Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 229266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1146(@200wpm)___ 917(@250wpm)___ 764(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 229266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1146(@200wpm)___ 917(@250wpm)___ 764(@300wpm)
Catching my eye, he nodded. I hurried forward, to the first man. He was an older gentleman with more gray than black in his hair. I didn’t know what his injuries were, but his unfocused gray eyes tracked me. I opened myself, sucking in a sharp breath as anguish, both mental and physical, came from the beds and those perched beside them. It crowded out the air, choking and suffocating. My gaze briefly swept to the woman and then to the elder beside her. Some would not leave this room. Others knew this. Hands giving in to a slight tremor, I focused on the man before me.
“I’m sorry about what was done to you,” I whispered, and the man said not a word as I placed my hand on his.
Normally, it took a few moments for me to call upon the kind of memories that led to the easing of pain. I’d think of the sandy beaches of the Stroud Sea, of holding my mother’s hand. But this time, I felt warmth in the skin of my palm. I didn’t have to pull upon anything, only thought of taking the pain. I knew the moment my gift reached him. His mouth went lax as his chest rose with a deeper, steadier breath. I held his hand until the clouds left his eyes. He stared, but did not speak, and neither did the man beside him, one too young to carry the haunted look in his eyes. I eased his pain from whatever wounds the blanket covered and from what ran deeper. Grief. Raw and potent.
“Who did you lose?” I asked once he’d stopped trembling, aware that no one was speaking. Not Alastir. Not Casteel, who shadowed me through the room.
“My…my grandfather,” he said hoarsely. “How did you…how did you know?”
Shaking my head, I placed his arm by his side. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Eyes followed me as I made my way to the next man and knelt. In the back of my mind, I wondered if it was Casteel’s blood that made it easier for me to use my gift or if it was because of the Culling. Either way, I was happy to find that it worked with little effort. Continuing to dwell upon happier times was not easy when death clouded the room.
The man before me was slipping in and out of consciousness, twitching and moaning softly as I placed my hand on his, channeling my energy into him. His sweat-dampened brows smoothed out within seconds.
“What did you do?” a young woman demanded as she fell to her knees beside the man, dropping an armful of clean towels. “What did she do?”
“It’s okay.” Casteel placed a hand on her shoulder. “She only eased his pain long enough for Magda to return.”
“But how…?” She trailed off, her brown eyes widening as she placed a hand over her chest.
Meeting Casteel’s gaze, I rose and went to another, one with eyes of winter. A wolven. I had no idea how old he was, but in mortal years, he appeared to be a decade or so older than me, his onyx-hued skin drawn into tense lines. A deep slash ran across his bared chest, where a sword had sliced open tissue and muscle.
“I’ll heal,” he said gruffly. “The others, not as easily.”
“I know.” I knelt. “That doesn’t mean you need to be in pain.”
“I suppose not.” Curiosity seeped into his eyes as he lifted his hand.
I folded mine over it, and again, I sensed there was pain that ran deeper. Years and years’ worth of sorrow. My palm warmed and tingled. “You also lost someone.”
“A long time ago.” His breath caught as his breathing slowed. “Now, I understand.”
“Understand what?”
He wasn’t looking at me. I followed his gaze to Casteel. Behind him, Alastir stood as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Maybe we should’ve warned him.
“Jasper will be interested,” the wolven said, a faint grin appearing as he leaned his head back against the flat pillow.
“I’m sure he will be,” Casteel commented, eyes lightening. “Be well, Keev.”
The wolven nodded, and I rose, curious as to who Jasper was as I moved to the man beside Keev, the one that had watched me the entire time. I started forward.
“No,” the man gritted out, sweat coursing down his face. His eyes were a shade of golden hazel. “I don’t want your touch.”
I halted.
“No offense, my Prince.” His too-shallow breaths filled the silence. “I don’t want that.”
Casteel nodded. “It’s okay.” He touched my lower back, urging me on.
I went, looking over my shoulder at the mortal with Atlantian blood. He watched me, his face already flushed with fever. I connected with him, and immediately severed the connection. The hot, acidic burst of hatred and the bitterness of distrust stunned me. Quickly looking away, I swallowed as my senses stretched out to every corner of the room, and I stumbled under the mixed rush of emotions and tastes. Iced lemonade. Sour and tart fruit. Vanilla. Sugar. Confusion and surprise. Fear and awe. Distrust. Amusement. My heart started kicking against my ribs.