Zannis!
Zannis turned her way. She released a sigh of relief when the mental agony ceased. With a smile she moved toward him, drawn to him by a mysterious magnetism. She stepped across the threshold of the magical doorway.
Her breath hitched when his gaze captured hers. His eyes were blacked over from pupil to the whites of his eyes. A chill slithered through her chest. Was he some sort of devil?
Zannis shook his head, grimaced and stumbled backwards away from her as if combating an invisible adversary. Then he emitted a strange laugh and lunged at her.
Shocked by pain and disbelief, she stared at her chest where his massive golden sword was buried almost to the hilt. He yanked out the sword and pushed her backwards over the threshold. The doorway snapped closed. Blood gushed through her fingers where she pressed them against her chest. Her mind dimmed with faintness. How could she have been so wrong about him?
The pain of the wound paled in comparison to that of her shattered soul.
Chapter Two
Present day.
“This is your last night as a human. Let’s get drunk.”
Astrid shook off the dream haze, puzzled why that long ago college memory of the worst moment of her life had surfaced now. Flashbacks of the countless surgeries, the weeks in the hospital, and the tortuous rehab slideshowed in her brain. She’d been alone. And in pain. According to the doctors, her recovery had been miraculous. Everyone had expected her to die. She shoved the images and emotions into a dark corner of her brain, and focused on her hate for that not-a-hero.
She waved her arm at the blond hovering near the bed. “Go away, Christian.”
She pulled the comforter tight over her head and rolled, giving him her back. She hadn’t missed Christian’s artsy jeans, dark designer button-down, and spiky highlighted blond hair. During the short plane ride to New Orleans, they’d shared minutes after meeting forty-eight hours ago, he’d been the epitome of charming chill—always smiling and tossing back a bloody Mary. But he was one of them. One of the bastards that hadn’t let her die. The Scimitar Magi. They had kidnapped her when injured during a successful op to extract a kid from a cult of Persians calling themselves Hashishins. Now the magi planned to force her to become something apparently not human.
“You’ll be mad, if I don’t push this.” He whipped the comforter off the bed in one powerful tug.
“What the—” Astrid shot upright, chilled by the air attack.
Christian tossed the comforter to the other side of the room, and grinned. His cocky attitude begged for an ass kicking. The guy was pretty enough in a tanned, underwear-model way. But he didn’t interest her. Her intuition kicked out a warning—a lethal warrior hovered beneath that beautiful veneer. His smile verged on wolfish.
He said, “I get that you’ve got some sort of screwed up past. All of us have been through some wild shit before getting inducted. You’ll get over it or work through it or repress it. Just don’t tell Dr. Kira about it because she’ll make you sit on a couch and shrink talk that shit out.” He shuddered and then threw her a brilliant smile. “This…THIS is the end of life as you remember. Of mortality. So, let’s celebrate. Come get a drink with me.” His mesmerizing smile widened. It compelled.
Her skepticism fell away. She almost smiled back, ready to believe anything he said. Wait a minute. Snap of it! He’s one of them. One of the immortal Scimitar Magi asses that brought her back from the brink of the death she wanted.
“Go away.” She resumed a fetal position and rolled away from him.
“You wouldn’t be interested dressed like that. Those have got to be government-issue cargo pants, and I suspect you’re wearing a sports bra. You’ve got a curvy supermodel bod. Why hide it?” He pivoted to collect whatever she’d heard him deposit on the plush chair when he entered. He dumped clothes on the bed and a pair of
Zannis turned her way. She released a sigh of relief when the mental agony ceased. With a smile she moved toward him, drawn to him by a mysterious magnetism. She stepped across the threshold of the magical doorway.
Her breath hitched when his gaze captured hers. His eyes were blacked over from pupil to the whites of his eyes. A chill slithered through her chest. Was he some sort of devil?
Zannis shook his head, grimaced and stumbled backwards away from her as if combating an invisible adversary. Then he emitted a strange laugh and lunged at her.
Shocked by pain and disbelief, she stared at her chest where his massive golden sword was buried almost to the hilt. He yanked out the sword and pushed her backwards over the threshold. The doorway snapped closed. Blood gushed through her fingers where she pressed them against her chest. Her mind dimmed with faintness. How could she have been so wrong about him?
The pain of the wound paled in comparison to that of her shattered soul.
Chapter Two
Present day.
“This is your last night as a human. Let’s get drunk.”
Astrid shook off the dream haze, puzzled why that long ago college memory of the worst moment of her life had surfaced now. Flashbacks of the countless surgeries, the weeks in the hospital, and the tortuous rehab slideshowed in her brain. She’d been alone. And in pain. According to the doctors, her recovery had been miraculous. Everyone had expected her to die. She shoved the images and emotions into a dark corner of her brain, and focused on her hate for that not-a-hero.
She waved her arm at the blond hovering near the bed. “Go away, Christian.”
She pulled the comforter tight over her head and rolled, giving him her back. She hadn’t missed Christian’s artsy jeans, dark designer button-down, and spiky highlighted blond hair. During the short plane ride to New Orleans, they’d shared minutes after meeting forty-eight hours ago, he’d been the epitome of charming chill—always smiling and tossing back a bloody Mary. But he was one of them. One of the bastards that hadn’t let her die. The Scimitar Magi. They had kidnapped her when injured during a successful op to extract a kid from a cult of Persians calling themselves Hashishins. Now the magi planned to force her to become something apparently not human.
“You’ll be mad, if I don’t push this.” He whipped the comforter off the bed in one powerful tug.
“What the—” Astrid shot upright, chilled by the air attack.
Christian tossed the comforter to the other side of the room, and grinned. His cocky attitude begged for an ass kicking. The guy was pretty enough in a tanned, underwear-model way. But he didn’t interest her. Her intuition kicked out a warning—a lethal warrior hovered beneath that beautiful veneer. His smile verged on wolfish.
He said, “I get that you’ve got some sort of screwed up past. All of us have been through some wild shit before getting inducted. You’ll get over it or work through it or repress it. Just don’t tell Dr. Kira about it because she’ll make you sit on a couch and shrink talk that shit out.” He shuddered and then threw her a brilliant smile. “This…THIS is the end of life as you remember. Of mortality. So, let’s celebrate. Come get a drink with me.” His mesmerizing smile widened. It compelled.
Her skepticism fell away. She almost smiled back, ready to believe anything he said. Wait a minute. Snap of it! He’s one of them. One of the immortal Scimitar Magi asses that brought her back from the brink of the death she wanted.
“Go away.” She resumed a fetal position and rolled away from him.
“You wouldn’t be interested dressed like that. Those have got to be government-issue cargo pants, and I suspect you’re wearing a sports bra. You’ve got a curvy supermodel bod. Why hide it?” He pivoted to collect whatever she’d heard him deposit on the plush chair when he entered. He dumped clothes on the bed and a pair of
Similar Books
Colorado Bodyguard
Cindi Myers
In Too Deep
Samantha Hayes
Famously Engaged
Robyn Thomas
Shades
Mel Odom
Clemente: The Passion and Grace of Baseball's Last Hero
David Maraniss
Videodrome: Days of O'Blivion
Lee McGeorge
Keeping
Sarah Masters
Behind the Veils of Yemen
Audra Grace Shelby
Trump and Me
Mark Singer
Why Girls Are Weird
Pamela Ribon