The Sunstone Brooch : Time Travel Romance Katherine Logan (no david read aloud TXT) 📖

Erik charged into the room in full Viking furor, yelling, “Tyr!” and wielding a long-handled battle-ax. “Sten, you have gone too far this time.”

Sten threw off a piece of canvas on his work table, revealing a battle-ax exactly like Erik’s. “This is a fight that should have taken place when we were young men.”

Erik swung the ax in an arc as he stalked Sten. “The Council saw your black heart. That is why they expelled you. They should have killed you instead.”

“They could not kill the Keeper’s son.”

“But look what you have done here.”

Sten glanced down at JC’s body. “He wasn’t supposed to die so quickly. I expected much more from him.”

“You mean you expected him to talk? You should have known better.” Erik streaked across the floor, whipped off his cloak, and spread it over James Cullen.

“You cannot save him.” A vast, bone-chilling power pervaded Sten’s entire being, sending sparks into the air.

Erik faced Sten, rotating the ax handle back and forth. “You are the one who cannot be saved. I will do now what could not be done before.”

“It will mean your death,” Sten said.

“As long as the future Keeper survives, my life does not matter.”

“That cloak and ax should have been mine. Father meant them for me.”

“You betrayed him.”

“I was framed.”

“No one believed you. I did not believe you. Nor do I now.” Erik raised the battle-ax with his right hand, gripping the bottom and driving the ax with his left. He lunged forward, sweeping the ax down on Sten, but Sten evaded by stepping back. “You cannot defeat the Council or me.”

“You are weak. You will never have full control of the garnet.”

“As soon as I kill you, I will.” Erik attacked with an undercut and caught Sten on the shoulder with the top horn of the ax. The impact sliced off Sten’s arm, leaving it dangling by muscle and tendons. Blood sprayed all over Sten and the floor. Erik took advantage of Sten’s hesitation, changing his hold on the shaft for his next attack.

But Sten moved too quickly, causing Erik to switch up his attack. Instead of using the head of the ax, he shoved the handle into Sten’s chest with such force that his ribs snapped, and he dropped to his knees.

“Mercy,” Sten groaned.

“Did you grant the Keeper’s son mercy?”

When Sten didn’t answer, Erik said, “I do this on behalf of the Keeper. What you have done will take years to undo. Vengeance is his.” Erik brought down the ax with such force that it split Sten’s skull in half with a resounding crack. Then Erik raised the ax again and severed both halves of Sten’s skull from his body.

He looked down at his brother and spat on the remains. “The Council should have ordered your death. The Keeper will remember the Council’s failure to do so and one day will demand payment.”

Erik turned away from Sten, heartbroken over what had happened to the Keeper’s son. “It’s time to go home, lad.” He gently wrapped the cloak around JC, covering him from his head to his toes, even though he knew that doing so diminished his own power. Then he gingerly picked James Cullen up. “I have failed the Keeper, but I will not fail the son.”

34

The Badlands (1885)—Ensley

Ensley had just fallen asleep—or so it seemed—when Norman yelled, “Rise and shine.” She opened only one eye to see the gray-bearded cook holding a lantern aloft. “Get up. Breakfast.”

She rolled over and covered her head. But all the shuffling, cracking necks and knees, and grumbling, prevented her from going back to sleep. None of the men paid any more attention to her than they did to each other as they wandered around during the blue hour—that particular moment at daybreak when the sun hovered below the horizon and the light’s blue wavelengths dominated.

But this morning, there wasn’t a thing calming about the hour or the mysterious sky.

With her joints cracking, she dragged to her feet and limped over to a tree where Norman had thrown a tarp over a cottonwood limb to give her a sliver of privacy. She’d grown up camping with men, so even that little bit was a couple of notches above what she was used to having.

As long as men left her alone and didn’t get frisky, she’d skate through this time travel adventure without any more trauma. And although she’d taken self-defense classes and knew how to kick a man in the groin or poke a finger in his eye, running like hell was still her best defensive move.

The coffee kettle clanged against tin cups, and forks scraped across tin plates as men shoveled down their breakfast. That alone was motivation to hurry through a wash and brush before they ate all the food.

She did sigh, though, thinking how wonderful it would be to take a long, hot shower and put on clean clothes. She could almost smell the fresh scent of the Tide Plus Febreze Sport Odor Defense detergent she liked to use at home. But then she sniffed her jacket sleeve and nearly barfed. Thank god she was around men who smelled worse.

How long had she been living in this outfit? A month? At least she washed her underwear as often as she could. She wasn’t sure her jeans would ever come clean, and her shirt was beyond repair. It still covered her and didn’t have any significant tears, other than a ripped hem, but it quit being a white shirt weeks ago.

She kicked her butt in gear, collected the sighs she just poured out while dreaming of cleanliness, stuffed them in a dirty pocket, and took her clean hands and face to breakfast.

The men had finished eating and gone to saddle their horses when she arrived at the chuckwagon. Norman’s territory consisted of the wagon and the sixty-foot radius around it. He was the boss, and from what she’d gathered, no one crossed him.