by I. T. Lucas
DARK WARRIOR’S LEGACY
The Children Of The Gods Book 10
I T LUCAS
FOLLOW I. T. LUCAS ON AMAZON
Contents
Chapter 1: Nathalie
Chapter 2: Andrew
Chapter 3: Carol
Chapter 4: Andrew
Chapter 5: Nathalie
Chapter 6: Andrew
Chapter 7: Robert
Chapter 8: Nathalie
Chapter 9: Carol
Chapter 10: Nathalie
Chapter 11: Robert
Chapter 12: Andrew
Chapter 13: Carol
Chapter 14: Anandur
Chapter 15: Kian
Chapter 16: Losham
Chapter 17: Nathalie
Chapter 18: Amanda
Chapter 19: Andrew
Chapter 20: Anandur
Chapter 21: Nathalie
Chapter 22: Andrew
Chapter 23: Nathalie
Chapter 24: Anandur
Chapter 25: Andrew
Chapter 26: Kian
Chapter 27: Robert
Chapter 28: Anandur
Chapter 29: Losham
Chapter 30: Dalhu
Chapter 31: Nathalie
Chapter 32: Andrew
Chapter 33: Robert
Chapter 34: Amanda
Chapter 35: Carol
Chapter 36: Robert
Chapter 37: Anandur
Chapter 38: Andrew
Chapter 39: Anandur
Chapter 40: Losham
Chapter 41: Anandur
Chapter 42: Kian
Chapter 43: Anandur
Chapter 44: Nathalie
Chapter 45: Andrew
Chapter 46: Nathalie
Chapter 47: Andrew
Chapter 48: Nathalie
Chapter 49: Andrew
SERIES READING ORDER
FOR EXCLUSIVE PEEKS
Copyright
Chapter 1: Nathalie
“Where are you going?” Andrew murmured when Nathalie kissed his cheek, checking once more that he was indeed sleeping and not unconscious. Ever since his transition had started with him lying unconscious in bed, she’d been having mini panic attacks every time she opened her eyes to see his closed.
Relieved, she kissed him again. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.”
Hoping to do her laundry while avoiding the butler, Nathalie had crawled out of bed at five in the morning. Funny. For years, she’d been waking up when it was still dark outside, and this would’ve been considered late for her. Getting used to good things was easy, and not having to wake up before the sun came up was definitely at the top of her list of good.
A bundle of dirty clothes under her arm, she tiptoed to the kitchen in search of the laundry room. Opening each one of its three doors, she discovered that one led to a secondary elevator, another to the dining room, and the third one to a large pantry.
“Figures,” Nathalie muttered. Kian and Syssi probably used a service, and there was no laundry facility in the penthouse.
Unless one of the doors off the main hallway was hiding what she was looking for. On the remote chance that it did, Nathalie tried the one directly across from the guest suite.
Damn, it was the butler’s, and he wasn’t sleeping. He was sitting in a BarcaLounger, not much different from the one he’d brought for her father, and watching some British show on the tube. His bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in at all, but that was probably because he’d made it as soon as he’d woken up. Perfectly, like a display in a department store.
Well, he was the butler; of course his bed would look like that.
“Can I help you, madam?”
Shit, if she asked him where the washer and dryer were, he would insist on doing her laundry himself. It was better not to mention it at all and avoid an argument.
“No, thank you. My mistake, I’m sorry to disturb you. Good day.” She quickly closed the door before he had a chance to answer.
Well, not a big deal.
She was going home to check on the boys and could drop her dirty stuff there, change, and pack a bag with fresh things for the next day or two. The only problem with that plan was that, in the meantime, she was stuck wearing her clothes from yesterday.
“Good morning, Nathalie. What are you doing up so early?” Kian’s voice startled her.
How the hell did he walk without making a sound?
With a hand over her chest, she turned around and plastered a smile on her face. “I was looking for the laundry room,” she blurted before thinking it through. Not that she had a better explanation for the evidence under her arm.
Kian wouldn’t offer to do her laundry for her, but he might suggest his butler.
As if reading her thoughts, Kian chuckled. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the entrance to the laundry facility is through Okidu’s room, and he wouldn’t let anyone set foot in there. If you’re out of clothes and you don’t want anyone doing your laundry, I suggest you borrow some of Syssi’s.”
That was awfully perceptive of him, not a trait men in general were known for and especially not Kian’s type. She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you reading my thoughts?”
He shook his head, then winked. “I would never do so without your permission.”
“So how did you know?”
A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Syssi had the same problem. She didn’t like the idea of anyone handling her intimates. But she soon realized that resistance was futile.”
Nathalie grimaced. “Ugh. I don’t know how she does it. I can’t even think of anyone touching my intimates, as you said so politely.”
Kian dipped his head. “Thank you. My mother would’ve loved to hear it. She tried her best to teach me manners but had limited success. Come to the kitchen, and I’ll tell you how Syssi solved the problem. I need my morning coffee.”
She did too. “Thank you.”
