Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Gasping on silent screams, Dustin swore that he would not die like this. In a melon field, wearing a poncho and clutching a hammer to his chest. This would not be his legacy; it wasn’t how he was going to be remembered. What would his alphas or his friends—well, his farmhands—say about him? That he was a skilled rancher and he loved his crops and they loved him, and that’s why he died alongside them in a savage, unyielding storm.
No! Please! Dustin’s head pounded like someone was kicking him in the back of his skull, and he couldn’t think clearly because of the lack of oxygen to his brain. Don’t let this be my end… please… I’m not done yet. Dustin still wanted a chance to find a mate, no matter what bullshit he’d used to convince himself otherwise. He still wanted the opportunity to lie in a man’s warmth again, feel his strength and muscles as he rested beside him after a long day in the fields.
One memory, one man, rushed to the forefront of his mind as Dustin’s natural instinct to survive kicked in. His once orderly land was now littered with garbage and wreckage as the storm continued to relocate roofs and parts of cabins with no signs of stopping, and he knew if he continued to lie there stuck in the mud, he was as good as dead. No one was coming for him.
Dustin grunted painfully and turned his head to the south just as a bolt of lightning struck a tree branch over his head. With the minuscule amount of breath circulating in his lungs, he parted his trembling lips and whispered into the wind with sheer desperation.
Notalus. Help me!
Notalus
The Prince of Tir an Fhomhair, and Treasure of the Harvest
Notalus stood on the balcony overlooking his courtyard, his chest full of pride as he watched his son, Theodor, practice with his sparring coaches. Notalus’ son was by far his greatest accomplishment and the rightful heir to Tir an Fhomhair, the Realm of Autumn. Theodor fought five men at once, never breaking a sweat as he moved his strong body with the precision and speed of a viper. His hip-length whiskey-and-copper-colored tresses caught on the wind he summoned as he propelled three of his attackers several feet into the air. Notalus nodded with fatherly approval when his son quickly bested the last two with their bared throats at the sharp end of his sword, which glistened bronze in the day’s light.
Cheers and applause rose from the small crowd of male and female admirers who’d stopped to watch their prince in action. Notalus added in his praise along with the others, and as he did, the crowd faced him and bowed with respect before turning back to his son. Theodor was a man who was loved by all, respected and admired by the patrons of their world but greatly feared by their enemies. At almost two thousand years old, Notalus was ready to pass on his kingdom to his heir and live his final years as a contented titan with his beloved consort like his brother, Adres. It was to be their reward after millennia of servitude.
Once the sparring practice was over, his son and the men all clasped forearms and patted each other on the backs for a job well done. Notalus summoned his son to his quarters, watching as he received blessings and kisses from the people nearby as he made his way toward his private balcony. And like the show-off that he was, Theodor stooped into a crouched position and began to swirl his hands around in a full circle and used the wind to lift him the fifteen stories to Notalus’ landing, where he dropped down in front of him with a booming thud.
Notalus shook his head. “Since you were young, I could never get you to use the door like a disciplined man.”
“Why, when I am not just a man?” Theodor chuckled. “I’m the prince of an element… should I not use it to impress? Did you see the crowd that gathered down there? My bed should be plenty warm tonight.”
Notalus walked them into the guest sitting room, nodding at a couple of his servants as they placed overflowing trays of fresh fruits, cheese, and wine before them on the table. Theodor removed his emerald robe and armor, then made himself comfortable on the couch to enjoy their food. Notalus sat in the tufted high-back chair opposite his son and watched him as he devoured their evening crudité.
“You look troubled, Father,” Theodor said around a mouthful of prosciutto and dried dates. “How can I help?”
Notalus rubbed his hand over his brow. “Well, first thing you can do is stop bedding all of these random bed warmers and choose a proper prince consort. I swear you have a bit too much of your mother’s passion inside of you.”