Empire of Ash: A Passionate Paranormal Romance with Young Adult Appeal (God of Secrets Book 1)

by L. R. W. Lee

  “Show me how.” I kneel beside Harpoc and he hands me a joint, which I put between my lips, and he lights it.

  “Breathe in, but don’t swallow.”

  I break out in a coughing fit and Harpoc laughs.

  “That’s nasty.” I can’t help but wrinkle my nose. “Why would anyone…?” I wave a hand in front of my face.

  “Try it again,” he says grinning.

  I do, and sputter again, less this time, but Harpoc still chuckles.

  My third and fourth and fifth tries, I actually “blow smoke”—LOL—at Midas. The thought makes me giggle.

  I’m not that big, and oh, I’m starting to feel… goooood.

  “Hey.” I protest when Harpoc takes the joint.

  “Can’t have you so high you accidently touch him.” He shoos me away, then continues sedating Midas, a puff at a time.

  There’s not much of anywhere to go, so I lay down in the short grass and close my eyes, enjoying the buzz.

  I must fall asleep because when I wake, Harpoc’s no longer leaning over Midas, but rather he’s sitting back on his haunches, shoulders drooping.

  “When?” I ask, my heart heavy as I kneel beside Harpoc.

  “A few minutes ago.”

  I put a hand on his bicep, and he covers it with his.

  “Sometimes I despise secret magic.” He shakes his head.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Surprise bites me and I turn my head.

  Harpoc flares his nostrils, then runs a hand through his hair, staring at Midas’s still form.

  “This… it wasn’t his fault. Technically, it wasn’t yours either. Secret magic did this.” He jerks his head.

  Despite confusion, I’m not about to ask him anything when he’s as upset as he is.

  He joins his hands behind his neck, teeth bared.

  I don’t know which death of the three—the sphinx, Zephyr, or Midas—is worst. The sphinx and Zephyr both scared the shit out of me, but Midas cuts me at the core as I gaze at his gruesome body.

  Secret magic. Harpoc’s magic.

  Harpoc exhales heavily, then brings his arms down quickly, bracing them on his thighs.

  I have no clue what Harpoc’s thinking, but I agree with his distaste of secret magic. Double standards, corrupt politicians, exploitation of minors, just thinking of it all, makes me grind my teeth.

  If he’s this upset, maybe he’d reconsider my complaints about it. The notion stops me in my tracks.

  I’ve got nothing firm lined up after this.

  I look over at him. His shoulders droop, and he’s staring at his hands as if all of this is his doing. Maybe it is.

  “It’s not my magic.” That conversation, under those trees after we trapped Zephyr in the maze, niggles my mind. It’s what he said.

  He’s a god. It has to be his magic, an integral part of who he is, doesn’t it? It’s who gods are, right? They go around blasting things and disobedient people with the stuff.

  I furrow my brow as my thoughts soldier on.

  If it’s not his magic, then whose is it? He said he was created at the foundation of the worlds. Is he somehow bound to it by whoever created him? And in a way that he loathes, like now? These and many more questions spring to mind, but I don’t ask.

  Eyes closed, Harpoc sighs and drops his head along with his hands.

  I can’t take it anymore; I have to help the poor guy.

  I place my hand on his thigh, just to let him know he’s not alone.

  Harpoc’s eyes fly open, like he’s only now remembering I’m here, and he looks me up and down, then covers my hand with his, letting a corner of his mouth hitch.

  I have to say, I’m still drawn to that smile, to his eyes, his sexy bod—despite his godliness and tight-lippedness—yes, new word.

  “Thank you for being here.”

  I chuckle. “Where else would I be?”

  I can see in his eyes the instant the “what’s next?” conversation dawns on him.

  He rises, pulling me up by the hand he’s still holding, and walks several steps, before again sitting on the grassy ground, his back to Midas’s body.

  I’m no mind reader, but edging aside anger and frustration, I think I see… fear’s too strong a word… maybe it’s worry, maybe plain old discomfort, because he rubs an eyebrow.

  Imagine… a god.

  “So…” he says, looking out over the barren plain as he tugs a short blade of grass.

  I remain silent. I want to see what he says.

  “We took care of the problem.”

  If that’s what he calls a pissed sphinx, that insane harpy, and… Midas. Oh, and being abducted in the process.

  I nod.

  “It’s been a whirlwind five days.”

  “It has.” I agree.

  He shifts. He’s uncomfortable, but I’m not letting him off this hook.

  “It didn’t scare you away, that’s good.” He chuckles, glancing at me.

  I smile.

  “It’s selfish of me to ask, and there’s so many reasons I shouldn’t, but… I was wondering…”

  He’s kind of cute when he’s uncomfortable.

