Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
He backs me up, and we hit the pillar of the bed, and the jolt is enough to have Gabriella’s words replay in my mind again. Her death is your death, and when you reach for the wolf and find only the serpent, death is in the air and blood is in the water. That must mean Jeremy kills him once we leave this place.
No, I think. No. My hands press against Micah’s shoulders, and I drag my mouth from his. “No, Micah. No. We both know the serpent is still waiting for me. We both know what that means.”
“I’m not afraid of Jeremy, Ember.”
“Here. What happens when we go back to the battlefield of Earth? What then? Will we just stop wanting each other?”
“Why would we try? I told you, we’re stronger together.”
“And I told you, until we’re not. Once we do this, there’s no turning back. I feel it, Micah. I feel you too much. Maybe it’s just the connection we share to this place seducing us, seducing you into risking too much for me. We are dangerous together. We can’t do this, do us, until we fix this.”
He cups my face, and I don’t mean for it to happen, but in utter defiance of my declarations, my elbows soften, and I sink closer to him. I feel so small and delicate with Micah and somehow as mighty as a dragon whose fire will one day be as lethal as her enemies.
“We got this, sweetheart,” he promises. “Good is supposed to win, not evil. There is no passage in any book you will find that wishes that failure on us.”
“There’s only the one me, though, Micah. And there’s only one you. Teach me to fight. Take me to the river and the tree. And when I’m free of him, we’re free, because I will never choose him over you, over the light.”
His hands are back on my face, and he stares down at me, long seconds stretching wide and long before he kisses me hard and fast and says, “Meet me at the overlook by the lighthouse at dawn. Don’t eat. I’m going to take you someplace special. Goodnight, Ember.” And then, he’s gone.
Despite the buzz from the wine, I don’t sleep for hours after Micah leaves, and I give up even trying. With a small lamp and a dozen candles flickering about the room, I scour the books, seeking the meaning of the message Gabriella delivered to Micah. Even with the house helping me, producing volumes of books and directing me to specific pages, I find Micah was right on this hunt leading me nowhere solid. The many ways to interpret where my existence leads are too broad for proper interpretation.
When I finally lie in the bed, I stare at the ceiling for a ridiculous amount of time, and when I fade into slumber, I slip into what feels like an alternate universe. I’m standing in front of a gold towering throne, the man with blood-red wings is positioned in front of it but not sitting in it. He’s tall, broad, and striking, with chiseled features and an angelic presence that is somehow still almighty warrior. And his eyes are crystal blue.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Who I am doesn’t matter. What you are, does.”
“What am I?”
“You know what you are. He knows, too, but that won’t be enough to save him.”
“Save him from what?” I ask urgently.
“You.”
I gasp as I’m thrust into darkness, and I sit up in the bed, glancing around the room to find the flicker of candles casting shadows on the walls. I glance at the clock on the nightstand to find it’s just before sunrise. I’m late getting up, and I throw away the blankets and swing my legs to the side of the bed.
Desperate for answers, needing to know who the man with the red wings is, I call out to the house for the book with an answer, but nothing happens. Maybe he’s just someone my mind created, my subconscious telling me I did the right thing by pushing Micah away. The closer we become, the more dangerous I am to him. No more kissing, I vow, and hurry toward the shower, where I do nothing but think about kissing him. Good thing there is nothing romantic about combat training, so I dress appropriately—black fatigues and sturdy boots with a matching jacket that fits tight to my body, and of course, my blade at my thigh.
I appear on the overlook in the middle of a gust of cold air to find Micah dressed similarly to me, also in black fatigues, and I’m ridiculously proud of my good judgement over choice of clothing. I guess I just need the little wins right now, and maybe they can then become big wins.
“Hi,” I greet.