Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) 📖

once-enemy and raising her as my own. Not because I feel it necessary to absolve my actions for what happened to your parents or to fill a parenting void of a child I orphaned—my damaged heart does not allow me compassion—but because I see your greatness and where it can take us. You have potential, Jaymes, and I would like to invite you into my own home as a…guest.” His final word is soft. Almost inviting.

“What?” I speak delicately, attempting to take in what he’s saying to me. His words are too genuine—not rehearsed in any way for it to be a lie. He murdered my parents, though. I know he was there. But he’s claiming somebody else did it. Does he really expect me to comply? The trembling I felt at the door grows within me. I rise to my feet. I want to hurdle the desk and kick him in the face. “You murdered my parents!” I can’t hold back my anger. My volume rises. “I may not remember everything that happened that day, but I remember your face! I can’t forget that and let you come into my life as a…as a mentor? Or a father! Or whatever it is you want to be!”

My arms quake. I can’t hide it any longer. My head feels warm, and my emotions flare like…like…like I could put my fist right through his head. I have absolute hatred for him. I slam my fist down on the desk only because my reach will not allow me to hit him. To my amazement, it doesn’t stop. It goes right through it. Not due to strength. It wasn’t accompanied by the sound of cracking and wooden projectiles. It went through the desk, leaving an odd cutout with blackened edges. I look at my hand, stretching and curling my fingers to see if they’re damaged.

The Taoiseach’s brow lowers, and his lips tighten. He fills his glass with the decanter of amber and consumes a generous sip. He’s ungrateful.

“So destructive and uncontrolled. Your potential is undeniable.” He pauses. He looks to Ellia. Again, she gestures something to him, and he looks me in the eyes. It’s a long moment.

He sets down his tumbler and saunters around the desk. He seizes my left arm again. I flinch, but he steals it anyways and raises it closer to his face. He rubs his palm over it, and an agonizing pain creeps through my arm. Then, an odd tingling feeling pulses through it. I can feel my phantom hand again. And my fingers. And I was just starting to get used to not having it. I look down, and there it is. A hand. It’s not a phantom pain. My hand is back!

I wiggle my fingers. Stretch them. I look it over, front and back. What just happened? I gaze at him, mouth hanging open. Speechless. He doesn’t acknowledge the task he just accomplished. As if it’s no different than spooning your mouth full of oats to feed yourself. Instead, he continues his lecture.

“I would like to guide you. Help you control your destructive outbursts. I offer you amnesty if you will stay under my roof. I can—”

“No!” I shout, despite what he just did for me. And without thinking, I dash for the door.

I manage to open it and escape to the other side. Ellia could have easily grabbed me, but she didn’t. When I realize nobody is going to follow me, the wind leaves my sails, and my rage subsides. But I continue running through the halls with less spark and without direction, through a maze of corridors.

I turn a corner, in full sprint, and slam into someone, knocking us both to the ground. I rub my head as I get up, allowing some time to gather my wits before I focus on who or what I ran into.

Her platinum hair and crystalline eyes are unmistakable. And her fair skin of near perfection with soft, innocent features. There’s not a scratch on her. “A-Astor?”

Despite the growing religion, the war is at large. The crimson shadows bleed from Azure, and survival remains an everyday challenge. Yet I find myself seeking pleasures. Is man so self-indulged he cannot control himself even at the darkest of hours? Or is it instinct? Ingrained within to ensure the longevity of our kind.

26 Stone

“T

hank you, lad, for saving my…uh…for saving my life. I…uh…I know my crude temperament says otherwise, but your actions have not gone unappreciated. I am the way I am because somebody’s got to keep the crew in line. And that includes you. I hope you understand that.” Captain Crowbill opens up.

We’re both leaning against the rail, looking out to the approaching city. The Phish Skooler floats into the Crimson Harbor, the helmsman maneuvering her rather skillfully with all the other vessels coming and going. The Crimson Capital is the central hub of commerce and it’s well on display here at the port. It’s been a fortnight since the gator incident, and the captain hasn’t said much about it since. I don’t know where he stands or whether proving the potential of my talent will reinforce his decision to keep me on his ship. But I have a feeling I’m about to find out.

“You’re not going to cry, are you, Captain?” I ask lightheartedly.

His face gets disgruntled, and an open hand rises in the air, but he pauses there. He lowers it and smiles. “I overheard the crew harassing you. About your past. And…well…I just want to say, I don’t believe Stripe is too far off with his version of the tale. Sailing with a man, even for a fleeting period, can tell you a lot about his character. And I know you had nothing to do with your parents’ deaths. I’d try to help you out, but all I know is baitin’ and hookin’. I don’t know