Read Online The Fallen King: The Bellum Sisters 4 (paranormal erotic romance) by T. A. Grey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: T. A. Grey
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would push a person back or maybe because of the spell she used
yesterday to bind him had just sapped her abilities for a short time. Hell, she
didn’t know but she wished she did. All she knew was that her stomach wouldn’t
stop growling, her eyelids kept drifting shut, and her limbs felt heavy as if
she’d been holding weights all morning.
Alrik, or, she corrected, King Alrik as he wanted to be called, grabbed a small branch and stood it up
against a tree. Crossing back to her, he stepped up behind her and her teeth ground
at his proximity. He unsettled her, and boy did she want that feeling to go
fast. Apparently, though her mind didn’t trust him one inkling, her body was
more than happy to feel him press up against her back. The demon was big in
many ways—tall, heavily muscled. He had that whole tall, dark, and handsome
thing going for him in a big way. What that little phrase should include is
tall, dark, handsome, and insane. The demon was not right in the head. However,
she did wonder if it was the curse on him that made him so angry all the time.
Alrik bent low so his voice fell
in her ear. His hands grabbed hers and thrust them forward. “Focus on the
branch, witch. See the branch falling over, flying back, anything . Just
make it move.”
His impatience only fueled her
anger. Abby envisioned herself snapping her head backwards and busting his
straight nose open, but she couldn’t do that. If she ever wanted to get out of
this wretched place and back to her life, she’d need to grow strong. And for
that, she needed his help.
She took all that anger, hunger,
and exhaustion inside her and focused it on the thin, gnarled tree branch. She
pictured her magic thrusting it, sending it flying away from the tree. Her
breathing deepened as she narrowed her eyes on it. Nothing happened. She
strained, sweat beading her brow and falling down her face in rivulets. The
muscles in her arms strained, she squeezed his big hands in hers and willed the
stupid branch to move. It didn’t budge. Not even a slight shudder.
“Gah! I can’t do it.” She pulled
her hands out of his and stalked away.
“You can’t keep giving up.” He
sounded disappointed. A small part of her actually felt guilty about this as if
she didn’t want to disappoint him.
She threw her hands up and spun
around to face him. He wasn’t the one hungry. He wasn’t the one tired. He
wasn’t even breaking a sweat. “I’d say working for hours on this and not seeing
a result should win me a break at the very least, dammit.”
His eyes closed and a shuddering
breath escaped him. “I’d watch your tone, witch.”
She snorted. “And what’s wrong
with my tone?” If she didn’t do one thing wrong, she did another in his mind.
His eyes opened, pierced her.
“Your anger fuels me. It’s the nature of the curse.”
Oh, well she didn’t know what to
say to that. Her anger fed his anger? Why? To what purpose? To make him a
bigger jackass? She wanted to ask, but his eyes flittered away from her and she
swore she saw a flash of—uncertainty, vulnerability, or maybe even shame.
That strange look in his eyes
made her gentle her voice. “Listen, just let me eat and rest then I’ll try for
as long as you want.”
He ground his jaw but made his
way to the animal he’d killed earlier. It was a strange looking thing about the
size of a rabbit but feathered like a chicken. He called it a fruthorc .
From his tall boot, he pulled out a knife and fileted the animal into
bite-sized pieces. Once upon a time, the sight of a bloodied animal might have
made her disgusted, but she’d seen mutilated bodies. Nothing compared to that.
It took something pretty gruesome to roll her stomach anymore.
He stuck the chunks of meat on a
slender stick and handed one out to her with a watchful look on his face. “You
surprise me again, witch. This dead animal doesn’t faze you?”
She shrugged and took the stick
that looked like a shish kabob. She held it over the
yesterday to bind him had just sapped her abilities for a short time. Hell, she
didn’t know but she wished she did. All she knew was that her stomach wouldn’t
stop growling, her eyelids kept drifting shut, and her limbs felt heavy as if
she’d been holding weights all morning.
Alrik, or, she corrected, King Alrik as he wanted to be called, grabbed a small branch and stood it up
against a tree. Crossing back to her, he stepped up behind her and her teeth ground
at his proximity. He unsettled her, and boy did she want that feeling to go
fast. Apparently, though her mind didn’t trust him one inkling, her body was
more than happy to feel him press up against her back. The demon was big in
many ways—tall, heavily muscled. He had that whole tall, dark, and handsome
thing going for him in a big way. What that little phrase should include is
tall, dark, handsome, and insane. The demon was not right in the head. However,
she did wonder if it was the curse on him that made him so angry all the time.
Alrik bent low so his voice fell
in her ear. His hands grabbed hers and thrust them forward. “Focus on the
branch, witch. See the branch falling over, flying back, anything . Just
make it move.”
His impatience only fueled her
anger. Abby envisioned herself snapping her head backwards and busting his
straight nose open, but she couldn’t do that. If she ever wanted to get out of
this wretched place and back to her life, she’d need to grow strong. And for
that, she needed his help.
She took all that anger, hunger,
and exhaustion inside her and focused it on the thin, gnarled tree branch. She
pictured her magic thrusting it, sending it flying away from the tree. Her
breathing deepened as she narrowed her eyes on it. Nothing happened. She
strained, sweat beading her brow and falling down her face in rivulets. The
muscles in her arms strained, she squeezed his big hands in hers and willed the
stupid branch to move. It didn’t budge. Not even a slight shudder.
“Gah! I can’t do it.” She pulled
her hands out of his and stalked away.
“You can’t keep giving up.” He
sounded disappointed. A small part of her actually felt guilty about this as if
she didn’t want to disappoint him.
She threw her hands up and spun
around to face him. He wasn’t the one hungry. He wasn’t the one tired. He
wasn’t even breaking a sweat. “I’d say working for hours on this and not seeing
a result should win me a break at the very least, dammit.”
His eyes closed and a shuddering
breath escaped him. “I’d watch your tone, witch.”
She snorted. “And what’s wrong
with my tone?” If she didn’t do one thing wrong, she did another in his mind.
His eyes opened, pierced her.
“Your anger fuels me. It’s the nature of the curse.”
Oh, well she didn’t know what to
say to that. Her anger fed his anger? Why? To what purpose? To make him a
bigger jackass? She wanted to ask, but his eyes flittered away from her and she
swore she saw a flash of—uncertainty, vulnerability, or maybe even shame.
That strange look in his eyes
made her gentle her voice. “Listen, just let me eat and rest then I’ll try for
as long as you want.”
He ground his jaw but made his
way to the animal he’d killed earlier. It was a strange looking thing about the
size of a rabbit but feathered like a chicken. He called it a fruthorc .
From his tall boot, he pulled out a knife and fileted the animal into
bite-sized pieces. Once upon a time, the sight of a bloodied animal might have
made her disgusted, but she’d seen mutilated bodies. Nothing compared to that.
It took something pretty gruesome to roll her stomach anymore.
He stuck the chunks of meat on a
slender stick and handed one out to her with a watchful look on his face. “You
surprise me again, witch. This dead animal doesn’t faze you?”
She shrugged and took the stick
that looked like a shish kabob. She held it over the
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