Tethered redemption, p.1
Tethered Redemption, page 1
Tethered Redemption
Phoebe Wolfe
Tethered Redemption © 2022 Phoebe Wolfe
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
I've single handedly destroyed hundreds of demons to defend our cause. . . and now I'm falling for one.
I'm Vero, champion of Heaven's last great battle against Hell. Only remaining pupil of the archangel, Michael. For fifty years I've protected my people, other unfortunate Earthbound angels, from soulless zombies and furious demons who've taken over Earth after the pearly gates were slammed closed with us on the outside.
But everything changes when a cocky, arrogant demon named Akmon shows up outside our stronghold. I mistake him for an angel and save his life, creating a magical debt-bond between us. The demon is forced to stay by my side until he repays the favor. . .but he has other plans.
Akmon abducts me to solve our debt-bond problem his own way.
Between running from demons who want to kill me to free Akmon from his debt, and uncovering his dark past that obligates me to kill him, I find I'm helpless to the attraction simmering between me and the silver-tongued demon.
His devilish wiles and inescapable beauty - after all, he was the demon to seduce Eve- begins to blur my ability to distinguish the line between 'light' and 'dark'. I'm falling for Akmon. . .even though that means forfeiting my soul.
And when a familiar face from my past crops up to reveal the shocking truth about Heaven’s gates —a truth that will destroy angel, demon, and zombie, alike—I will do anything to ensure our salvation. . .including destroying everything that I used to hold dear.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Want Something Short And Steamy?
Want To Know More About Me?
Afterword
Chapter 1
Veroseline
“Eternity wasn’t supposed to be this uncomfortable,” I grouched from my hiding place.
Any moment now zombies would close in on Resvener, the earthbound angel stronghold.
My empty stomach flopped in the worst way. The calm cadence of my breath dwindled to smaller, faster gasps. My eyes burned and my strength flagged. I dared not blink my eyelids too slowly for fear that I might doze off and missed the whole undead invasion.
Still, I couldn’t help closing one eye and then the other, leaning my cheek against my arm as I waited. I was nauseous from lack of sleep. My fifteen-hour guard shift had only just ended when the tower bell chimed, alerting Resvener’s sole protector that there was unnatural movement in the trees. That protector was me, Veroseline, champion of the battle for St. Peter’s Gate and I was feeling less than adequate for the job.
Pungent aromas of sickly-sweet cadaver perfumed the air, hitting me like a brick in the face. I snapped my head back up.
“Finally. There you are,” I said. “Let’s get this over with so I don’t have to spend the night in this bush.”
My chest squeezed in anticipation. It shouldn’t have. I’d been doing undead dispatch work since the zombies first started showing up ten years ago. That was a black day. One bite was all it took to make an angel severely sick. Dead, if they ate enough of you. And I was bone tired. Who could blame me for being a little skittish?
Relax, Vee. Being too tense can affect your ability to fight effectively.
The voice in my head was not mine but rather a distant shadow of a memory that was Michael, Heaven’s top Archangel general. He’d been my most trusted mentor throughout the war between Heaven and Hell.
How can you fight if you have all the presence of a plank of wood? Imaginary Michael went on, clucking his disappointment in my head. Close your eyes for a moment. Picture a candle. I knew what was coming, Michael would always say this after landing a “fatal blow” during our sparring sessions. The familiar words were branded on nearly all my memories of him. Push all your trepidation into the eternal flame. Let your misgivings burn away to nothing. Now there, don’t you feel better?
I always lied to him and said I did, even though it seriously sucked demon horns to lose to him over and over.
Good! He’d say next. Now, focus. Stand up straight. Prepare yourself for the next attack because make no mistake, it will come. And you have only two options: be ready to die or be ready to win.
I touched Tetula, the rusted, relic cross necklace hanging low beneath my gown. I thought of the night when my world changed forever. When he’d given Tetula to me in exchange for a stolen kiss, before his reported death hours later. The kiss didn’t mean as much to me now as it did back then, but the ache left in my heart from his sudden disappearance still stung after all this time.
Pushing it from my mind, I dropped my tight shoulders away from my ears, obeying the memory’s commands as if my mentor was next to me now—even though I knew he never would be again.
“Just do what needs doing, so you can get some sleep before your next shift,” I muttered, pinching the skin on my cheeks to keep me alert. Now that I was taking notice, my body complained. I was wound tighter than a Cherubim’s bowstring from crouching in one spot for two hours. Uncomfortable by anyone angel’s standards, but this particular shrub also happened to be infested with thorns. Sharp needle-like spikes gnarled themselves into my long white hair just below my halo, which I kept permanently out of sight to reserve my angelic energy. . .and because it looked tacky.
Dragging my knees to my chin and curling into a defensive ball hadn’t helped me avoid the itchy cuts and scrapes. This was made even worse because I knew if I could see blood, the zombies could smell it.
