Love in an Undead Age by A.M. Geever (good non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

“And what are you frightened of?”

Miranda looked into the Prophet’s golden eyes. Such an unusual color, yet one that was not uncommon in New Jerusalem. So many of the children here were his, she realized. His gaze was magnetic, hypnotic, and so very cold. She wanted to look away but could not.

“I’m frightened of zombies. I’m frightened by the Faith Walk.” With an effort, she ripped her eyes away from his and looked down at her feet submissively. He went in for that sort of crap. “I’m frightened of you.”

“And yet you sought me out,” he answered. “Do you always confront your fears?”

“Sometimes.”

“What do you fear most?” he asked.

“A life that lacks purpose,” she whispered. “And no one to share it with.”

“You have your husband to share your life with.”

Miranda sighed. “I love my husband, but things with him are…complicated.”

The complicated part was true enough.

She raised her head enough to glimpse his face. It had lighted, as if a star were shining from within. He looked Miranda up and down like she was a prostitute at a brothel where he was getting a freebie. He had taken the bait.

“Do you not think it proper that we should fear God’s Judgment? That we should be afraid when we consider our failings in His eyes?”

“I never really thought of it that way,” Miranda said. “I was raised to believe in God’s love, as a Catholic.”

The Prophet hissed in his breath, eyes blazing. “Then you were raised in sin and depravity! Catholics are the worst blasphemers of all!”

Miranda shied away. She had dealt with mercurial people before, but the Prophet was by far the worst. He had pivoted from lust to fury in under a minute.

“Why are Catholics the worst?”

The Prophet seemed to settle somewhat. Maybe she had asked the right question.

“The Jesuits in the Valley have corrupted countless numbers of the Heavenly Father’s children,” he spat. “They fill their heads with lies of forgiveness and cures. A child can see that it is Heavenly Father’s Judgment that has been brought down upon His Children, and only His Judgment can save them.”

The Prophet abandoned his chair and closed the distance between them. He cupped Miranda’s chin to tip her face up to his. His countenance was saturated with a challenging desire that made her stomach lurch. But still, a thrill of triumph ran through her.

“Catholics have the hardest time accepting the Truth of the God All-Father on Earth, but those who do are among the most faithful of Our Children. You sought out the God All-Father on your own, which is a good sign.”

“But?”

“You are brave, anyone can see that, but it makes you willful when you should be compliant. You have a strong spirit. If you could learn humility and submission…”

His hand slid down along the side of her neck, leaving goose bumps rippling in its wake. It strayed lower, along her collarbone, then lower still, along the curve of her breast. He kept his hand there, cupping her breast as he stroked her nipple with his thumb. Miranda felt a flush creep up her neck and face as the nipple hardened against his fingers. A smile curled the corners of the Prophet’s mouth, but this time, the smile reached his eyes.

“You will require special instruction, Sister Miranda,” he said, the slow circling motion of his thumb on her breast becoming more insistent. “It would be quicker to break you, to punish the defects of character out of you, but We think that We would be squandering the gift that the Heavenly Father has given to Us. We think a more subtle approach might be best.”

Miranda’s face felt aflame. Her heart raced and her breath rasped in and out too fast. A delusional rapist was coming on to her, as she had hoped he would. She just hadn’t counted on it feeling so harrowing.

The Prophet slid his other hand along the side of her face and stroked her cheek.

“Are you in fidelity with your husband?”

“I, yes, of course I am!” Miranda stammered, seizing the opportunity to jerk away from him.

“Do you obey him?”

“In, in the Valley,” she faltered, feeling genuinely nonplussed. Get a grip, she told herself. “We don’t do things—”

“Do you long for more?”

Miranda nodded.

“It is not your fault, Sister Miranda,” he said, his face softening. “A man who does not impose obedience on his wife is a negligent husband. It is his job to guide and teach her, for few women are innately obedient. How can you learn if you have no guidance?”

