Hive Queen Sinclair, Grayson (best pdf ebook reader for android txt) 📖

Magnus laughed. "A product of my nature. I'd rather have it and never need it than find myself wanting."

"If you need this much firepower, I weep for all of us."

Magnus laughed again quietly. “Perhaps. Once Aliria gets here, we can go over the assignment,” he said, then busied himself with the table, already lost in his thoughts.

I decided to have a look around at the unbelievable weapons while we waited. Naturally, I was drawn to the swords. I walked over to the rack and admired the gleaming metal.

The first row was dominated by what I would say were the lowest quality weapons, which baffled me to even think about, because I saw a similar sword to the one I carried. And this was just the lowest shelf. The unbelievable quality only increased as I reached the next levels. The top two racks only held a single sword apiece, and these enraptured me.

They were rather plain-looking longswords, without much ornamentation, but they needed none.

The sword that was eye level with me was solid black from hilt to blade, but when I blinked, splashes of red and orange seemed to trickle in and out ethereally. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and I wanted to wield it. It called out to me.

I shook my head and focused on the next sword. It was the inverse of the previous sword, shining silver metal that sparkled even in the dark. The hilt was solid white with a golden pommel, and the blade of the sword shone with soft white light.

However, this weapon made me want to run screaming from it. I recoiled and backed away.

“The hell are these?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly.

“Hmm,” Magnus said, looking up. He squinted before his light green eyes lit up. “Ah, should’ve known you’d take an interest in those two.”

"What are they made of?"

Magnus waved his hand, and the black sword was in his grasp. It flared to life as if lit by the flames of perdition itself. "It goes by several names, but I call it hellsteel. It’s incredibly hard to forge, but not impossible. Several prominent blacksmiths have managed over the years. And before you ask, no, I won’t tell you how it’s made.”

Damn it, I want one. “Fair enough, but what about the other one? Why do I want to never go near it again?”

His lips turned up in a half smile. “It has that effect on the unworthy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped.

Magnus held up his hands to placate me, but his eyes lit up with humor, none of it ill. "I meant nothing by it, friend. If it makes you feel better, I can't wield it either."

My eyebrows raised. "How come?"

Magnus snapped his fingers, and the hellsteel sword vanished, only to be replaced by the shining silver one. It floated in the air above our heads, lazily spinning on its axis.

"It’s called godsteel, and it's not meant for mortals. Only those with shards of divinity can wield such weapons."

"How do you have it, then?" I asked, not having a clue about what he was talking about.

A small, sad smile met me. "I'm holding it for a friend."

"Who?"

But my question went unanswered as Magnus busied himself with the table. It was clear he would say no more on the subject, despite leaving me with far more questions than answers. Okay, just leave me alone to unpack literal demonic and divine weaponry. Seemed like Magnus liked to play it that way, blow my freaking mind and then leave me hanging with questions. Whatever, just more shit that doesn’t make any sense…which is rapidly becoming normal for me.

“Why don’t you get to the reason why you brought me here?”

Magnus brushed my question aside, focusing on his map table, pushing pieces around like it was a chessboard.

“Magnus!” I slammed my palm flat on the table, sending his little pieces scattering across the map. Anger clouded his face, and his eyes darkened.

He glared at me, and suddenly I couldn’t move.

I stood stock-still. My airway was clear, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t breathe. My lungs refused to operate. I couldn’t even fall to the floor; I just stood there and suffocated.

For nearly a minute, I maintained my cool. I’d pissed him off, and I figured he would relent, but after another half a minute, my consciousness waned. Panic quickly set in, and I started freaking out. I railed against my invisible bonds as hard as I could, to no avail. I wasn’t moving an inch.

My sight grew dim as my brain starved of oxygen, my head grew heavy, and my thoughts lost all cohesion.

Then he released me.

I tumbled to the floor and lay there choking on the air I shoveled into my starved lungs. It took several long moments before I regained the strength to stand. I stumbled up and clutched at the table to support myself.

Magnus looked me dead in the eye. “You forget your place, Durandahl. I am not someone to make demands of. I may not be your enemy, but that doesn’t mean I won’t kill you if you cross me.”

From the look in his eye, he meant every word, and he more than had the power to carry out his threat. Much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I had forgotten my place. I’m nothing compared to him. My power is nothing. My skill with the sword is nothing to a man who can kill me without a word. He outclasses me in every possible way.

I nodded to him, rubbing my throat. “Message received.”

He straightened, tugging at the cuff of his golden tunic. “Good. Even with all your faults, I find myself liking you, and I try not to murder people I