Movement rustled just beyond the wide clearing that was the rendezvous point for me to defeat the zombies, two miles away from Resvener’s energy barrier. I’d hoped to meet them far enough away that the angel’s could still get away if I failed. I was the last defense they had. The only Specialist angel left from the war.
Pulling away the foliage to get a better look, I blinked sweat out of my eyes. The climbing heat of summer over the hills was hitting hard and I wheezed as if I was breathing through a hot, wet rag. The beads of sweat dripped down my neck onto my collarbone and drifted between my breasts.
Gross. Underboob sweat.
That had never been a problem in Heaven, where the air was perfectly cool and sweet, and for this reason, many angels detested hot, sticky climates. Previrus Seattle wasn’t known for heat, but after the fiery battle for earth fifty years ago, now-a-days the landscape was unreasonably warm with very little cloud coverage.
One after another, the zombies became visible. Yellow-green skin and filmy, vacant expressions were the major distinguishing characteristics of the undead, but some looked more put together than others. While many zombies had missing or lame limbs, a lucky few had caught the virus before having been subjected to the horror of being eaten alive.
My foes exited the tree line onto the rising swell of a hill. I was at the top, an advantage in fighting sizeable groups. The undead creatures limped and salivated all over themselves, possibly at the thought of angel flesh in their jaws. Several, unsurprisingly, had already sniffed in my direction. A shudder slipped through me at the unnatural acute accuracy.
My attention skipped from one hungry cluster to the next, trying to gauge just how many I was dealing with. When I counted over four distinct groups, my middle fingernail traveled up to my lip and I nibbled at it.
The battle for St. Peter’s Gate was way worse than this, and you survived it, I reminded myself. Yet, this was far too big a number of undead to be a coincidence. Something about Resvener must draw them in. Perhaps that we were their only food source left.
If that was the case, we’d have to set up more precautions than one lone angle guarding the entire complex.
I sprung up, ready to sprint to the next tree for cover, but pain struck me all over. Thorns had ripped away from the bush with me, leaving several nasty gashes.
“Sweet almighty, take it,” I shouted, realizing too late what I’d done. All four groups of zombies halted; sightless milky eyes zeroed in on my voice. They were like barn cats the second a mouse stepped outside of its crawl hole.
So much for the ambush. My wings bunched instinctively, ready to rush into battle or turn and flee. Laughable, either way. There wasn’t enough strength in my wings on an agreeable day to carry me over thirty feet—not with Resvener’s celestial barrier sapping my energy to power itself.
At least it kept the demons out.
Still, Zombies weren’t as slow as they looked, and they always had sheer numbers on their side. The large swarm d irected their movements up the hill directly toward me. I took a deep breath. “No choice now,” I muttered, resigned.
Letting my breath go, I darted across the dry grassy landscape on silent feet to the first horde. They began running toward me, too, eager for their destiny at the end of my sword. With a light tug, my blade easily cleared the sheath at my side. I slid into the first group as they grabbed for me.
Allowing my extensive combat skills to take over, I dodged and weaved through the shambling undead. Avoiding their ironclad grip, I stabbed the first two undead creatures in quick succession and sent a pulse of energy into their chests.
To take down a zombie properly I had to be sure to puncture their heart with a little celestial energy, or they’d just get back up again. Poor creatures. Even without heads, their decomposing bodies would wander helplessly, bumping into things until they came upon a food source that would never be able to satisfy their all-consuming urge to eat with their skull missing.
Heart pumping sweet adrenaline through my tired body, I stabbed three more. The second and third groups were much harder to cut through, though. They’d merged their numbers together while I wasn’t paying attention—twelve by my count—and a grim turn in the fight. I had to be extra careful not to let their teeth sink into me. Easy to say, more difficult to do. I didn’t even have shoes to protect my feet from sharp pebbles or hidden rabbit holes that might trip me up and prove fatal. The only battle armor I had was a white gown that fell to midthigh, one that had been resewn so many times it looked like a patchwork quilt.
One zombie, a female with clumps of black coagulating blood matted into her brittle brown hair, caught my arm and yanked me to the ground. The horde saw their opportunity and piled on top of me. Cold stony flesh covered me from top to bottom, worming around like piles of snakes.
Heart racing, I squirmed in the dry, itchy grass, while trying to protect my sensitive flesh from their gaping maws. “Off, get off!” I exclaimed, knowing both that they couldn’t understand, and wouldn’t do what I asked if they did.
One male zombie with maggots in his nose stretched across another I had just stabbed with my blade. He grazed my forearm with smooth teeth, striking my mind numb.
Too close.
Although angels couldn’t be turned by the DNA changing virus that swept across humanity in the final hour, just before the war for Heaven began, they sure as hell could writhe in agony while mouth-sized gaps riddled their bodies. That dismal pain would be followed closely by a delirium inducing fever from infection.
