Empire of Ash: A Passionate Paranormal Romance with Young Adult Appeal (God of Secrets Book 1)

by L. R. W. Lee

  My breathing labors.

  Zephyr existed in the time of Jason and the Argonauts of Greek legend.

  My mind’s sprinting full out.

  And he called Midas a “batty old geezer.” His words had come out soft as if he knew and liked the guy.

  In fact, Harpoc dipped us dramatically in flight when I accused him of knowing the king—primary schooler. And he’d covered for Midas, excusing his misconduct.

  My hands turn jittery, and I shake my head.

  “Pell, are you okay?” Harpoc gives me a concerned look.

  I’m about to have a heart attack, why wouldn’t I be okay?

  “Did you record all of the secrets I read?”

  He smiles. “I did.”

  OMG. And no, not him.

  “How old are you?” The question spills out, and I hold my breath.

  “I was created at the foundation of the worlds.” He says it plainly, like it’s no big deal, just a simple fact about himself, no different than saying, “I like purple.”

  My hand flies to my mouth.

  Shit! I’ve been eyeing him up and down, thinking lurid thoughts about him.

  Nice going, Pell. You didn’t rob any cradle; you robbed the old folks’ home.

  Ew… I rub the condensation on my beer.

  He predates all the beings we’ve been chasing.

  He leans over and nudges my arm. “Pell, that doesn’t make me old and decrepit.”

  My face warms. He knows where my thoughts go.

  “I’m ageless, time has no meaning for me. In the grand scheme of things, I’m but a child.”

  A child! Ah!

  “You’re not helping.” My face is burning.

  Harpoc cracks up.

  “So all of those hundreds of scrolls… you knew each and every one of… and hid…”

  The immensity of the thought pummels my poor brain, but I have to hear him confirm or deny.

  Harpoc gives a half-hearted shrug as if it’s something that happens in the course of an average day for him. “As I said, I handle the secrets of the most powerful.”

  “From time immemorial.” I can’t begin to fathom it.

  “Something like that.”

  Silence falls between us for a full minute while my mind attempts to wrap itself around the facts, “attempts” being the operative word.

  At length I ask, “Why did you finally decide to tell me about yourself? It’s not like I haven’t asked you a million times before.”

  “Yes, you are persistent, my little harpy.” He winks and tingling erupts in my stomach.

  Get a grip, Pell.

  I’m trying.

  “As it happens, I told you because you showed you trust me, with your very life. That’s a rare gift to give another, and I don’t take it lightly.” He pauses, like he’s debating whether to say more. “The fact that you grew to trust me that deeply, so quickly…” He shakes his head like he can’t believe it.

  Relief has made him looser than I’ve seen him, perfect for what I really want to know, if I can just get myself together. I mean, it’s not like some god reveals himself to me every day.

  “If you’re the god of secrets, does that make you the top dog?”

  He smiles. “I’m hardly a canine, but yes, I am in charge.”

  “Of all the secrets, of every realm.” I press even though I’m about to choke on the immensity of it.

  “Yes, Pell.”

  All. Every. Whoa.

  But that admission does more than wow. I’d wondered if he plays a part in the double standard that allows politicians and others to live above the law. It seems I have my answer, and I’m none too happy about it.

  Don’t get bogged down, Pell, find out more.

  Right. Right.

  I refocus, forcing a lightness I’m not feeling. “So you’re saying there’s a sophisticated system that manages secrets?”

  “My domain is critical for every civilization to exist. If not for the Empire of Secrets, chaos would reign.”

  He said that before, at Atitamos’s. I fiercely disagree, but I’ll keep quiet for now. Getting the facts out of him is more important.

  “How many realms do you manage secrets for?”

  “Every one that exists. A few you know of, most you don’t because they aren’t in this galaxy.”

  My jaw drops again. Getting the facts, indeed. “I knew you were… different, but I hadn’t… well, expected, like you’re literally out of this world.”

  He snorts.

  “Where’s your empire?”

  “Why? Would you like to visit?” Somehow he looks hopeful, and I’m not sure how to take it. Me? Go visit some alternate galaxy or dimension? My mind is officially going to explode with the immensity of it all.

  All I really care about is stopping the double standards politicians enjoy and molesters get away with in my little world. “The thought intrigues me,” I say, covering.

  His eyes sparkle at that.

  He can’t be serious. I’m just an unemployed earthling who until this morning thought the Milky Way was da bomb.

  He tripskipped, Pell. You can’t believe he’s from this dimension.

  I know, I know, he’s a freaking god.

  “Explain to me how ‘sealing a secret’ works,” I say, circling back to my original question.

  Harpoc stretches and grabs his drink from the end table, then resituates himself. “When a being does something that he or she wishes no one knows about, the empire goes into action. A representative pays him or her a visit and determines whether the being wishes to seal that secret for time and eternity, in exchange for payment of some kind.”

