Children of Fallen Gods (The War of Lost Hearts Book 2) by Carissa Broadbent (good english books to read .TXT) 📕

left. Taken. As if she had been kidnapped. As if my father had dragged her back to the Pales, had locked her up in black glass until her mind broke, until she was just a shade of—

And if Orin was—

If Orin—

Caduan’s words unfurled in the back of my mind: You are not as easy to control as your sister.

And then I thought of that night.

I thought of it more clearly than I had in so long, the memories sharper, as if drawn into focus by my anger and confusion. My father leaning over me, his hands on my throat.

You are tainted, Aefe.

What had the priestess seen in my blood that day? Just my curse? Or did she also see my lineage?

What would it have meant to my father, if the heir to the House of Obsidian had not been his blood daughter?

The memories rolled over me. My weeping mother throwing herself at my father, trying to pull him off of me. Her magic flaring at her fingertips, so bright that it lit the glassy black of the room like the night sky. I remember it all looking like shooting stars surrounding her, but I was nearly unconscious, by then. It was the only time I had ever seen her use magic. Hers was more powerful than my father’s, many times over. And it was only then that he relented.

I stumbled back.

“Why are you telling me this?” I spat. “None of this matters.”

It was easier, if none of it mattered.

Because what could I do with this? I had spent my whole life searching for my father’s affection, because it was the only alternative to hating him for everything he took from me. It was easier to believe I deserved it. Easier to believe he was right, and there was still a path for me.

If there wasn’t, I had no story. I had no path. I would be trapped alone with my hatred, with nowhere to go. And now, confronted with these terrible thoughts, I could feel the walls closing in.

Orin’s face was oddly vulnerable, almost pleading. “I’m telling you this because you are the Teirness of the House of Obsidian. And you have the power to change things, Aefe. You can do what your mother couldn’t. You could build a better world for people who share your blood—”

Share my blood.

And it was those words, at last, that snapped something within me. Orin came a step too close, and I snarled at him.

“Get away from me.”

“Aefe—”

This man was a stranger. He knew nothing about me. He cornered me to tell me these things and then used them to manipulate me into doing what was best for his kingdom.

No.

Orin stumbled forward, as if to stop me. But I was already retreating down the path, grabbing my blades, and falling back into the shadows.

A monster was thrashing inside of me, a monster made up of nothing but ravenous limbs. I couldn’t allow myself to stop and think, because if I did, I would only think about Orin’s words. Orin’s terrifying words. Words that would ruin my life, and words that also made sense in so many ways.

I was running, leaping over walls and slipping into the shadows.

It could not be true.

If it was, then I was not my father’s daughter.

If it was, then even if I was a Teirness, my title held no value in a kingdom built beneath my father’s leadership and guided by loyalty to him alone.

If it was, then my blood made me a traitor.

Then my blood itself was tainted.

And yet, a voice whispered, it makes so many things make sense.

I wasn’t sure how I ended up in front of the door. I didn’t remember going there, and I was knocking before I even had time to think about it.

The door opened, and Caduan blinked blearily at me, brow furrowed in concern.

I didn’t give him time to speak before my arms were around his neck, and my mouth crashed against his.

For a split second, Caduan went rigid with surprise. But he recovered quickly, his arms folding around me, his mouth returning my kiss with ravenous hunger. Our bodies were flush. He wore no shirt, and I was wearing that ridiculous Wyshraj gown — so little separated us, and yet it was still too much. Our heat tangled in the space between us, skin to skin, as our kiss deepened, as his tongue tasted mine, as his grasp tightened around me as if on feral instinct.

I yanked the door closed, clumsily. He pushed me against the wall, my legs lifting and parting around his waist, a serrated breath escaping me as our hips aligned.

I was surrounded by him — a presence I had come to know so well. But I hadn’t been expecting this, the sheer hunger of it, the way that the desire would overwhelm us both so quickly.

Far in the back of my mind, a part of me whispered, This was a mistake. I had come here to escape myself, to drown in the touch of another. But it was too late that I realized Caduan’s touch made me more myself than I ever was.

His hands slid over the bare skin of my back, around my sides, as if he wanted to memorize the way my muscles felt beneath my skin. His thumb, just his thumb, slid just beneath the hem of the fabric around me, brushing my ribs. Barely a touch, and yet it felt so intimate that I broke our kiss with a fractured moan.

Every part of me wanted. And I knew he did, too. I could feel his desire pressed against me, in a satisfyingly obvious way, but also in the way he held me, like a dying man clutching life.

For one suspended moment, our trembling breaths mingled, our lips nearly touching. And then he kissed me again, this time slower, more tender, his lips and tongue and body all asking a gentle question. It was all so achingly innocent — the kind of innocent