Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 137871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 689(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 689(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
As a member of the Lycaon tribe, his lineage was steeped in the legends. He opened his mind in hopes that his intuition and blessed bloodlines would guide him. Darius wasn’t one to pray often, but moments of desperation called for desperate measures.
He stopped in a small clearing, the moonlight illuminating the frost blanketing the ground. Dropping to his knees, the weight of his responsibility to his kin pressed heavily into his shoulders. The expectations of his pack, his brother’s lack of faith, and the fear of failure bore down on him with crippling pressure.
The icy wind bit into his skin as he opened his coat and shirt, but he welcomed the pain. It sharpened his resolve, fueling the ancient fire within him. With a steady hand, he drew an athame blade from his belt.
The blade was an heirloom, passed down through generations, its steel etched with runes of power and protection. The edge gleamed in the moonlight as he held it over his heart, the point pressing against his chest.
Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and plunged the blade into his flesh, mimicking the lethal wound passed from father to son in the ancient history that defined his bloodline.
Grunting at the burning pain, he suffered through the blood sacrifice, knowing it was the only hope of righting his path. His sacred offering welled around the blade's tip, and his body shook. Gritting his teeth, he plunged the knife deeper, then pulled the athame free, cupping his hands to catch the blood as it trickled down his rigid abdomen, through his fingers, and onto the snow.
The stark contrast of his heated life source warmed his hands against the biting cold, a vivid reminder of his mortality. Holding out his hands, trickles of crimson followed the ropes of muscle twisting his arms, dripping onto the large leaf he plucked from a nearby tree.
The dry edges of the leaf were already crimped with time. He hoped it held enough life to act as the offering he needed. It was a known truth that gods liked some sort of sacrifice for their favors, and he desperately needed their help now.
Drops of his sacred blood trickled from his cupped palms onto the leaf. “Hear my plea,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, as he addressed the gods. “Guide me to my mate. Do not let our lineage fade into the shadows of history. I beg of you, show me the way. I sense great sorrow in her. Help me find her so that our union might honor you.”
The wind pulled from the trees as if the branches inhaled to hold the forest’s breath. He knelt in reverence to his prayer, eyes closed, blood spilling in sacrifice, and his heart seeking sanctions of the gods.
Minutes passed, or perhaps hours—it was impossible to tell. Then, as if in answer to his desperate prayer, the gurgling caw of a raven squawked overhead.
Eyes open, he looked to the sky as a vision shaped his mind. There she was. Her face remained blurry, but her presence was unmistakable.
She stood at the edge of a cliff, the sea crashing against the rocks far below, the wind whipping her hair around her face. The location was familiar, a place he had seen in dreams but never in waking life. It was a place tied to his lineage, a place of power.
He gasped, the vision fading but leaving behind a sense of purpose. The vision acted as a compass, guiding his heart in the direction he needed to go. She was out there. But there was no mistaking the ominous weight of what he saw. She was scared and in some sort of danger.
He needed to save her from whatever it was she feared. If her life was in danger, he needed to end whatever made it so.
His pack would not forgive him if he failed. They might not forgive him for hunting her alone. But his instincts had guided him correctly. She faced a great danger, and Darius could not risk another minute of waiting.
As her mate, he would lay down his life for hers if the gods willed it so. She was to be his, and he was therefore hers. One flesh, one heart, and one soul until the end of time.
CHAPTER 26
“Go away,” Juniper groaned when Dane knocked for the twentieth time.
“I know you don’t want to be bothered, but you didn’t touch your breakfast or your lunch and it’s now dinner.”
“Not hungry.” She pulled a pillow over her head.
“Juniper, there are a lot of things—I’m sensing—that you and Adriel didn’t tell me. I can’t force it out of you, but could you at least just…talk to me? I don’t understand what happened?”
He wasn’t going to leave her alone. Tossing her pillow aside, she huffed, “Come in.”
The door creaked, and Dane’s heavy footsteps ascended the narrow attic steps. “Can I turn on a light?”