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)
Just as he’s about to disappear, though, I have one of those questions he’s invited, and it’s not a gentle one. “Micah.”
He rotates my direction, the newly dried strands of his black hair caressing his chiseled facial structure, his eyes bright. “What is it, Ember?”
“Who tried to kill me at the courthouse?”
“It was an Eagle.”
“One of the Eagles who reports directly to her?”
“There’s no proof of that connection. The Seers operate under the Select, our form of government, and I petition for reports on the matter from all domains. There are eight domains across the world, each headed by a Crystal Seer. I’m the Overseer of the seventh, and largest, domain. No one outside of my domain knew about you. And none of the other seven Overseers claim to know this Eagle.”
“Then why do you think he’s an Eagle?”
“He bore the unique eagle tattoo on his wrist that the Eagles are given at birth.”
“And where is he now?”
“Dead, Ember. He was killed in his home. They called it a robbery gone wrong.”
My throat goes dry. “Can Jeremy actually track me now without my magic? Or is he tracking you to get to me? What I’m trying to ask is, if I leave here without awakening my assets, if I hide, would that end this? Or would Jeremy find me?”
“Yes. He’d find you, and so would I.”
The Sacred Book of Nephilim
Dark magic is an enemy that pretends to be a friend. It empowers its user, it becomes an addiction. And it always, without question, demands a price in exchange for its use. There are those who will believe they are different, that they are capable of wielding such power without succumbing to its possession.
Make no mistake.
Everyone succumbs.
Everyone submits.
Chapter fourteen
The door shuts, and I stand in the middle of Micah’s private quarters, the Overseer’s quarters, with the scent and feel of him surrounding me. I wait for some incredible understanding to slide into place, but there is blank space.
My mind has shut down.
I cave to the laden sensation overtaking me and search for the bedroom, certain a hot shower or a bath will do me a world of good. I enter a bedroom that is a masculine masterpiece with a four-poster bed as the focal point. The wood is expensive, dark, and heavy. The nightstand’s the same. The television, a massive flat screen, is facing the bed. But for all the room’s glamour, there’s nothing personal about it. There’s no story of Micah, no interests, and no photos.
And yet, he is here, his scent, masculine and earthy, lances the air.
I’m in trouble with Micah. He has all the power. I have none. The way I fix that is to learn how to stand on my own in this new world. Then any place I end up is my choice, not his. If I am like him, a future leader, as he called me, he would expect nothing less. I cannot be in a part of the world that places me on my knees.
I walk to the door I presume to be a closet and flip on the light. Sure enough, it’s a walk-in, and a collection of leather, denim, and T-shirts lines the wall, along with a few suits. After a little searching, I snag the smallest T-shirt I can find, as well as a pair of giant sweats. I’ll make them work.
With my new garments in my arms, I enter a truly luxurious bathroom. The décor is oh so Micah—utterly masculine with deep brown tile and wood tones everywhere, including the frame of a soaking tub I’m not passing up. I shut the door, start a bath, and then strip, washing my clothes in the standalone shower before hanging them on the top edge of the door. I find a spicy-scented shampoo and conditioner and suds up every part of me. An hour later, my hair is dry, my face scrubbed clean, and I’m in the clothes I’ve chosen from the closet.
I exit to his bedroom, grab a pillow and a blanket, and head to the living room. I’m starving, but I’m too tired to scavenge the kitchen. Sleep claws at me, a wild animal mauling me from within. I curl up on the couch and drag the heavy blanket over me, fully intending to doze off until Micah returns. Then I have questions. A lot of questions. I close my eyes, ticking off a mental list—the lure of slumber an enchantment that’s hard to deny. For a few moments, there is nothing but the sweet bliss of relaxation, of sleep, but strange images permeate the darkness. Me as a baby, impossibly tiny. A woman handing me to a stranger, a man. My mother crying for me, yelling at my father for allowing this to happen. I reject the images, shoving them away. None of it is real. It can’t be real. I was a baby. The images transform to Ryker on top of me. I’m fighting, thrashing about. Then there is ash. Then I am standing tall with a star in my hand, and I know how to use it. I’m fighting demons, killing demons, and I feel no fear. But all of the bravado in me is yanked away. I’m back in the courtroom with Jeremy, and he touches me. The murders begin to play in my head. I battle to escape the prison of my mind, but I cannot. I’m trapped, screaming for them, trying to save them.