  “… as an archeologist, you’re a detective of sorts.”

  “A regular Clouseau, that’s me.”

  He snickers. “I was wondering if you might consider…” I can hear the hesitancy, but what’s causing it I’m not sure. “… helping me find that leak I told you about.”

  “The one where ‘sealed’ secrets are getting out?”

  “The very one.” He exhales, like he expected me to shoot the idea down.

  I start tapping my lips with a finger, like he always does, and grin.

  He chuckles.

  “Before I answer, tell me this…” Hey, I’ve got him on the ropes, I plan to take advantage of it. Two can play this game.

  He furrows his brow, no doubt noticing my prowess at twisting things. I barely hold in a snort. Maybe I’ve learned a thing or two from him in the last few days.

  “Will you promise to be more forthcoming?” I lay it out there. His secrecy drives me nuts. It’s who he is, and I know it’s probably asking a lot, but if I go with him, and that’s a big if, he needs to at least promise to be candid. I know I’m putting at risk the possibility of changing what he does, but there’s no way I’ll even consider going if he can’t at least promise to not keep secrets from me.

  “Forthcoming?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, like when I ask you a question, actually answer it.”

  He considers for longer than he should, or maybe that’s just my story, but at length he says, “Pell, just so you know, I may not have told you everything, but never once have I lied to you. And what I withheld, I did to protect both of us.”

  He hasn’t committed, so I press. “Will you promise to be more forthcoming?”

  He chuckles. “My harpy.”

  The way he says it, overflowing with endearment, makes my stomach flutter.

  Pell, he hasn’t yet agreed.

  Oh, right. Right.

  “Will you?” I ask, doing my best to hold a stern, I-mean-business expression.

  He looks into my eyes as he draws a hand up, then cradles my jaw.

  Butterflies launch in my stomach.

  He leans in. “I will,” he says, grinning, then brushes his lips against mine.

  They shouldn’t, but my lips eagerly meet his.

  Pell… my inner voice whines.

  I don’t care, because a girl’s got needs beyond just defending justice, as important as that is.

  But satisfying your needs, with him? My inner minion won’t shut up.

  Harpoc slides closer and draws me onto his lap, into his arms, deepening the kiss.

  My inner voice just harrumphs but is finally quiet.

  Good, because cradled as I am against his firm chest, a sense of peace that’s fulfilling and satisfying, that’s new and strange in this moment, but I sense could easily become old and familiar, in a way that feels, dare
I think it, like home, beckons me.

  My heart races as his tongue brushes my lips and I open to him, drawing my hands behind his neck.

  He moans as my tongue dances with his, then he’s diving deeper, devouring like hunger’s driving him.

  I run a hand through his soft onyx locks and wish his wings would materialize so I can touch them like I did in flight a day or two ago. To make him moan some more.

  But then he’s drawing back, panting. “Not here,” he gasps, desire still filling his eyes. But his wicked grin tells me he’s got a few secrets he’d like to be forthcoming with, in his domain.

  My stomach’s aflutter, and I can only grin back like a stupid, love-struck pubescent.

  Oh, Pell… my inner voice groans.

  I laugh. I don’t care.

  “So…” He clears his throat. “… will you help me?”

  Harpoc has changed me in the last few days. I’ve played by the rules my whole life, but he’s brought out a new, more daring side that I kind of like. Like him, it’s a dangerous side, but I’ve never explored it, and it’s high time I do.

  I want to experience what Harpoc, Mister Ancient Sexy Bod God of Secrets, does in his realm, how he seals secrets, where he hides them, what rules govern them, everything—including why I’m some “special case” when it comes to never having heard about secret magic before—because I plan to stop that damn double standard if it’s the last thing I do. There’s too much suffering and injustice in this world because of it.

  He’s a dangerous god. I’ve known it since I met him, but now the notion makes me smile.

  I put my hands, one on either side of his face, and smile. “Harpoc, I would be pleased to help in whatever way I can.”

  He leans forward, tweaks my nose, smiling, then pecks me on the lips. “Thank you.”

  I can’t stop smiling, and my inner voice groans again.

  Harpoc floats Midas back to his burial chamber at the heart of the burial mound and we close the place up again.

  Standing out front, I say, “I need to get my stuff in Mycenae before we go”—I wave my hands—“wherever it is you call home.”

  He chuckles. “I’ve already handled that.”

  I furrow my brow.

  “I sent them on ahead.”

  My mouth drops open. “You knew I’d say yes?” He hasn’t stopped smiling since.

  A corner of his mouth quirks up. “I hoped.”

