(Angelbound Origins #1)
Published by: Monster House Books
Publication date: December 30th 2016
Genres: Fantasy, Paranormal, Young Adult
*Now an audio book!*
Eighteen-year-old Myla Lewis is a girl who loves two things: kicking ass and kicking ass. She’s not your everyday quasi-demon, half-demon, and half-human, girl. For the past five years, Myla has lived for the days she gets to fight in Purgatory’s arena. When souls want a trial by combat for their right to enter heaven or hell, they go up against her, and she has not lost a battle yet.
But as she starts her senior year at Purgatory High, the arena fights are not enough to keep her spirits up anymore. When the demons start to act weird, even for demons, and the King of the Demons, Armageddon, shows up at Myla’s school, she knows that things are changing and it is not looking good for the quasi-demons. Myla starts to question everything, and does not like the answers she finds. What happened 17 years ago that turned the quasi-demons into slave labor? Why was her mom always so sad? And why won’t anyone tell her who her father is?
Things heat up when Myla meets Lincoln, the High Prince of the Thrax, a super sexy half-human and half-angel demon hunter. But what does a quasi-demon girl to do when she falls for a demon hunter? It’s a good thing that Myla is not afraid of breaking a few rules. With a love worth fighting for, Myla is going to shake up Purgatory.
Monster House Books is celebrating the launch of the audiobook version of the best seller Angelbound, both on iTunes & Audible! As a result, every launched book in the series is only $1.99, aka more than 50% off…And that includes Angelbound ACCA, which was only released a few months ago!
It’s been one month, three days, and six hours since I last ‘got my gladiator on’ and battled in the Arena. Not that I’m obsessing or anything. Sure, I can sneak in and watch someone else fight, but that’s a snore.
I roll over on my dingy bed, scooch under the drab covers, and watch the gray drizzle outside my window. Mondays are the pits.
Mom’s voice echoes into my bedroom. “Time to get up! You don’t want to be late for school, do you, honey?” I roll my eyes. Of course, I want to be late for school.
Raising my head, I open my mouth to say just that, and then decide against it. Instead, I bite my lower lip, yank the pillow over my head and groan. Loudly.
“Don’t make noises at me, young lady.” Mom rustles papers in the kitchen. “I’ve a letter right here. You’re on something called the Official Watch List for Unreasonable Tardiness.” Her footsteps echo down the hall and pause outside my room. “You’ll be suspended from high school at this rate. What do you think about that?”
I peep out from under my pillow. Mom looms in my doorway, her fist set on her hip. She’s a quasi-demon like me, so she resembles a lovely human with a curvy figure, amber skin, chocolate-brown eyes, and chestnut hair that falls in waves over her shoulders. All quasis have a tail; Mom and I both sport the long and pointed variety. The big differences between us are laugh lines, some grey hair and our opinion of what’s ‘dangerous’ for eighteen-year olds.
I fluff the pillow and slide it under my noggin. Being suspended means no school. Maybe even catching a few Arena matches on the sly. I wag my eyebrows. “And suspension would be bad because?”
“I’d make it that way.”
Ugh. She would, too. Off go my covers. “This is me getting up.”
“Good.” Mom stomps away.
I shower, pull on some sweats, and sleepwalk into the kitchen, seeing the familiar lime-green appliances, mismatched furniture, and peeling linoleum tile. Everything looks peaceful, quiet, and empty. Another typical Monday morning before another average day at school. BO-ring. I’ll have to charm Walker into taking me to the Arena later. Until I’m called to fight again, it’s better than nothing.
A thick white envelope sits at the center of the kitchen table. I scoop up and read: “To the Quasi-Demon, Miss Myla Lewis, 666 Dante Row, Purgatory.” I lick my thumb and run it over the loopy calligraphy. Real ink. My long black tail flicks in a nervous rhythm.
Frowning, I tap the unopened letter against my palm. No one sends me fancy stuff like this. In a blur of motion, my tail darts across my torso, grips the envelope with its arrowhead-shaped end, and tries pulling it from my fingers.
“Hey now!” My tail’s always had a mind of its own. For some reason, it’s decided this letter is dangerous. I jerk the envelope out of reach, but not before one corner gets totally shredded. “Now, look what you did.” My tail slinks behind me to curl guiltily about my ankle.
