Born of Blood and Ash (Flesh and Fire #4) Read Online Jennifer L. Armentrout

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal Tags Authors: Series: Flesh and Fire Series by Jennifer L. Armentrout
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Total pages in book: 362
Estimated words: 347293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1736(@200wpm)___ 1389(@250wpm)___ 1158(@300wpm)
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What rose then was just as choking as the rage. It, too, was an all-consuming tempest, and every heartbeat was an echo of ravenous sorrow.

I broke.

I rocked back, bloody hands fisting in my hair as I screamed. Tears coursed down my cheeks and fell from the sky. I screamed until I thought I might rip apart, until my voice gave out, and there was nothing.

I didn’t know how long I remained on my knees, arms limp at my sides. I heard and saw nothing until I registered someone calling my name over and over.

Hands grasped my arms, shaking me. “Sera!”

Numbly, I opened my eyes, expecting to see Holland, but it wasn’t him.

Attes was crouched in front of me, red soaking his hair and streaming down his face. “Sera? Can you hear me?” He squeezed my arms. “Do you understand me?”

“I…” I rasped hoarsely. “Look…at what I did.”

The Primal shook his head and swallowed thickly. “That doesn’t matter right now.”

How could he say that? My gaze drifted behind him to the crimson leaves.

“Look at me.” He caught my chin, forcing my gaze back to his. “I need you to focus on me and listen. If you don’t, there will be more death and destruction. Lotho needs a Primal, and only you can Ascend one. If you don’t do it and do it now, the essence will circle back, and there will be even more damage. You must stop this.”

The screams…

Those lost when Embris’s essence was released. I flinched, and Attes cursed. Their blood was on my hands.

“Sera,” Attes pleaded.

“I know,” I croaked.

Relief poured into his features, and he helped me stand. As the blood leaves swayed in the wind, we shadowstepped to Mount Lotho.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

At any other time, I would’ve marveled at the beauty of the Athanien Palace. The sweeping structure had been built into the side of Mount Lotho and consisted of far too many floors to even count, connected by spiraling outdoor staircases that looked like death traps to me.

The palace wasn’t the only building that climbed to the heights of the mountain. Tall towers lined Mount Lotho and disappeared into the clouds. I knew that was where the Fates resided.

But there was nothing beautiful about the Court now. It was storming violently. Lightning continuously pierced the dark violet and charcoal clouds, revealing glimpses of the pitched roofs and rain-soaked marble streets of the cities sprawling along the hills and the steep inclines of Mount Lotho.

Draken swarmed the palace, their staggering calls those of restlessness, confusion, and anger. There was also concern.

So much rain had fallen that the gods clustered outside the doors feared mudslides would soon follow. Several were out there now, using essence to hold back the unstable ground. I closed my eyes. It reminded me of Phanos fighting the tidal wave my actions had caused.

“Sera,” Attes called softly.

I turned from the window to see him entering the atrium with Penellaphe.

The goddess’s light brown skin had taken on an ashen hue. “Sera,” she whispered, crossing the distance between us. “Fates, are you all—?”

“There isn’t time for that,” I cut her off. What I said wasn’t a lie, but I also didn’t want her concern. “Are you willing to accept the position of Primal of this Court?”

She stopped short, her fingers curling into the lace on the collar of her blouse. “I am, but there are other gods older than me—more deserving.”

“I don’t know them. I know you.”

Penellaphe took a deep breath. “Then I accept.”

Attes led us to a nearby chair. I’d been relieved when I realized the crimson now dried in streaks over his face and matting his hair was from the blood rain and not something else. It hadn’t just fallen throughout the mortal realm. It also drenched the Courts of Iliseeum. “Do you know how to do this?”

I nodded. “Your wrist?”

Penellaphe extended her arm, and Attes’s worried gaze lingered on me. I took the goddess’s hand. The sight of my blood-and-dirt-smeared fingers against her clean, unblemished skin caused me to flinch. Whose blood was that? Mine? Embris’s? The unknown gods I’d killed?

“Sera?” Attes said quietly.

I shook myself free of those thoughts. The wind and rain lashed the walls. Lifting her wrist, I didn’t waste any time. I bit into her vein. Her sharp inhale reminded me to release my fangs. I hadn’t done that when I’d torn into Embris’s throat. The taste of Penellaphe’s blood reminded me of cherries as I drank deeply and as quickly as I could, hoping I wasn’t causing her pain. I’d already brought about enough of that to last a lifetime. At some point, Penellaphe sat, or Attes guided her to do so. I wasn’t sure which. Soon, I became aware of the pulse beneath my fingertips and its echo in her blood. When it slowed, I closed the wound and then bit into my wrist. Red-hot pain radiated up and down my left arm, and Attes winced. I hadn’t been as clean with myself as with Penellaphe. It wasn’t on purpose. At least, I didn’t think so.


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