Read Online Chosen: Book 1 in the Ancients of Light series by Heather Fleener - Free Book Online

purpose, Lorcan
still managed to check himself and he stepped no closer in response
to her taunt. She had kept her head down, the curtain of her hair
continued to hide her face from him. His ears and all those within
the yards of the keep were keen enough to hear her sharp intake of
breath, accompanied by an ever so slight moan of pain. The girl’s
hands extended shakily from the skirts of her gown, still tightened
in a claw-like grip as though in reaction to immense suffering. Her
fingertips scraped over the snow, raising dirt as she hunched
slightly forward.
    He witnessed it at the same time a faint
trace reached his senses; a smattering of blood was on the bodice
of her gown, much more of it smeared over her arms. Anger abated
slightly for the moment with the realization that the creature was
suffering. Lorcan released his hand from the sword and in direct
opposition to his cautionary nature he squatted closer to her
level. He scooped up a handful of the powdery snowfall, patiently
sifting it through his fingers. He provided her a minute,
attempting to allow her to regain some composure before he pressed,
“You are injured?”
    Her head remained lowered and Kaitriana eased
back as the wave of pain slowly subsided. She refolded her hands
demurely in her lap and followed with a short, rueful laugh. “I
have been tending my injuries for nearly half a millennium, Milord.
At this moment I am in pain, yes… but this blood is not mine, nor
have I been injured during all the bloodletting that has left me in
such a state.”
    Lorcan was appreciative of the response she
gave though her words were a bit odd. ‘Milord’…her language was
dated. Damn, if the creature would just push those curls back so
that he could see her eyes and ascertain her intentions. Lorcan did
not lie to himself; he was curious and cared to see if she was as
pretty as he was imagining. How he could feel such intrigue towards
a supposed threat he could not gather, but there was something
about her that pulled at him on an instinctive level.
    He could not garner a clear scent of her
either, which perplexed him further. She did not reek of any of the
Witch Castes. Her scent might be masked somewhat by the blood that
marred her skin and gown, but to be undetectable to one with his
senses was odd indeed. In order to be responsible for the death of
the magnitude described by Jortha, the little thing must be Ancient
and of one of the stronger Castes.
    Those delicate shoulders raised, just enough
to send snow cascading from them as he watched, “I am not an
Ancient…nor nearly so old as you...”
    Lorcan stiffened; was she probing his
thoughts?
    As if to confirm, Kaitriana slowly lifted her
head, raising her face to his view. The effort cost her. The
splitting in her head amplified immensely with the slight movement
and her body felt as though it were being torn apart on the inside.
Her nails began shredding the fabric of her skirts in earnest again
as she attempted to control of the shrieks of agony that wanted to
escape her.
    Lorcan took in the pain etched in her face,
the tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and the pallor of her
skin. He understood immediately her issue, noting the tips of tiny
white fangs and the marks they had had left on the bottom of her
lower lip. Those observations registered with him simultaneously
through the impact of a shock that nearly knocked him back
physically. Lorcan’s gaze locked on her. Those eyes swimming behind
the pools of tears appeared as shards of ice. There was no sparkle
within them at this very moment but those eyes had haunted him for
centuries. He knew them well and only one in the Realm had ever
possessed that amazing look.
     
     

CHAPTER 9
    Lorcan’s entire body weakened in a rush,
requiring all his brute strength to keep himself steadfast. The air
expelled rapidly from his lungs as he began counting; Lorcan
realized he was crazed even as he did it. Eighteen…eighteen little
freckles smattered