I reread the outside of the letter. Nothing here to worry about. I am a quasi-demon (mostly human with a little demon DNA). I’ve spent all eighteen years of my life in Purgatory (where human souls get judged for Heaven or Hell, aka the most boring place in the history of ever). This letter’s like dozens of others that hit our doorstep each week. Why’s my tail on a mission to trash this thing?
I stare at the words again, feeling like they should read: “Open this to turn your life upside-down and your heart into mush.” Clearly, I’m having an off-morning.
I slip the envelope-slash-time-bomb into my mangy backpack. I’ll read it later at school.
Mom steps into the kitchen. “How’s my sweet baby, Myla-la?” Yes, I’m eighteen years old and Mom still uses pet names from when I was three.
“I’m good.” I open a cabinet and pull down a box of Frankenberry cereal.
Mom eyes my every movement, her forehead creasing with worry.
“Did you sleep well last night, Myla?”
Oh, no. Here it comes. I square my shoulders and mentally prepare my ‘I’m so very-very caaaaaaalm’ voice. “Absolutely.” Nailed it.
“Any bad dreams?”
“Nope.” The ‘calm voice’ isn’t working so well this time.
“Hmm.” She taps her cheek. “Met anyone lately? Made any new friends?”
I grit my teeth. All my mornings start off with maternal interrogations like this one. I find it’s best to give soothing, one-word answers. “Negative.”
“No friends at all?”
“Only the same one since first grade.” I raise my spoon for emphasis. “Cissy.”
“That’s good.” She offers me a shaky grin. “You’re safe.”
I shoot her a hearty thumbs-up. Today’s cross-examination ended relatively quickly; maybe Mom’s getting less overprotective. A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“More than safe.” I speed-chop the air, karate-style. “I’m a lean, mean, Arena-fighting machine.” Wincing, I freeze mid-chop. How could I be so dumb? Mom loses her freaking mind whenever I say the word ‘Arena.’
There’s a pause that lasts a million years while Mom stares at me, her face unreadable. Finally, she moves. But, instead of jumping around in hysterics, she flips about and rifles through cabinets in search of a coffee mug.
Wait a second.
This morning Mom cut her interrogation short and she didn’t panic when I said the word ‘Arena.’ I wind my lips into an even-wider grin. Sweeeet. Things could be changing, after all.
Leaning back in my chair, I watch Mom pour coffee. I know she goes overboard because it’s just me, her, and this nasty gray ranch house. I have no brothers, sisters, or straight answers about who my father is, except that he’s some kind of diplomat. Add it all up and Mom’s a wee bit clingy.
Or, at least, she used to be. I drum my fingers on the Formica. A less overprotective Mom opens up all sorts of possibilities. I could watch more matches. I could fight in more matches. I could develop interests in things other than the Arena.
Eh, maybe it’s a ‘no’ on that last thing.
Mom slides into the chair across from mine, her large brown eyes watching me through the wisps of steam curling from her mug. “Want a ride to school today? I don’t mind waiting outside the door.” A muscle twitches at the corner of her eye. “You know, in case anything happens.”
My heart sinks to my toes. Then again, maybe Mom’s worse than ever.
“Uhhhh.” My mouth falls so far open, some Frankenberry rolls off my tongue and onto the tabletop. Did she really offer to stand outside school all day long ‘in case anything happens?’ Cissy told me how parents get extra-twitchy during senior year. A shiver rattles my spine. My Mom plus ‘extra-twitchy’ equals a huge nightmare.
I force a few deep breaths. “Thanks for the offer.” It’s getting really hard to keep my ‘calm voice’ handy. “I’ll pass this time.”
Suddenly, the air crackles with energy. A black hole seven feet high and four feet wide appears in the center of the kitchen.
Out of the void steps a ghoul.
Christina Bauer knows how to tell stories about kick-ass women. In her best selling Angelbound series, the heroine is a part-demon girl who loves to fight in Purgatory’s Arena and falls in love with a part-angel prince. This young adult best seller has driven more than 500,000 ebook downloads and 9,000 reviews on Goodreads and retailers. It is now available as an audiobook on Audible and iTunes.
Bauer has also told the story of the Women’s March on Washington by leading PR efforts for the Massachusetts Chapter. Her pre-event press release—the only one sent out on a major wire service—resulted in more than 19,000 global impressions and redistribution by over 350 different media entities including the Associated Press.
Christina graduated from Syracuse University’s Newhouse School with BA’s in English along with Television, Radio, and Film Production. She lives in Newton, MA with her husband, son, and semi-insane golden retriever, Ruby.
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