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)
“You did it,” Nathan declares. “My warrior wife. My—”
His words are cut off by a surge of energy vibrating through my body and through the bond I share with Nathan, and he feels it, too, his eyes wide, true fear on my brave man’s face. He was a brave warrior who shocked me by responding to my pregnancy by petitioning the council for a retirement discharge—to protect his unborn child, he’d declared—for it is accepted that all warriors and their families will be forever targeted by the demons they swore to hunt. But inexplicably, my grand warrior has literal fear radiating from him in this moment.
My eyes rocket to Dr. Parisa, who’s now ghost white, her lips parted as she murmurs, “Blessed be the heavens above.”
“What does that mean?” I demand, my voice cracking like broken glass, breaking up into tiny pieces. “What is happening? I want my baby. I want my baby!”
Dr. Parisa cradles the baby, my baby, and says, “She carries the mark.” Her voice is breathless in shock and awe. “They’re coming for her.”
“No,” I quake. “No. It’s impossible. We are not the gifted. We are not Crystal Seers. I was human before Nathan. I was human! Give me my baby. Give me—”
A dark, tall form appears behind Dr. Parisa, and when his crystal blue eyes meet mine, apology bleeds from their depths. “I promise to protect her with my own life.” He accepts the baby from Dr. Parisa, and I begin to scream from the depths of my being.
Nathan sits on the bed and captures my face in his hands, his eyes meeting mine, a silent pool of calming energy bleeding into me. I pant out breaths, my pulse slowing. “You know how it is written. The moment the three of us were on this earth together, all our kind felt it. If she remains with us, the mark will be stronger. They will track her and kill her before she comes of age.”
“No,” I whisper, tears pooling in my eyes. “No.”
And it was in that moment that hate bled into my heart—hate for those who robbed me of my daughter before I ever touched her. Hate for this world I’ve become a part of that stripped away my humanity. And even hate for the mate who dares to justify handing over our miracle baby to the Crystal Seers.
Chapter one
Nearly twenty-seven years later…
Sleep comes to me in the wee hours of the night, the blessed, sweet darkness all-consuming right up until the moment my cellphone buzzes on my nightstand. I jolt to a sitting position—fear that I’ve overslept on one of the most important days of my life sends my gaze jerking to the clock. The six a.m. hour confirms that, no, I did not oversleep, but that doesn’t mean that something hasn’t gone awry with the biggest trial of my legal career. The buzzing halts abruptly, and my heart lurches as I grab my phone, but it’s not the courthouse. It’s Oliver, my former best friend, considering he’s woken me up an hour before my alarm is set to go off, after worry for today’s verdict had resulted in a fitful night of tossing and turning. Intentionally, too, apparently, considering a text flashes on my phone that reads, Wake up, Ember Thorne. It’s officially December 21st and your twenty-seventh birthday, and the day you become the Grim Reaper.
I fall back on my pillows, my phone settling on my chest. His “Grim Reaper” joke is not funny, even if it has nothing to do with the gruesome murder trial I’m currently navigating as defense counsel, though the press has called me worse. My many nicknames include Monster, Ice Queen, and my all-time most hated, Money Grubber. According to the press, I’m just looking to elevate my future paydays with this win, at the expense of the victims of a killer and their families.
They always forget the part where the defendant is innocent until proven guilty, and my client happens to be innocent.
I shake off the attacks once again and refocus on Oliver and his Grim Reaper joke, which references a disturbing incident a few months ago that has never quite let go of me, though I’ve never admitted that to Oliver. My mind travels back to the day. Oliver and I had just exited the courthouse in downtown Austin, the summer heat burning down my spine, when an elderly hunchbacked woman had stepped in front of me. I’d halted to avoid running into her, and she’d snatched my hand, squeezing with all her might, it had seemed, and started spouting off about me being the end of the world, a flesh-and-blood Grim Reaper. She’d then looked at Oliver and eerily said, December 21st. That’s the day. And then, in true horror-flick style, she’d proceeded to convulse.
It just so happens that December 21st is my birthday, which, despite the silliness of it all, made the whole thing a tad bit creepy. From Oliver’s amused point of view, she’s either crazy or I’m the Grim Reaper, and the only way to know is to wait until December 21st.