Demon of Vengeance: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 4 Read Free Page B

him, she would most likely be dead now too. And there would be no one left to shoulder the burden.
    So was it her sense of duty and the lifelong lessons she’d been drilled to accept as a child of a Guardian that drove her to recover that sword?
    Or was it survivor’s guilt?
    Not like she could sit down on a shrink’s couch and have her emotions, her beliefs and her drives, professionally analyzed. First, if she didn’t end up locked away in a psych ward, at the very least her good name and all her research would be tainted. Second, and maybe more importantly, her father had insisted, through his journals, that secrecy was of the utmost importance.
    No, she wouldn’t be discussing her family legacy. Not with anyone.
    Well, no one but Ricardo…but he was family, so that didn’t count. Not really.
    Whatever it was that drove her, she wouldn’t give up. She felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on her like a mountain on her chest. And she still struggled with the crushing grief. A grief that had been her constant companion ever since the moment she’d received her father’s final letter. A letter that had begun with those cursed, cliché words.
    My dearest Gum Drop, If you’re reading this letter, then I didn’t make it out of the jungle alive. I’m so sorry, angel, but I leave to you a terrible burden…
    His revelation had turned her world upside down. On her first expedition after her father’s death, she’d scoured the ruins of Los Guachimontones or—more accurately—a small area less than two miles south of the ruins. As close as she could guestimate to where her father’s maps and encoded journals had indicated something of importance was hidden. As close as she could guestimate to where her father had been slain. Though even in the coded language that only the two of them knew, he was ever-careful never to refer to it by name, surely he had to be pointing her toward the sword.
    She hadn’t found her father or his grave. Nor had she found the sword. But she had found another journal, as it turned out.
    That had also been the sight of the first in a long series of brutal attacks. That particular incident had resulted in the death of an innocent worker. And yes, she was keeping score, her conscience would allow for nothing less. The running tally was currently three. She could only pray to God there wouldn’t be any more destined for the books. But she couldn’t stop now, couldn’t risk the fate of the world over the risk to a single human life, even if it was her own.
    Her search had already taken her back into the jungles of Mexico. La Venta Olmec and Toniná, otherwise known as the House of Rocks. She’d located another journal, and a series of encoded maps. She’d extended her search to those of Chacalán, referred to by the locals as The Valley of the Throat Cutters.
    But there she’d come up empty handed, the sword eluding her yet again.
    Well, maybe not empty handed. She’d walked away with a pile of clues, another of her father’s many journals…and a nasty scar to remind her that someone out there would do whatever it took to keep the pilfered sword.
    She caught herself fingering her scar once more and gritted her teeth. It had become a nervous habit. Forcing her hand to return to the carry-on strap, she scanned the crowd. Her search for the sword had become a big scavenger hunt.
    The stakes were astronomical, and failure was not an option.
    Though she still struggled to reconcile why he’d waited until his death to tell her about the sword, she understood why her father had encoded everything in his journals. Concealing the clues, leading her on an exhausting chase. He didn’t want to make it easy for the other team. And he’d known she was up for the challenge, had prepared her for this himself, in his own way. Teaching her their special codes, drilling them into her. Telling her the mythological stories over and over. Training her to decipher the secrets of the past. He