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)
Yoga with Zeke is interesting. He’s a giant warrior that has me doing downward dog. It’s kind of crazy, but I take what he’s teaching me seriously. When we finally match swords, he has me breathing in between the clash of our blades.
I end my day of training with Silas. “Are you planning to BBQ me?” he asks. “Or just cut me again?”
His taunting is constant, and it takes me a while to realize that he’s testing that mental strength Zeke is working to create in me. I’m stronger, though. I feel it. There’s a part of me that woke up inside the Underbelly, and when I leave my session with Silas, I walk away without needing more than a small drop of soto.
The next morning, I rift to the lighthouse for breakfast, and Micah is there, sitting at the head of the table that will seat six when there are only five of us. Zeke is to Micah’s right. Silas is next to him, and Gabriella is at the end of the table. Micah is, of course, at the head of the table, and the one open seat is to the right of him. I can either rift away, or sit next to him. The entire room is silent, as if waiting to see what I will do.
I won’t run.
I sit next to him, refusing to look at him and reaching for the pot of coffee sitting in the middle of the table, but I’m aware of him, oh so aware of him in every part of me. I know that he’s clean-shaven. I know that his blue eyes are as sharp and beautiful as the new day just sliding over the horizon. I know what he feels like and tastes like—ocean and salt and life itself. And I know he’s an asshole, too.
“Ember is doing great with her fire,” Gabriella announces. “I can’t believe how much control she has gained in what amounts to overnight.”
“That’s good to hear,” Micah replies tightly.
“When do we go to the Diviner?” I ask, my gaze lifting and locking with his, a punch of anger and awareness between us.
“When you have full control,” he says, “which you do not. Precision matters, or you’ll burn down a city. I’ll stay out of your training, at least for now, but I’ll be informed of your progress.” There’s a slice of ice in his voice that warns me not to cross him in front of his people.
I fail miserably at heeding that warning. “Will I be informed before I’m dropped into another demon pit?”
He pushes to his feet, his body ramrod stiff, his voice pure steel. “Come with me, Ember.”
I want to refuse, but I’m aware of his trusted friends staring at me expectantly. He’s their leader, and while I have plenty to say to him, I’ll happily do it behind closed doors. He walks around my chair and heads toward the stairs, with me on his heels. I hope he’s taking me to the octagon. I want to battle him. I want to lock blades.
Instead, we stop at the small library a short walk down, and once we’re inside, he rotates to face me. “I did what was necessary, and right now, all you’re doing is breaking apart our unit that must be intact for us to win this war, regardless of how strong you now feel on your own. If you think it won’t take all of us to win this battle, you’re wrong.”
“I get that. And maybe you should take your own advice. I would have gone into the Underbelly if you asked me to. Your tricks were uncalled for.”
“The edge would have been taken off, Ember, and you might not have been jolted enough to unbind your assets. But you did. You’re alive. You’re fully endowed with your powers, and we’re close to moving on to the next step.”
“I trusted you. I could have died. You would have left me to die.”
“Come on. Why would I do that? All I’ve done is fight to save you, protect you. Shelter you.”
“With what endgame?”
He tilts his head sharply. “What does that mean?”
“Everyone wants something from me. What makes you different?”
Amber flecks of anger burn in his blue eyes. “I guess I’m not, because there are a hell of a lot of things I want from you, Ember.” He moves closer, so close, but not touching me, and I hate how much I want him to. I hate how much I want him every moment I’m with him and every moment I am not. His eyes sweep my lips, linger there with the promise of a kiss he denies me, before his gaze finds mine. “Too many things, it seems.” And then, he’s gone. He’s rifted away, and my knees are weak and my heart is sick. I sink into one of the high-back chairs with a burn in my eyes, but I don’t call out to him.