Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Blood-caked knuckles.
A spear like the one downstairs, with spikes coming out of it. With a loud roar it smashes against a gold helmet and then drives into red
Screaming ensues all around me until my throat nearly closes up.
“Wait, it’s me!” I’m screaming. I try to silence my voice, but nothing happens as blood splatters everywhere, and I watch people I don’t recognize—but somehow love—die.
And then it happens, the sound of one last sword dragging across the ground.
Scraping the rocks in a terrifying melody as he emerges from the cave. The tip of the sword glides through everything it touches and turns it to ash, melted from the heat of it.
Fallen.
Fallen.
Fallen.
Rocks are now mere dust.
I’m not afraid anymore. He’s here. He’s come for us.
He has returned to kill off Chaos.
I’m perfectly at peace. I stand watch like everyone else near the mouth of the cave. The other army, dressed in red armor stops fighting immediately, like they are terrified to breathe.
The man takes off his helmet. His hair is jet-black, running down his back, tangled in a mass of blood and sweat.
But his eyes—they’re ice blue with fires of orange encircling them. He turns to me then. He’s familiar; he looks like Cyrus but doesn’t. “Why have you come?”
I jerk back in shock that he’s talking to me. “What?”
His eyes blaze orange as the ash around him lifts from the ground swirling around his body. “You should never have come,” he whispers. “Fallen one. Destroyer.”
I jolt upright and nearly fall out of bed. What the hell? Am I crying? I touch my right cheek, and my trembling finger comes back wet. I’m confused, and yet I’m at peace.
It was nice.
Where I was at. In my dreams. Despite the blood and the creepy Cyrus-looking god. He was so tall, heroic. The people in the red armor looked petrified; even the guy with the spear stopped fighting.
Maybe it’s all this ancient Egyptian studying that has my brain going crazy, or the fact that I read Jake’s notes last night and had that really good wine.
I remember Cyrus putting me to bed and saying something about me being drunk.
So far, I’m wondering if my first impressions have been that of an immature college girl grasping at straws to find her brother.
I need to get it together if I want to find Jake and work.
Ugh, I should not have drank last night. I hope I wasn’t too much of a burden to Cyrus. Should I go apologize or just go out? He’s so good looking and demanding it’s clearly messing with my head.
He’s my only key to Jake, and he’s been so willing to help.
I make a mental note to contact the police later, even if it is Daggon, who is on the same level of weird as everyone else in Deer Harbor and literally looks like he struggles tying his shoes.
Until then, I’m going to do what I can. Keep going through his research for clues, keep calling him, and keep praying he’s truly okay. I sigh and look out the window. The ocean seems grumpy, crashing against the rocks, splashing all over the place. I smile and whisper, “same.” Then I get up, pat Bast on the head, and go get ready.
Hopefully, Cyrus isn’t anywhere to be seen. I need at least five minutes alone with my coffee before dealing with his level of whatever he is. He’s so intense. Something is extremely off with him though. Extremely. Plus, I remember how close I was to him last night, how the heat from his body enveloped me, how he smelled like the hot sun. I clear my throat, then I do it again. I was drunk, I was not hitting on my boss, nor was I willing to climb him like the tree outside.
What the hell did they put in that wine?
Is that a Deer Harbor thing?
By the time I’m in the kitchen grabbing a mug, Cyrus is, of course, at the breakfast bar reading something on his phone, or shall I say glaring at something on his phone like the world’s about to end.
His coffee clearly didn’t do the trick. Or maybe he’s annoyed that the bar is closed, which would be a valid reason. I’m pouring my coffee and selecting a pastry from the counter when he clears his throat.
Always a super good sign. And by that, I mean never.
“You slept late.”
I roll my eyes. What is with him? He’s so impossible to understand. Protective. Then nice. Then mean. Argumentative.
“Noticed that, yup.”
“Let’s just say I had a comfortable bed.” Besides, he’s forgetting the fact that I obviously had too much to drink by way of his friend Enki.
“It’s good for you to sleep.” He keeps scrolling, refusing to make eye contact. Then suddenly sets down his phone and locks his icy blue eyes with mine. “I have to get to work in a few minutes. You know where my office is, and where your brother’s research is waiting.”