Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“I’m fine. Truly.” Inhale. Exhale. In—oh! The air smelled unexpectedly pleasant. Extremely so. Hints of orchid and jasmine coated each of her inhalations. Perhaps a trace of orange and lemon.
Embers of excitement sparked. Were her children soon to bloom for the second time since their conception?
She clapped, uncaring that she must look like an idiot. The first time she’d encountered this intoxicating blend of fruits and flowers occurred when a handsome stranger waited nearby. A boy she’d dreamed about for months beforehand. Reveries of a tall, lanky fae who’d begun to show promises of incredible strength. She’d never forgotten his cap of spiky, jet-black hair and glittering ebony eyes. Or the fact that he’d sneaked in and out of her territory, presenting her with a sea of jewels.
She’d dreamed of him many nights since, watching him grow into a fierce and battle-hardened alpha who conquered villages throughout the Dusklands. Unbeatable. Gorgeous.
She’d seen him recently, too. Hadn’t she? Yes, that’s right. Memories inundated her. He and an elder had materialized in a swamp—uh, this swamp?—insulted each other and clashed violently. Before vanishing in retreat, the loser had called her dream hottie Micah. Was that his name? Had he ventured here, searching for Viori? Where was he now? Nearby?
She began to finger-comb her hair, stopped herself and scowled. Early on, she’d nearly died learning life’s most valuable lesson: trust no one. Even the nicest of beings brewed secret plots of evil in the cauldrons of their hearts.
Though she was curious. What had happened to this maybe–maybe-not Micah? Were the dreams real or merely products of an overactive imagination?
Why had he given her jewels she couldn’t bring herself to part with, anyway? How had he caused barren branches to bear fruit? Why hadn’t her protectors attacked him before she’d screamed? Whether born in the land of humans or fae, her babies always preferred to strike first and care never.
Had Micah survived his wounds, all those years ago? Or had he died, his bones dust?
Guilt flared. But only slightly. The teensiest tiniest bit, really. Hardly worth mentioning. He bore the brunt of blame, after all, for daring to trespass on her property. He deserved what he’d gotten, just like everyone else.
And that settles that. Done with the topic, Viori kicked her legs over the side of the stone she’d used as a bed. Several trees lowered their branches, offering help. She gripped the two closest to her and rose. Unused muscles shook and burned, her knees knocking. She wobbled but managed to hold her ground.
“Thanks, guys.” Viori bestowed a smile and caress upon each child, like a boss of a Disney princess. Beings worth any cost. And there was always a cost. Singing inanimate objects to life weakened her terribly. Especially when she raised giants—the dearlings responsible for her prolonged dozes. The times she’d fallen through a mystical doorway, leaving the fae world to enter the mortal one. Or vice versa.
New clicks, drenched with happiness. Happy sighs.
“Oh, dear. Look at me. Such a mess.” Though she’d fallen asleep in a T-shirt and shorts, she wore a gown. Courtesy of her family? The threadbare fabric pulled taut over an ample bust. A free-flowing skirt with its frayed hem reached her ankles, revealing her bare feet.
Krunk, the firstborn of her treemen, nudged his siblings aside to scoop her into his limbs and carry her to dry ground, where he gently released her.
What a gentleman. “Gather the rest of our family.” She stroked his lovely face, exalting as bark prickled her palm. “Everyone is to come here as soon as possible. We’ll celebrate my awakening.” She’d sing. They’d dance. Laughter would echo through the night.
He discharged a string of mournful clicks, and she knew. Not all her babies had survived without her.
Anguish clogged her throat. While her children guarded her and her territories with unwavering determination, they weren’t infallible to attacks. Throughout the centuries, she’d gleaned an assortment of whispers involving the two warriors responsible for the slaying of her belua. A term meaning “monstrous.”
The first, a fae she knew only as the Unwilling. The second... Kaysar.
Despite his raids and butcheries—whether unwitting or not—she loved, adored and missed her brother with every fiber of her being. How she longed for their reunion. An impossibility until she found a way to make up for the tragedies she’d caused him.
Yes. Tragedies, plural. So much more than the death of their parents. Because of Viori, he had suffered untold agonies. Horrors she’d gleaned from those whispers. If he thought to punish her for his pain...
Deserved.
Krunk brushed a limb against her cheek, a gesture of comfort.
“Your brothers and sisters will be avenged, I promise,” she told him. While she accepted Kaysar’s treatment as her due, she showed the Unwilling no such courtesy. He would be found and stopped. He must be.
Her stomach rumbled, hunger suddenly clawing at her insides. A common occurrence after an awakening. She sighed. “I must leave you for a bit to visit a village.” There, she could steal a decent meal, bathe and pilfer a clean garment or two. She would listen for more whispers about the Unwilling.