Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Genevieve hovered in the doorway again. “Um, Lukas had to go train with the soldiers, so I don’t have an escort back to the barracks. It’s dark outside.”
Lyrica paused as the woman’s emotions hit her like a punch. Warmth and giddiness? “Lukas?” She vaguely remembered the young soldier being around lately.
“Um, yeah. Lukas Macrame. His grandmother chose their new last name.” Genevieve smiled. “He’s sweet.”
Sweet? Just because Lukas might look twenty didn’t mean he wasn’t two hundred years old. “You’re not dating him, are you?”
“Of course not.” The emotions rolling from the girl said otherwise. Then she looked toward the darkened window. “I don’t want to walk alone.”
Lyrica needed to shield her empathic abilities better. Fear did wash from the girl to her. Now she needed to figure out more about this Lukas. “It’s okay, Genevieve. I’m happy to walk with you.” The barracks sat only a couple of minutes away, but darkness felt heavy this high in the Canadian mountains.
“Thank you.” The rush of gratitude warmed Lyrica’s skin. As did the fact that Genevieve was loosening up enough to trust her. Lyrica, after her time as a mathematician who worked in crisis management for corporations in financial trouble, often felt a little bossy, and she kept trying to temper that instinct. Yet she had to be organized, and bossiness made that happen.
She drew on her coat and scarf, following Genevieve from the office, through the lodge, and outside. The freezing cold instantly blasted into her. She shivered but still took comfort. The best times of her young and often unsteady childhood had involved visiting or living with her grandfather in the mountains of Alaska.
Lyrica walked briskly with Genevieve huddled next to her as a couple of patrol soldiers passed by, nodding at them. The sprawling camp seemed as safe as possible, yet these immortals were still a dangerous unknown. Lyrica’s foot slipped on the ice and she regained her balance as they hustled past a maintenance shed.
Genevieve suddenly stopped and grabbed Lyrica’s arm. “There’s something…over there,” she whispered, pointing toward a parked snowplow.
Lyrica followed her gaze and caught the faint outline of something sticking out—bare toes, frozen over with ice and already blue. “Stay here,” she said quickly.
“No.” Genevieve clutched her coat buttons tighter as they moved cautiously closer.
Rounding the snowplow, Lyrica stopped abruptly. Frozen solid, a nude female body lay sprawled awkwardly, as if she’d fallen and never moved again. Bruises covered her neck, which appeared mottled with frost.
“Oh my God,” Genevieve breathed next to Lyrica. “She’s dead.”
Chapter Two
Vero sat back against the smooth interior of the Phantom Hawk helicopter, his fingers itching for the control panel up front. He’d designed the entire craft front to back and didn’t like somebody else piloting it, but he flanked Paxton with Hunter on Pax’s other side.
When Vero had stepped up and forced his half-brother to become king of the Kurjan nation, he committed himself to protecting the soldier at any cost. There had already been two attempts on Paxton’s life during the last three weeks as they’d negotiated and nearly come to an agreement, a treaty of sorts with the Realm.
For Vero’s entire life, the Realm had been their most dangerous enemy. As a coalition of other immortal beings like vampires, demons, witches, fairies, and shifters, they had been a formidable foe. The idea that they were becoming allies still kept Vero up at night.
Had he made a colossal mistake in declaring Paxton their new king? Since Paxton was the oldest heir, it was his birthright.
Probably.
With the Realm treaty almost in place, now Vero only had to worry about the Convexus next week, where Paxton and he needed to draw the Cyst coalition back into the Kurjan nation. The meeting had to take place at headquarters during the Kurjan Dark Solstice, which only occurred every one thousand years, or any chance they had might be lost forever. Surviving as only half a nation seemed nearly impossible.
Paxton glanced at him sideways. “This is a hell of a craft. You really designed this?”
An unwilling pride filtered through Vero and he banished it instantly. “Yes.” He took a moment to study the screens across from him that glowed and displayed real-time battlefield data, enemy positions, and mission objectives. Tension-filled quiet blanketed the craft, which ran silently since he’d built it with fusion-powered engines.
He studied his half-brother from the side of his eye. Was there any resemblance between them? If so, he couldn’t see it. Paxton was as tall as Vero and as broad, but he had otherworldly silverly-blue eyes. They were a cross between polished steel and an electric wire. Both males had thick black hair, and Vero supposed their bone structure might be slightly similar. Both angled, both sharp, and Vero’s eyes were blue, unlike most Kurjans, who had purple or red eyes and black hair tipped with red or red hair tipped with black.