Read Online Adam by Jacquelyn Frank - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jacquelyn Frank
Tags: Fiction, Contemporary Women
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time.
Chapter 3
About Four Hundred Years Earlier
“Adam!”
Adam’s dark head picked up, sweat flinging off his brow as he swung unruly black curls dripping with the salty liquid out of his eyes. They were his mother’s eyes, much to his father’s consternation. Mother and son both had eyes of the palest green, so clear and so light that it was almost as if they were incandescent. It enhanced the powerful ability both had to seemingly peer straight into someone’s soul. Those on the receiving end of that pale jade stare often confessed the total truth, behaving themselves, or rectifying wrongs, whether they wanted to or not.
It was that very same set of eyes that had forced Adam’s father, Asher, to confess his undying admiration to a saucy, stubborn, raven-haired female in spite of the fact that he had sworn himself to bachelorhood forever. Now he was two grown sons’ deep into the union and had never been happier.
That same female, now three centuries older but no less saucy or beautiful for it, was calling Adam from the turrets of the family castle. He could see the long braid of her hair hanging six feet down over her shoulder, the fanned tail of it fluttering in the breeze like the family crest she stood near as she leaned over the wall to call him.
“Madam,” he addressed her, his deep voice booming up to the ramparts and farther still. “I have asked you not to disturb me when I am at practice.” He swept a hand behind himself to indicate the four other Demons lying in various positions of semiconsciousness on the dusty ground, as well as the tall, lanky figure of his brother Jacob, who was leaning casually against the back of a stone statue of their grandfather that stood at the edge of the practice grounds. Jacob almost looked as though he were commiserating with the old man, who grinned deviously down on the practice field where, like his eldest grandson, he’d had a rather nasty habit of tearing through practice partners with god-awful speed.
“It would seem you are due to give your men a reprieve,” their mother rejoined boldly, taking note of his exhausted opponents with far too much motherly humor in her voice.
Adam hated it when she did that. Treated him like a son. Of course, he also adored her for it. Being his mother, she could always be counted on to be the one person on the planet who, though she supported and praised him constantly, somehow still managed to be entirely unimpressed and unaffected by the man he had become. Even their father would have shown Adam far more respect for his rank and position in the grand scheme of things. Adam supposed, however, that it was a mother’s prerogative to always treat her son the same as she had when he was just a boy, and it was a son’s prerogative to indulge her in her desire to do so.
“I suppose you have a point,” he conceded, turning to flash an enormous grin at his baby brother, if a man 221 years of age could be considered a baby still. Jacob grinned back, running a hand through the brown-black hair that he kept far too loose and wild for Adam’s tastes. “Will you require your youngest son as well?” he asked her.
“As a matter of fact, I should appreciate that.”
“What is the matter, Adam, are you afraid that if I get a few minutes’ extra practice in, I will become better than you?”
“A fear like that would not only be ridiculous, it would be a complete waste of time,” Adam shot back to his cocky sibling. He would have to make Jacob eat a bit of arena dirt later on, just to keep him humble. The upstart was beginning to get as good as he thought he was, and that had the potential to make him unbearable to live with.
The ribbing and boasts continued as the sons moved into their home to seek out their mother and discover what her bidding would be.
Eleanor had come in from the upper walkway, a bit windblown and breathless, but rosy with merriment and her clear delight in her offspring as they entered her
Chapter 3
About Four Hundred Years Earlier
“Adam!”
Adam’s dark head picked up, sweat flinging off his brow as he swung unruly black curls dripping with the salty liquid out of his eyes. They were his mother’s eyes, much to his father’s consternation. Mother and son both had eyes of the palest green, so clear and so light that it was almost as if they were incandescent. It enhanced the powerful ability both had to seemingly peer straight into someone’s soul. Those on the receiving end of that pale jade stare often confessed the total truth, behaving themselves, or rectifying wrongs, whether they wanted to or not.
It was that very same set of eyes that had forced Adam’s father, Asher, to confess his undying admiration to a saucy, stubborn, raven-haired female in spite of the fact that he had sworn himself to bachelorhood forever. Now he was two grown sons’ deep into the union and had never been happier.
That same female, now three centuries older but no less saucy or beautiful for it, was calling Adam from the turrets of the family castle. He could see the long braid of her hair hanging six feet down over her shoulder, the fanned tail of it fluttering in the breeze like the family crest she stood near as she leaned over the wall to call him.
“Madam,” he addressed her, his deep voice booming up to the ramparts and farther still. “I have asked you not to disturb me when I am at practice.” He swept a hand behind himself to indicate the four other Demons lying in various positions of semiconsciousness on the dusty ground, as well as the tall, lanky figure of his brother Jacob, who was leaning casually against the back of a stone statue of their grandfather that stood at the edge of the practice grounds. Jacob almost looked as though he were commiserating with the old man, who grinned deviously down on the practice field where, like his eldest grandson, he’d had a rather nasty habit of tearing through practice partners with god-awful speed.
“It would seem you are due to give your men a reprieve,” their mother rejoined boldly, taking note of his exhausted opponents with far too much motherly humor in her voice.
Adam hated it when she did that. Treated him like a son. Of course, he also adored her for it. Being his mother, she could always be counted on to be the one person on the planet who, though she supported and praised him constantly, somehow still managed to be entirely unimpressed and unaffected by the man he had become. Even their father would have shown Adam far more respect for his rank and position in the grand scheme of things. Adam supposed, however, that it was a mother’s prerogative to always treat her son the same as she had when he was just a boy, and it was a son’s prerogative to indulge her in her desire to do so.
“I suppose you have a point,” he conceded, turning to flash an enormous grin at his baby brother, if a man 221 years of age could be considered a baby still. Jacob grinned back, running a hand through the brown-black hair that he kept far too loose and wild for Adam’s tastes. “Will you require your youngest son as well?” he asked her.
“As a matter of fact, I should appreciate that.”
“What is the matter, Adam, are you afraid that if I get a few minutes’ extra practice in, I will become better than you?”
“A fear like that would not only be ridiculous, it would be a complete waste of time,” Adam shot back to his cocky sibling. He would have to make Jacob eat a bit of arena dirt later on, just to keep him humble. The upstart was beginning to get as good as he thought he was, and that had the potential to make him unbearable to live with.
The ribbing and boasts continued as the sons moved into their home to seek out their mother and discover what her bidding would be.
Eleanor had come in from the upper walkway, a bit windblown and breathless, but rosy with merriment and her clear delight in her offspring as they entered her
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