In Deeper Waters by F.T. Lukens (most motivational books txt) 📕

mercenaries were going to murder Kest! They were going to hurt his family again!

Tal and Athlen didn’t have to wait long for a response. Footsteps quick and light-headed in their direction, and a pair of heeled boots appeared beneath the sway of the fabric before the curtain was violently swept aside.

The woman stared at Tal with dark, wary eyes, the tip of her sword held solidly between them. The point stood steadfast under Tal’s chin. She was a lady, that Tal could see, not only from the fact that she was a shifter, but also in the bearing of her posture and the way she peered down her nose. She didn’t wear any adornments—no signet ring or necklace with a crest, and thus no indication of her family—but she was noble.

Tal didn’t recognize her.

And she didn’t recognize him, either. As her gaze roved over him, there was no moment of surprise or acknowledgment at seeing the dead prince of Harth, just suspicion at finding two boys amid the red fabric.

Her gaze flickered between the two of them, questioning, and Tal acted before he thought. He boldly grabbed Athlen’s hand and leaned back into the warmth of his body.

“Do you mind?” he asked with a roll of his eyes, affronted and impatient. “My boy and I would like a little privacy. Unless…” He looked her up and down, from the soles of her well-made boots to the thick tangle of her hair at the crown of her head, and tried his best for a leer. “You’d like to watch.”

Athlen caught the hint and wrapped his arm around Tal’s waist, pulling him closer and placing a loud, openmouthed kiss on Tal’s neck.

Her pouty lips curled in revulsion. “Disgusting commoners,” she said with a sneer, dropping the tip of her sword.

The group of mercenaries behind her laughed.

“Run along, peasants. Find a room or a barn.” She reached into a purse at her hip and flipped a coin toward them. Tal caught it, the cool edge of the gold biting into his palm.

He smirked. “Thank you, milady.”

Her eyes flashed, but before she could comment, he ducked his head and dragged Athlen toward the stairs. They hurried up the creaky staircase, not once looking back, and banged into the shared room.

“Pack everything,” Tal commanded, slamming the door and throwing the bolt. “We need to leave and get home. I have to warn Kest.”

Athlen’s hands shook as he stuffed the saddlebags. “They saw me,” he choked out. “They saw me. They won’t let us leave.”

“They might not have recognized you.”

Athlen nodded quickly as he grabbed the thin quilt from the bed and balled it up. Tal didn’t stop him from stealing the blanket, especially as they were about to go back out into the cold, wet weather.

Tal opened his palm, and Ossetia’s stamp gleamed in the low lamplight. He twirled the gold in his fingers. No scuffs. No chips. Uncirculated gold, just as was found on the derelict. Ossetia had hidden shifters among their royal house, and they had paid to have Tal kidnapped and were planning Kest’s murder.

The pounding at the door broke Tal from his thoughts, and he stashed the coin away in his pocket, the gold clinking against the shark’s tooth.

Tal backed away from the door and cast a glance behind him. Athlen clutched the quilt to his chest, his expression blank, his face drained of all color except the bruiselike half circles under his eyes. The only other escape was the shuttered window, and while they might be able to squeeze their way out, the drop was too dangerous.

“Toss the bags out of the window,” Tal said low, jerking his chin to the shutters. “We’ll pick them up on our way out.”

Athlen gulped. The pounding became fiercer, the door shaking in the frame.

“Athlen!” Tal snapped, and Athlen jerked, blinking at Tal, fear a cloud over his features. “It’ll be all right. I promise. Now pull the dagger, and toss the rest out of the window. Understand?”

Athlen shivered, but he nodded. He busied himself with his tasks, and Tal faced the door.

These people had hurt his friend. These people had planned to kill him. These people were after his family. He had hoped he would never be in a situation where he could lose control of his magic again, not after he’d condemned an entire crew to froth and flames, but as the wooden door heaved inward, that eventuality appeared inescapable. Yet in the face of it, cornered with no way out, the choice was startlingly clear. In a game of kill or be killed, Tal would live, and he would ensure anyone he loved would as well, by any means necessary. He wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt him or Athlen again.

He fanned the flame of his magic. It roared to life, kindling from the ever-present flicker of flame in his belly to a wildfire burning down his arms, until his fingers glowed like molten steel.

“Tal?”

“Be ready to run.”

The door shattered inward, the lock giving way from the wood, splintering it, before breaking and falling. A mercenary from the group squeezed through the opening, gleaming weapon in his hand, grim smile twisting across his mouth.

Tal crouched in a fighting stance.

“Oh, what do we have here? Are you going to fight—”

Tal didn’t wait for him to finish the taunt before he conjured a ball of flame and thrust it across the small space, hitting the man in the chest. He screamed and fell backward, short sword falling from his limp hand and clattering on the floor. Tal rushed forward, picked up the weapon, and stabbed the next man who dared try to enter. Blood sprayed when he wrenched the sword free, splattering across the walls and misting Tal’s face.

Tal leaped back when a bull of a woman broke through. But at the sight of Tal with sword in one hand, flames dancing up his other arm, the mercenary stopped in her tracks.

“By the dead gods,” she breathed. “Magic.”

Tal didn’t deny it as he once