, yanking her hand out of Pastor Hunt's exposed entrails. There were pieces of him everywhere, but it didn't seem like enough to make up the entire body.
A wolf howled, and she had to clamp her hands over her mouth to muffle a shriek of terror. The pastor's blood smeared all over her face, and she barely got to her knees in time to throw up. Th-there are lots of werewolves in the zone. It doesn't mean...Maybe it's farther away than it seems. The howl sounded again, this time unmistakably coming from nearby.
There was the click of claws on concrete as something emerged from the closest alley. The wolf's silvery fur was splattered with blood, its crazed golden eyes seeming to glow with a malevolent inner light. Ivory fangs dripped dark liquid onto the sidewalk as it stared at her.
Run.
Before thought could become action, the wolf was on her. She was slammed to the ground by a crushing weight, claws ripping through her flesh, hot breath on her skin followed by the agony of fangs. She gagged as something slid down her throat. She wondered if she'd bitten off part of her tongue, the pain lost within all the rest. She could feel her blood, her life, flowing out of her....
Then there was shouting, a loud bang, and jaws buried in her flesh parted. The weight lifted, but still she couldn't move. Someone knelt by her side, spoke to her. The words should have been familiar, but she couldn't pick them out. A dark face framed by pale hair filled her vision for a moment, followed by a strange sensation. A strange need - a burning lust - for life suddenly filled her.
She clung to it as darkness claimed her.
~*~*~*~
Consciousness slowly returned, her mind prodded into wakefulness by the dull, throbbing ache of her body. Softness cradled her, the vague sensations resolving into a mattress and pillow beneath her and a sheet and blanket draped over her. For one confused, blissful moment, she thought she was home, tucked safely in her own bed. Then she realized that the bed felt different, that the room smelled different.
Where am I? Why do I hurt so much? She tried to bolt up into a sitting position, but had to stop and lay back as she was overcome with nausea. Slow, deep breaths helped to keep it in check. As she laid there in the dark, she remembered finding Pastor Hunt's body and the vicious attack. She tried to convince herself it had been a terrible dream. If it had happened, she should be in a lot more pain. Or dead. Like Pastor Hunt....
She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears. There was no way she could have dreamed such a horrible thing happening to such a good man. He's with God and the true angels now. And I... I'm wherever I am.
She tried sitting up again - this time more carefully - and was successful. A quick glance about the darkened room revealed a digital clock on the wall that posed more questions than it answered. According to the glowing numbers and letters, it had either been a year since the attack, or a single day. Neither option seemed very plausible. Unless... Her train of thought was derailed by sudden, intense hunger.
Well, answers - and food - aren't going to just come to me if I sit on my butt in a strange room. Keeping her movements slow and cautious, she was able to stand up and wrap the sheet around her nude form. She crept to the door and opened it, jerking back in surprise at the sight of the man filling the doorway. The sudden movement set off her nausea, and she vomited all over his expensive looking shoes.
"That was classy," the man said dryly.
"I-I am so sorry," Rena stammered, flushing with embarrassment. She felt even worse when she noticed he was carrying a tray. The man had been doing her the kindness of bringing her something to eat, and she had ruined his shoes. The inane thought that both answers and food apparently would have come to her while sitting on her butt in a strange room flitted through her head.
"Don't worry about it," the man said dismissively. "You have a name, I assume?"
"Rena," she introduced herself.
"Well, Rena, you should get back in bed."
Since she was still feeling nauseated as well as a bit dizzy, she had to agree with him about that. She got back into the bed, studying the man as he set the tray on her lap. He was tall, with deathly pale skin and messy brown hair a shade or two darker than her own. She vaguely remembered someone coming to her rescue, but she could have sworn he had had the opposite coloring.
"Who-"
"Eat," the man said, cutting her off, "and I'll answer your questions."
She obediently turned to the tray, her eyes widening in dismay at the type and amount of food. The pancakes and toast were okay, and the scrambled eggs would have been fine if there hadn't practically been a mountain of them. The rest though....
"I'm sorry, I don't eat me-" The scent of the food hit her, and before she could even finish the word, she was ravenously devouring her meal, including the massive amounts of ham, sausage, and bacon. She ate every last crumb of food, even licking the syrupy remains from the pancake plate.
"Werewolves have to eat a lot, especially when healing, and most of that has to be meat."