"I will not be an all you can eat zombie buffet,” I snarled at the now smaller group of eight that were still moving.
Shifting, I hoisted one slain limp body on top of me like a shield, blocking the nearest moving corpse’s path to my neck, and then I kicked out to send the nose-maggot zombie flying.
Legs finally free, I scooted myself out from under the others. The group tried to converge again. Fear struck me. There were too many. I slashed my sword upward and out in a wide arc. The long silver blade blazed furiously with freezing celestial energy.
Stupid mistake.
Doubling over, I gasped. The depletion in my angelic power caused bile to swell in the back of my throat and my stomach to churn. Clammy sweat ran in rivers along my spine. I had used too much energy. My chest ached like I’d just run a marathon with an arrow lodged in it.
How many had I taken out with that swing? I glanced around. Not enough. Four were still left. One small woman, more sentient than the others, dashed for me. After a quick tussle, I cut her from stem to stern and paced back far enough to collect myself.
Almighty, the smell! Gagging, I wiped as much of the filth from my face as possible. Rancid zombie gore had infiltrated my nose and mouth in the struggle, overwhelming my pallet with its gunky rot. Sweat peppered my hairline in the sweltering heat. Rolling down my brow, the droplets dripped into my eyes as I tried to spit the gore and swallow vomit at the same time. Never had anything so vile touched my lips—not even the blood of the hundreds of demons that splattered my face at the battle for St. Peter’s Gate.
Meanwhile, the three remaining zombies lumbered forward, leering at me. They knew I was losing strength. Got to get out of here, I thought, panicking.
Sword pointed out, I stared at each in turn between bouts of dry heaving. Every time they got close, I dashed backward and stopped to catch my breath. I attempted to calculate which would be the first to rush in and how long I had before they eventually claimed their prize.
To my great surprise, none of them did.
Instead, the three halted in their track’s minutes later, swaying slightly, as if one good gust of wind would knock them over into their graves. A beat later, they turned in spooky unison, shuffling swiftly back toward the trees from whence they’d come.
Weird. Zombies rarely ran from a fight. Not when they think they might have a nice, easy snack waiting for them to devour, which, at the moment, I was.
My head pounded at the back of my skull as my body tried to compensate for the lack of celestial energy. The depletion urged me to sleep, literally, right where I stood.
My knuckles went white as I gripped my knees. I forced myself to stand upright and take several deep breaths, side-eyeing the still retreating trio.
I didn’t want to look a gifted horse in the mouth, but why were they fleeing? This wasn’t normal behavior. Were they developing a survival trait? My brow furrowed. No, that would be convenient. And convenience just wasn’t in the angels’ wheelhouse right now.
I sighed, knowing my job wasn’t done. Squaring my shoulders, I pictured Michael’s mythical flame and went after them.
When I finally caught up to my deceased friends, they’d just crossed a cluster of sturdy green spruce trees that lined the western edge of a flat clearing which connected one hill to the next.
More foul-smelling, blackened zombie gore splashed onto my cotton garment as I nailed the first zombie to a knobby brown tree trunk. He was trailing behind the others, suffering from a broken leg I didn’t remember inflicting. The creature struggled against my blade, trying to work its way toward me. I wrinkled my nose in disgust and turned so the gore wouldn’t splash my face again as I drove the sword home. Then, I sent the barest amount of energy pulsing down my arm and into my sword to zap the undead creature into its second death.
Out of habit, I prayed a quick Guardian’s prayer, something I’d picked up in my days before the endless, brutal training to kill demons had become my sole purpose. That done, I yanked the sword free, letting the sickly green corpse slide slowly off its tip and rubbing blood from my blade on the grass. Didn’t want chunks of flesh dulling its edge.
The other two zombies didn’t seem to notice their companion had perished only feet from them. They also didn’t seem to care that I visibly intended for them to be my next target.
Whatever had their attention must be big. A wounded animal?
Sometimes zombies were lucky enough that an bear or moose would cross their paths. They weren’t picky about their next meal and as long as the prey was still kicking, the zombies thought it was fair game.
I’d once watched a zombie I’d just stabbed, but hadn’t light-pulsed, bend down and pick up a frog that hopped near it. The zombie had opened its crooked jaw and used chipped yellow teeth to bite directly into the frog’s face. Clear, slimy amphibian juices had dribbled down the zombie’s chin while the frog’s body and legs still twitched in the zombie’s determined grasp.
That horror had stuck with me for many nights. It confirmed, without a doubt, that this behavior to abandon me as a meal was a mystery to be solved.
Unexpectedly, a shout rang out. I stood on tiptoes, trying to see past a larger horde of zombies that converged at a single point within the shadow of the treeline.
My heart raced as I glimpsed a flash of jaw-length light blond hair, dark stubble, and a muscular chest before the body was pulled into an ocean of zombies.
My stomach dropped to my ankles.
That was no injured animal. It was an angel.
