Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“Hate me now, thank me later,” she said, dropping the organ and patting Rowan’s cheek, accidentally depositing streaks of red. In a few hours, the too-gentle dragon would wake up with a brand-new organ and inner defenses she’d desperately needed. “Leave them better than you find them, that’s what I always say.”
Neeka latched onto the doorknob and twisted. The hinges glided as smooth as oil. No lock? Oh, yeah, the Astra definitely wanted her to do this.
She slipped into a hallway without furnishings or decorations. Just plain white walls peppered with multiple doors.
Huh. What was—A wave of whispers bypassed her ears and slammed into her mind. She sucked in a breath. So many! Too many. They barraged her awareness, the cacophony enough to drive her to her knees. She smashed her palms over her ears, but it didn’t help. The volume only increased.
Determination turned her insides to stone. No cluster of conversations was gonna keep her down. Gritting her teeth, she lumbered to her feet and pressed on. Find the elixir and a bone. Save the worlds.
The noises ceased abruptly, and she heaved with relief. Sweet peace and quiet reigned. Then, she sensed it. The whispers hadn’t vanished; they’d congregated. Now they spun and spun in front of her, some peeling back, others drawing closer together. Spinning. Shrinking. Swelling...
The constellation exploded, going off like a Fourth of July firecracker. A brutal pain erupted in her temples. Warm liquid seeped from her ducts and ran down her cheeks. Her knees buckled once again, and she dropped. But bit by bit, she absorbed new nuggets of information. Oooh. What was this? A recipe for the elixir? Even better than a location!
As she continued downloading information, a familiar blanket began to cover her mind, attempting to hide the information. Everything she was learning.
No, no, no. She couldn’t forget. This was far too important. Neeka crawled forward...stumbled to her feet...and raced to the door, escaping the room. The final whisper cut off before reaching its end. If you wish to save everyone, Neeka, you need only—
Need only what?
Panting, she collapsed next to the dragon shifter, who was already halfway healed. With no other options, Neeka whipped out the marker—no wonder she’d brought it!—adjusted her clothing, and began writing the elixir’s recipe on her skin.
As soon as she finished, she wrote the shocker she’d heard about Lore’s missing femur. But she only managed to etch M, I, R before the information vanished beneath the blanket.
Argh! Time to find Rathbone and blow this joint before she forgot anything else.
10
Searing fury consumed Rathbone. Some he directed at the treacherous harpy-oracle who betrayed him to save herself. Most he focused on himself for allowing her to distract him at such a critical point in his war with the Astra. He’d ignored the danger, more intrigued by his companion. Eager to maintain their connection and hear whatever colorful thing she would say next.
Something a newly monogamous male shouldn’t do. A mated male, especially. And he was mated, despite Neeka’s inference. He wasn’t a fool; he hadn’t chosen the wrong eternal lover. The fact that he couldn’t conquer his heightened awareness of the oracle meant something else.
So sexual tension vibrated in his marrow, even now. So his muscles remained hard as rocks. So he craved the perfidious beauty responsible for his capture. So what.
With a brutal yank, he removed the spear from his chest at last. The spearhead ejected shrapnel on its way out. Blood gushed as the wound knit back together, sealing that shrapnel inside him. A process slower than usual. His reservoir of energy had yet to replenish.
He attempted to flash. To shift forms. Both failures. Rathbone pursed his lips. No reason to wonder over the lack; Neeka had warned him. The shards. They floated through his bloodstream, damaging everything they encountered.
He’d have to escape the old-fashioned way.
Reclined in a corner, Rathbone scanned his cell. A seven-by-seven prison with walls made from a solid black substance he’d never encountered. There were no windows, bars, or doors. A fleet of small metal bugs lined the ceiling, their round bellies glowing, providing the only source of light.
Anytime he stood, those bugs descended to flay his flesh from his bones in a matter of seconds. Not that he cared. He’d learned to overlook physical pain long ago. But he stayed put, expecting a visitor at any moment. An interrogator who would demand answers. Why had he come? What did he plan? Had he brought others with him? He preferred to start the way he intended to finish: intact.
A disturbance in the air alerted him to an incoming presence. He didn’t bother shifting into a better position before a dragon shifter materialized on the other side of the chamber, Neeka’s backpack dangling from his shoulder.
Rathbone sized up his visitor in a snap. A leader with centuries of brutal battles under his belt. An elder, judging by the number and size of azure markings embedded in his skin. Powerful, with an affinity for more than the creation of fire.