After dropping her bundle back in her room, Nathalie joined Kian in the kitchen and sat on one of the counter stools, watching him pull out the thermal carafe from the coffeemaker and pour its contents into three cups.
“I have it set on a timer, so the coffee is ready when we wake up,” he explained.
Apparently, Kian wasn’t the only early bird in the house. Syssi was too. “Do you guys always wake up so early?”
Kian pulled the creamer out of the fridge. “I used to get up even earlier and go to the gym, but Syssi doesn’t allow me to get out of bed before her. She’ll be here in a moment.” He handed Nathalie the cup, then put the creamer and a small plate with sugar cubes on the counter.
“Thank you.” Nathalie dropped two cubes into her coffee and poured a little creamer. From the first sip, she recognized it as the same brand of coffee Syssi had made for her before. It was so good that Nathalie was considering trying it in her café even if it was on the pricey side. The coffee might be well worth the added cost if she gained a few more regulars thanks to it. People would come back for coffee that good.
Kian rounded the counter and sat next to her, took a couple of sips from his cup, then put it down. “I apologize for not offering breakfast. We usually eat after our morning exercise.”
Was it her imagination, or did Kian just wrinkle his nose?
“Okidu will make some later.” He shook his head and reached for his cup, dipping low as he took another sip.
Oh, shit. He must’ve smelled her dirty clothes.
Mortified beyond words, Nathalie stayed seated by sheer force of will when everything in her demanded that she bolt out of there. After only one day of wear in an air-conditioned environment, her clothes should’ve been still good today, but evidently she’
d been wrong. Kian was smelling something unpleasant, and it wasn’t the coffee.
She took a few quick sips, burning her tongue in the process, and put the cup down. “I should get going. I need to go home and check on how things are going over at the shop.” She got up and took a few steps back. “I hope to be back before my father wakes up, but if I’m not, could you please tell Okidu to serve him breakfast? Otherwise, he might try to cook it himself and set the kitchen on fire.”
“Don’t you want to hear how Syssi solved the laundry problem? It may save you the trip.”
Hell no.
She wanted to be out of there as soon as possible and not come back until she was showered and wearing fresh clothes. There was nothing more embarrassing than an offensive body odor.
“I would love to hear all about it, but maybe some other time. I really need to check on the boys and see if they need anything. I’ve been gone for too long.”
Kian shrugged. “I’ll wait for you here until you’re ready to go. The elevators are controlled by a thumbprint, and you’ll need one of us to escort you down to your car.”
Great. Now she was going to be stuck with him inside a small, enclosed space.
Can this day get any worse?
Shut up, Nathalie. Of course it can get worse.
She was stupid. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t have clean things, and Kian wouldn’t judge her because of it. He would understand. And anyway, wasn’t he supposed to be ancient? He’d lived in an era when people rarely bathed. A little body odor shouldn’t be a big deal to him.
Back in the guest suite, first thing she did was to check on Andrew. Poor guy. She’d woken him several times during the night just to check that he was responding. No wonder he didn’t even twitch when she sat on the bed. He was exhausted. Lifting his limp hand, she kissed the back of it. His eyes popped open, shining with an eerie blue glow—the kind she’d seen in Kian’s.
Scary and yet beautiful.
“Your eyes are glowing,” she whispered.
Andrew smiled, and she was relieved to note that his canines still looked normal. After everything they’d been through recently, she couldn’t handle more than one thing at a time. The extent of physical change Andrew had already undergone was staggering, and she hadn’t been prepared for so much in such a short time. Thankfully, on the inside he was still the same old Andrew.
A wonderful, devoted, caring man.
“I’ll be damned. I can see the light shining on your face. A useful trick in case of a power outage.” He chuckled. “No need to go searching for a flashlight.”
“Aren’t they supposed to do that only when you’re horny or stressed?”
“And your point is?”
She laughed. “You’re right. You’re always horny. I guess flashlights are no longer needed in our household.”
He pulled her on top of him. “Only when I’m near you, my sexy lady.” Reaching for the back of her head, he brought her down for a kiss, and a moment later she found herself pinned under him. Thank God he hadn’t gained weight along with his other changes because he would’ve crushed her.
“Not now, Andrew. I need to go home, change, and pack a few clothes. I’m out of everything, and I’m wearing what I had on yesterday. I stink.”
He sniffed her neck. “You don’t stink, sweetheart. You smell great, like a ripe peach.”
That was a relief. “Are you sure? Kian wrinkled his nose at me.”
Andrew sniffed again. “I’m sure. But you do smell different. I told you that before. Have you gotten your period? That could explain it.”
A wave of anxiety swept through her, and for a moment Nathalie couldn’t breathe.
Kian had obviously smelled something that had caused him to react like that. And since he hadn’t gone through any changes during their short acquaintance, it meant that she was the one emitting a different scent from before.
That, together with the nausea and Bridget’s suspicions, all pointed to only one possible conclusion.
Damn. If it were true, she was so screwed.
