Read Online Breathe (The Destiny Series: Book 1) by Christine Grey - Free Book Online Page A

might be in trouble, that her steps had led her further and further from the others. Then, suddenly, she noticed the sounds of fighting had faded, until she could only hear the distant clang as sword met sword. Her steps slowed, and she turned cautiously, senses tingling as adrenaline surged through her veins. She took one step, then another, and then, out of the underbrush, he appeared before her. It took a fraction of a second for her mind to take in the figure looming in front of her. He looked young, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old, though it was hard to tell exactly, because of his height. His skin was a beautiful copper brown. His black hair was long, worn loose to below his shoulders, and cut in layers that framed his face. As with the others, a braid the thickness of her little finger hung longer than the rest of his hair, though from her angle she couldn’t see how far it went down his back. A few stray strands blew softly across his cheek and caressed his jaw. The tattoo on his face, a string of runes that started just above his left eyebrow and curved in a gentle arc out to his left temple and back in again and ending at his cheekbone, looked delicate compared to those of some of his kin. His eyes were different, too. Every Breken she had seen that day had deep black and lifeless eyes, which the stories said was the norm for that race of people. His eyes, however, were a stunning brown, with flecks of gold that shimmered in their depths, making them seem warm. He stood there before her, poised to strike. He was her enemy, the dread of her people, the very definition of evil, and…the most beautiful, amazing, and captivating man she had ever seen. She raised the mighty sword, and stepped as if to defend herself from impending death, and then—
    Not that one, you dolt, came the voice she’d heard in her dream, seeming to originate from the sword in her hand and from somewhere in her head, at exactly the same time.
    Dearra took in what had just happened, her hands frozen and extended above her head, poised to strike. Did the sword just speak to me? It couldn’t be!  
    Dearra realized she was standing stock still, her sword in her hand, feet from death. Why wasn’t she dead already? she wondered, as she tore her eyes from the sword and looked again at the young warrior standing across from her.
    His hand, too, was poised as if to strike, but he remained frozen as she was. He stared at Dearra, his eyes taking in every inch of her, from her mud caked boots all the way up to the smudge of dirt on her nose. He seemed almost fascinated by the strands of hair whipping furiously about her face, having escaped the braid she wore.
    It was incredible, but Dearra actually felt a maidenly blush creep into her cheeks as their eyes met and held before he crumpled to the ground in a heap, no longer moving. Dearra looked to the spot just behind where the young warrior had been standing, only to see Daniel with a self-satisfied grin on his face. Daniel dropped the club he had used against the strange Breken’s head, and replaced the now useless stick with his own sword.
    “Didn’t see a reason to damage my blade,” he stated, matter-of-factly, “Easy pickings when you distract them for me, Dearra. Nice work!” And then he trotted off in search of more Breken to add to his total.
    She watched Daniel run off, clearly enjoying himself, too stunned to speak. She looked down at her feet and felt a strange sense of pity and sadness over the loss of this particular Breken. Dearra shook her head in frustration with herself (he was a Breken, after all), and after another brief glance at the handsome, young warrior, followed after Daniel.
    The tempo of the battle ebbed and flowed, first seeming to lean in favor of the Breken, and then shifting to lean in favor of the Maj, until a low note blown on a distant horn sounded from one of the Breken ships. As one, the enemy turned and took flight, the warriors of Maj following their