  I stuff my hands in my coat pocket, hiding a smile, but as I do a horrifying thought occurs to me. “Harpoc, you’re the god of secrets, I’m—” I look myself up and down. “—I can’t possibly be dressed properly for your… empire.”

  Empire. Damn. My heart starts racing.

  Lord save me, what have I gotten myself into? I’ve fallen for a freaking god who’s loaded, and I know absolutely noth… thing… about…

  My thoughts falter.

  Ah! I’m so far out of my element that I don’t even know what I don’t know anything about.

  I’m just poor, artifact-and-baklava-loving, sweats-wearing, little ol’ me.

  Harpoc chuckles, making me frown.

  He wraps his arms around me and draws me against his chest.

  Somehow it doesn’t slow my heart. I’m feeling lightheaded; I’m going to have a heart attack.

  “I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Do you really think I’d let you be embarrassed?”

  “I… I don’t know. I guess not.”

  “You hold a rather low opinion of me, I see. We’ll have to remedy that.” His voice is filled with mirth.

  He takes two steps back and motions for me to stay put. “Anything in your pockets you need to bring with you?”

  I furrow my brow. “What…?”

  He repeats his question and I remove all the crap I might need, my phone, Kleenex, a hair band, a rubber band—yep, I’m a real MacGyver—and more, and place it on the ground.

  He smiles at the pile of junk. “You’re sure that’s everything?”

  “I’m leaving that sheet of plastic.” The one still neatly folded in my coat’s breast pocket.

  That makes him guffaw as he shakes his head. “Okay, then close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  He holds up a hand, staying my tongue. “Trust me.”

  I roll my eyes. Him and trust. Trust and him. But I do as he says and shut my eyes.

  I feel his gaze devouring every inch of me, and I want to fidget, at a minimum open my eyes again, but I don’t. Instead I scrunch up my face.

  “I promise it won’t hurt either,” he whispers into my ear, making me start.

  I didn’t hear him approach.

  “A bit jumpy aren’t you?”

  I just scrunch my face harder and ball my hands at my sides, tension eating me up.

  And then I feel it. The strangest sensation I’ve ever felt, something like a million of those tiny Styrofoam packing beads swirling around my legs and moving higher and higher, to my waist. It’s invasive in not a good way, and I’m glad I’m still wearing my jacket because I don’t do well with invasive; it takes everything I have not to sidestep to get away.

  When it continues longer than I can cope, I crack open one eye… and nearly shriek because all I can see is what looks like black smoke swirling in my vision.

  I slam my eye shut again and focus on controlling my breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

  Then just like that the sensation stops.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Harpoc’s expression is neutral, but intense, when I do. He’s looking me over.

  I glance down to see what he’s looking at and my brow shoots up. I’m in completely different clothes.

  My hands investigate the feel of the soft, slate-color leather long coat that’s trimmed with fine black decorative stitching along the lapels. Six silver buttons, three per side, with a design I’m sure means something to Harpoc engraved on each, line either side of the front below that. The bottom of the coat angles from the back to the front adding a feminine touch.

  Black leather boots lace up to the knees of my leather breeches, and I find my phone and everything else I took out of my coat, in the pockets, and snort. Of course.

  Harpoc’s grinning as I run my hands over it all again. I can’t stop touching it.

  “There’s a hood, a nod to your hoodie.”

  I twist, and sure enough, glimpse an ample hood, then pull it up and partway across my face. “I can be an assassin in this.”

  Harpoc bursts out laughing.

  I ooze with excitement and carry on because I’ve never worn something so fine.

  He pushes back the hood, then gently brushes my unruly auburn hair behind an ear.

  I only barely suppress a shiver at the intimacy, but my stomach’s butterflies are as excited as me and take flight.

  “You like it?” There’s desire in his eyes as he holds me, a hand on either side of my waist.

  “Like it? I love it,” I say, placing my hands on his forearms. “Did you design this?”

  He gives a shy grin. Answer enough.

  The tailored waist makes it feel like I have a figure for the first time in my life. Does he know how self-conscious I am about that? That it’s why I wear the ‘practical’ clothes I do? Whether he does or not, I’ll give him credit.

  He smiles, gaze still locked with mine. “I’m glad. You’ll fit right in, in this.”

  I feel like his treasure as he looks at me that way.

  He leans forward and presses his lips to mine.

  I can’t wait to see his empire, to experience more—dare I think it—to experience all of him.

  “Ready to go?” he says against my lips.

  “Definitely.”

  Swirls of black vapor rise as Harpoc holds my waist and presses the kiss as darkness claims us.

  Book Two in the God of Secrets series, Empire of Secrets, is coming in just eight weeks! Yes, it’s coming October 19th! So pre-order your copy at smarturl.it/Buy_EoS now!

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