Or rather the other way around. A snarky little voice whispered in her head that she had the cause and effect in reverse. After all, the screwing had to come first.
Chapter 2: Andrew
As soon as Nathalie had left, Andrew jumped out of bed. Ever since Bridget had taken his measurements, he’d been itching to check himself out in the mirror. He’d grown bigger all over, which was great. The question was whether everything got bigger proportionally. Not the kind of thing he wanted to do in front of his fiancée. As much as he loved her, some things were too embarrassing to share.
Hell, he was embarrassing himself.
Only a delinquent attached so much importance to the size of his dick.
When he’d made love to her, Nathalie hadn’t had any complaints, and that should’ve been enough. But damn his stupid ego, it wasn’t. He had to know, and now that she was gone and wouldn’t be back for at least an hour, he could finally do a thorough inspection without fear of getting caught doing something so juvenile.
Last night, before Nathalie had come into the bathroom, he’d managed to get a quick peek in the small mirror over the vanity. But if he wanted to see more, he had to do it inside the walk-in closet. The only full-sized mirror in the entire damn guest suite was in there.
Padding to the door, Andrew locked it before embarking on his mission—exploration of his new and improved body. A precaution in case Nathalie came back early, or one of the others decided to pay him a visit.
In the closet, he turned on the light, closed the door, and then stood in front of the mirror.
“Not bad,” he told his reflection.
The two small scars on his face had faded completely, and the only evidence they were ever there was the missing hair in his brow and in the scruff over his upper lip. He had no doubt that in a few days the hair would grow and cover the small lines bisecting his upper lip and his brow.
Stretched over his frame, his skin was taut like a young man’s. Hopefully, it would stay like that after adjusting to his larger frame. He needed to fill out more, though. Some of the muscle tone he’d had before going through the transition had been lost.
One of the things he’d hated most about his aging body had been the slight sag of his skin. All the iron pumping he’d done hadn’t helped fill it up.
Did it feel as smooth as it looked? He ran his hand over his chest and his abs.
Nice. Everywhere he touched was taut, and what’s more his old scars, even the big ones, were barely visible. In a day or two, they would probably be gone completely.
The ping of sorrow that followed surprised him. The old stab wounds and bullet holes told a history. So yeah, it was a history of battles, of losses and victories, of blood and sweat, but it was his, and he owned it. To see it disappear felt like erasing the memory.
With a jolt, he moved sideways to bring his tattoo in front of the mirror.
“Fuck!” It had faded so much that only the outline was still visible.
He should snap a photo before it vanished so he could have it redone once his body stopped changing. Except, he couldn’t remember seeing tattoos on any of the Guardians.
Andrew frowned. Perhaps it was impossible for immortals to mark their bodies—the self-healing mechanism preventing any lasting changes. He hadn’t seen any of them with piercings either.
The thought of losing the tat spoiled his good mood.
As long as he carried the monument to his fallen friends on his flesh, Andrew felt as if he was carrying on their legacy. In a small way, it made the guilt of surviving while they hadn’t tolerable.
And now it was fading.
With his shoulders slumped, he shuffled back to the bed and sat down. What the hell was he going to do if tattoos were a no-go for an immortal?
He must’ve brooded a long time because he was still sitting on that bed when he heard Nathalie trying to open the door.
“Andrew?” she said qu
ietly with a note of worry in her voice.
Still in the buff, he padded to the door and stood behind it as he opened it for Nathalie, closing and relocking it after she’d stepped in.
She dropped two overstuffed plastic bags on the floor and turned to look at him. “I see you’ve been waiting for me.” A smile curved her lips, but after a quick once-over, it was replaced with a frown. “Not excitedly, though.”
He’d better spit it out quick before she started thinking some nonsense like she wasn’t turning him on anymore. “My tattoo is fading away.”
“Let me see.” Nathalie grabbed his elbow and turned him sideways. “It is. Do you know if you can get a new one?”
She hadn’t forgotten its significance.
He’d told her about it almost at the start of their relationship, which had been as good an indicator as any that she was his one. Andrew didn’t like to explain it to people. It was private. But there was nothing he wanted to keep secret from Nathalie if he didn’t have to. It was enough that he worked for the government and couldn’t tell her anything about his work. The least he could do was tell her everything else.
“I don’t know. I suspect my body will keep repairing my skin and erasing it.”
Nathalie looked at it closer. “We should take a picture before it is gone completely. I can still see the outline.” She let his arm drop and reached inside her purse to pull out her phone. Snapping a few from different angles, she checked after each one to make sure it had come out all right. “What do you think?” She handed him the phone.
It was a relief to see that the white phoenix was clear enough for an artist to recreate, if not on his skin then on something else. Question was, on what?
“It’s good. I can take it to a tattoo place, and they can use it to make a new one. I need to dedicate a budget for redoing it every few days.”
“It doesn’t have to be on your skin.”
As if a picture on the wall could serve as a memorial. Maybe for someone else; not for him. “You know what it means to me. I need it on my body, always. That’s how I keep them in here.” He put his hand over his heart.