Few Are Angels #3
Ella has accepted her fate of 15 years with Aleixandre, but she won’t accept the fact that he plans to use to powers to eradicate the Chorý race. Neither his promise to release her of her debt early or allow Kale to reside with her in the garden house is enough to make Ella change her mind. Instead, Ella, Kale and Jace look for the mysterious Zdrowy, a group of Chorý thought have been cured of la Luxure.
Kale used to be convinced that the Chorý race was nothing but monsters, but do they all deserve to be exterminated? The question plagues Kale as he and Ella search for the mythical group of cured Chorý.
In the final installment of the Few Are Angels series, Ella and Kale are set on a path that not only leads to a cure to the Chorý status, but may offer Kale what he has been chasing his entire immortal life: absolution.
I guess I’d missed the dilated pupils when Kale answered the door, but when he told me he was high I didn’t believe him. “You’re kidding me right?” Now in the garden house, Kale laid on the bed dazedly staring at the ceiling.
“No, it’s not like any feeling I have ever experienced.” He slowly moved his head to look at me sitting at the desk.
“So, you’re telling me that you’re high?” I still couldn't believe it. The effect of his master’s blood was the same as an opiate. “How does it feel?” I asked cocking my head to the side awaiting his response. I’d never done a drug a day in my life unless you considered the prescription Ibuprofen, and since I was sure that didn’t count, I had no clue how Kale was feeling. I just knew that it looked as if he felt good—really good. Kale’s lazy smile said that he wasn’t going to answer that question. He closed his eyes and beckoned me to him with his hand.
“Oh! I’m not coming over there.” I laughed.
Kale groaned and turned over. “C’mon.”
“Maybe we should call someone.”
“I have no clue.” I stood and went to the bed. I bit my bottom lip, realizing that if Kale was too far gone, there was nothing I could do to help. It was like being the only sober person at a party and hoping nothing went wrong—something always went wrong.
His lips lifted in a sly smile revealing a tip of pearly white fang. “Damn, I love it when you nibble on your bottom lip like that.” Kale’s husky voice sent trembles throughout my body, settling in my stomach.
Inching closer to the bed, I placed a finger on the comforter and traced the swirling pattern.
“Playing hard to get?” Kale asked.
My face warmed. “No, not hard to get . . .”
He rested his hands on his stomach. “Then, what’s your plan? To stand over there with your pink lip between your teeth?”
My nerves calmed and decided to play along. “And what do you think you have done to deserve me today?” I asked playfully, climbing onto the bed until Jace’s voice could be heard, calling for us.
An annoyed groan broke through Kale’s lips. “I think he knows when we are about to,” he waggled his eye brows and I couldn’t help but laugh, “and I think he enjoys interrupting us as well.” He jumped off the bed with a grace I wasn’t sure he still had and pulled me to the door. On the other side, Jace stood with a smiling Sola and a scowling Tamsin.
Tamsin spoke first in a bored yet forceful tone, “I’ve been given permission to take you on a trip.” She straightened her coat and before I could reply, she was out the door.
I looked around confused. “What was that?” I was used to her snippy attitude, but what the hell was that all about?
Jace shrugged. “I had to convince Aleixandre to allow you some freedoms, but I am not trusted enough to take you anywhere. So, we were given a damned chaperone.”
Excitement bubbled in my chest. “Were are we going?”
Inger Iversen lives in Virginia Beach with her tree-hugging boyfriend, Joshua and her overweight lap cat, Max. When not reading or writing she spends her time watching reruns of True Blood, Walking Dead or killing zombies in Call Of Duty. Of course, if the world were to change into some World War Z type situation, she’d probably be the only chick running around searching for a Ray Gun! Stalk her…No, peeking through her window at night. (Unless you call first!)