Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 125179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Cain quashed the voice fast. If the woman in question had been anyone other than Wynter, he would have been prepared to sit back and observe. But this was his consort.
His pace faltered as he sensed vibrations coming from somewhere below him.
Coming from the grotto.
Cursing again, Cain bolted for the spiral staircase he’d descended almost every night for weeks on end. He swiftly jogged down it and hurried through the open iron gate. His pulse leaped as he took in the scene.
Wynter stood against the wall opposite the spring, her eyes wide, her lips parted, her focus centered on it. Water splashed over the edges of the stone well as it bubbled and gushed and lit up with pure power.
He’d witnessed such a spectacle before. Many times, in fact. It meant only one thing.
A Leviathan was rising.
Cain rushed to Wynter’s side and curled a hand around her upper arm. She jerked in surprise, only then noticing him. “Are you all right?” he asked her.
Looking somewhat dazed, she nodded.
“He called you here again?”
A line dented her brow. “He?”
“My uncle.” Cain curled an arm around her shoulders and held her close. “He’s waking.” And for some reason, Abaddon wanted Wynter to be present when he did. The man had some explaining to do.
“Wait, he’s in the water?”
“Ancients always Rest in water.” Cain cast a quick look at the well. “You should go back to the Keep.”
Her brows snapped together. “What? Why?”
“Because I don’t know what mental state he’ll be in when he rises. Like I told you once before, I don’t know of an Ancient who’s been at Rest for so long and I have no clue what kind of impact it might have had on his psyche.” And sanity, for that matter. His uncle had always been reasonably calm and collected, but these were unusual circumstances. “That unsurety bothers me.”
“It bothers me as well. Which is why I’m not leaving.”
Cain sighed at the determined set to her jaw. “You’re a stubborn woman. I like that about you, even as I find it an inconvenience at times.” Since he highly doubted that his uncle would have any wish to harm her, Cain didn’t push for her to leave. “At least let me do the talking.”
“That I can easily agree to. Um, the lights beneath the water are beginning to fade. That doesn’t mean he’s slipping back into Rest, does it?”
“No. It means he’s close to surfacing.” Cain’s chest tightened as he recalled the last time he’d seen Abaddon. The man had been deathly pale, so weak his heart barely beat, his face lined with grief and pain even in sleep.
They hadn’t expected him to survive more than a few nights, if that. Still, they’d placed him in the water. Instead of slipping away peacefully while at Rest, he’d gradually healed. More, he’d strengthened—something they’d sensed as the level of power in the grotto slowly but surely intensified over time.
When they’d been sure he was strong enough to wake, Cain and the other Ancients had contemplated it. But they had all agreed that Abaddon wouldn’t thank them for it. At least at Rest he could dream of being with his deceased family members, of having a life that didn’t involve being imprisoned. Awake, he would have to accept so many deaths, process so much grief, and learn to cope with being in a cage where he’d be unable to avenge those he’d lost in—
The lights flicked off, and the bounding whips of power disintegrated.
Cain released Wynter and moved to stand in front of her, earning himself a little huff.
Head first, a man slowly rose out of the spring, water sluicing down his half-naked body. Abaddon looked so much like both his brothers, Satan and Baal. Tall, broad, dark, hard. And, at this moment, thoroughly disoriented.
He blinked, his gaze sharpening. “Cain?” he asked, his voice croaky with lack of use.
Cain nodded. “Yes.”
Abaddon looked around. “Where am I?”
“A temple near my home. You’ve been here for some time now.”
As Abaddon continued to examine his surroundings, Cain took a moment to really study his uncle. The Ancient appeared weak but not frail, and there was no glint of insanity in his gaze, merely confusion. He had the look of someone who’d overslept and was now suffering the adverse effects of it. Which, really, probably wasn’t far from the truth.
Finally spotting Wynter, Abaddon squinted. “Who are you?” he asked, imperious.
Cain felt his brow furrow. He had not expected that question. He shifted aside slightly, giving his uncle a clear view of her, but the Ancient still appeared nonplussed. “You don’t recognize her?”
“Should I?” Abaddon frowned, rubbing at his temple. “Everything is . . . cloudy.”
Cain knew that feeling. He’d experienced it each time he woke from a long Rest. It was as if the brain struggled to make the full transition from “sleep” to “conscious”. Like parts of it needed a few moments to “warm up” in order to properly function.