She needed to put on the brakes. If the conversation kept on like this, he might throw Mario over the rail before the night was through.

She slumped and began to cry. “Prophet, can you teach us?” she whimpered, trying to sound as pitiful as possible. “Can you teach us how to be a better husband and wife to each other? I love him, and I want to be a good wife!”

The Prophet stepped back. Miranda looked up, wiping away tears. He looked slightly disappointed and definitely intrigued. She could see that he was willing to play a long game to work his transformation on her.

“Your dedication to your husband is admirable and is the first step on the road to obedience to him. It would please Us to help you, Sister Miranda. The first thing you must do is grow the beautiful hair that the Heavenly Father blessed you with.”

Miranda’s hand rubbed across her buzz cut as she nodded.

The Prophet’s lips twisted in distaste. “That…shorn style is displeasing. It runs counter to a woman’s true nature. Perhaps—”

A sharp rap on the door interrupted him. The Prophet looked up as the door cracked open. It was the guard from the gate.

“Please forgive me, Prophet, but there is something you should know. I did not think it could wait.”

A brief flash of annoyance crossed the Prophet’s face.

“I will just be a moment.”

“Thank you,” Miranda answered, relieved at the interruption. It would give her a chance to look around, and she could use the break in the conversation to get the hell out of here.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Miranda got to her feet, ignoring the pain that stabbed her knee. She rubbed her hands over her chest, as if she could wipe away the Prophet’s lingering touch, and hobbled to the door. She leaned close to see if they were on the other side but heard nothing.

Okay, she said to herself, if I were the Prophet, where would I hide something?

Miranda started for his bedroom, then stopped. She was not sure know how long he would be gone and did not want to get caught anywhere near his bed. If that happened, she would probably have to take one for the team. A super depressing thought occurred to her. Karen would probably find this asshole attractive.

Miranda limped over to the desk and began to check the drawers and nooks, ever mindful of noises from the hall. She felt all the cushions on the chairs and bench but didn’t find anything. Next she tried the chairs by the wood-burning stove. Nothing.

It must be in his bedroom. She stood in the thruway, anxious about how much time she had. She took a step forward but put too much weight on her injured leg.

“Holy Mother!” she hissed through clenched teeth as she fell to the floor. She took a few breaths and put her hands on the floor to get up. The wood plank under her left hand rocked. If she had not been looking for a hiding place, she would never have noticed. Miranda tested it again to make sure she had not imagined the motion.

Still on hands and knees, she reached into her splint to retrieve the dagger she had hidden. When she stuck the dagger between the loose plank and the next, it popped free.

Miranda stopped to listen again. Still nothing from the hallway. She peered down into the space below the floorboard but couldn’t see anything. She reached her arm in up to her elbow, wishing she had more room to lie down and extend her arm.

She reached a little more. Her fingers grazed something. It’s got to be the serum, she thought. She struggled to get a grasp on the container. After what seemed an eternity, she managed to hook her pinky finger over a depression in the lid and pulled whatever it was closer.

Just as she pulled an old metal box out from the floorboards, she heard the Prophet’s voice. Faint, but getting closer. She pulled at the lid, but it stuck.

“You were right to interrupt.” The Prophet’s voice, not loud, but getting closer.

The lid popped open. Miranda felt light-headed. The serum was inside!

“We will finish up here, and then We will see to this.”

The Prophet was just outside the door. Miranda couldn’t grab a vial and hide it, put everything back into place, and get back to her chair in time. She shoved the lid back and pushed the box back under the floorboard.

The doorknob rattled.

Miranda grabbed the plank and set it back in place. She heard a click as the latch on the door disengaged. She shoved her dagger hilt first into her splint. As the door began to open, she pulled herself up and darted back to the chairs. She didn’t feel any pain, just euphoria.

As she threw herself into the chair, the door opened wide. She twisted around in her seat to look over to the Prophet.