  Aka, Zeki’s fifty percent fee. I make a mental note to ask him what the sphinx, Zephyr, and Midas paid, as well as Foutsey. I barely suppress a growl.

  “I manage the secrets of the powerful. My lieutenants coordinate the ranks of those less powerful.”

  I furrow my brow. “I’ve done a thing or two I wished no one knew about. No one’s ever shown up to make that offer to me. I’d probably have taken them up on it.”

  Harpoc runs a hand up and down his thigh.

  “What gives?”

  He looks at the floor. “You're a special case.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  His jaw clenches. “Let’s leave that for another time.”

  I give him my best frown. Another secret? Somehow it feels like everyone on the planet has access to this secret magic except me. Why? Why have I never even overheard anyone refer to it? I could really stand to get me some, so really? No, I’m just supposed to accept that I’m some “special case.”

  My fury is rising.

  I’ll give him credit for being forthcoming tonight, but he’s pissing me off.

  It’s also clear either he or, more probably, “one of his lieutenants” was involved in hiding Foutsey’s misconduct in Margo’s situation. It’s hard to say if it’s Harpoc who enables powerful, corrupt politicians, but it doesn’t matter, he said he’s the one leading this Empire of Secrets and as such, he’s responsible.

  I take a swig of beer.

  And to make matters worse, he waited until I showed that I trust him before telling me this. It feels like a slap in the face.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “I told you about myself, tell me about yourself,” Harpoc says.

  It’s about the last thing I want to do. But what will he do if I confront him, like I’m itching to? Because I’ll do that so smoothly, and in a way he’ll want to hear me out, especially when I’m as torqued as I am. I barely stifle a huff.

  Besides, I still have Midas to help with.

  I take a deep breath. I hate talking about myself.

  I stand and wander over to the wall-length window and take another sip of beer as I try to compose myself.

  I survey the city that’s ablaze with lights against the dark sky, as well as Harpoc’s reflection. He takes a swallow of his drink, eyes on my back, still sitting comfortably,
waiting for me to speak. I can do this.

  I turn, forcing a levity I don’t feel. “I’m an archeologist who taught herself hieroglyphics and loves baklava, but you know that.”

  A smile appears on his face, then fades.

  I take a deep breath, hating divulging my history nearly as much as what I’ve learned about Harpoc. “I don't know who my parents are.”

  Harpoc doesn’t react, just keeps watching me.

  I exhale, relieved. I’m surprised, most folks pour on the pity when I tell them, which I hate. I’m no victim.

  Why surprised, Pell? He’s not like most people.

  That’s the understatement of the century. He’s a freakin’ god.

  I calm and brush some of my hair behind an ear. “Mrs. Elide, the only group home worker who was ever nice to me, found me wrapped in a pink blanket, in a wicker basket, on the front step one morning. I came with a note, this ring on a chain around my neck”—I hold up my hand—“and one long-stem rose.”

  Harpoc takes another swallow of his drink, still not reacting.

  Memories of Mrs. Elide swell to the forefront of my mind. Stubborn being that I am, I resist sharing, because Harpoc doesn’t deserve to know more.

  What can it hurt, Pell?

  Fine, I’ll just stick to the facts.

  “She retired when I was eight. It broke my heart.” I keep my tone even, factual. “She stopped by the group home every once in a while over the years after that and always let me blather on and on about what I was doing and learning. I relished her excitement.”

  I haven’t thought of her in a couple years, but a lump forms in my throat regardless of what I told myself about sticking to the facts. I continue, suddenly wanting to. “She believed there’s something divinely special and ordained about every child who arrived at the group home. She said it was her mission to help us each figure out how we were specially gifted.”

  “She sounds like an inspiring woman.”

  I take a deep breath. I’ve never told anyone about Mrs. Elide and the place she still holds in my heart. Why am I telling him, especially when I’m as pissed at him as I am?

  I swallow back emotion as I add, “I was nearly adopted three separate times, once as a baby and twice more. I only remember the last two, but she was the only one whose shoulder I cried on when they fell through. She died on my birthday, six years ago.” I swipe at a stray tear.

  Harpoc’s on his feet and beside me in an instant, enfolding me in his strong arms. “I’m sorry.”

  My body initially resists his embrace, but the longer he holds me, my body turns traitor and moves into the hug.

  “I was graduating high school that year so it was kind of like her saying I’d gone as far as I could with her. I took it as her telling me I was ready to launch into the world. She’s the one who encouraged me to learn hieroglyphs.”

  “So you could read the inscription on your ring.”

  I nod against his firm chest. I want to reject his caring, because he’s responsible for so much of the treachery and hypocrisy in this world, but in this moment, I find he’s my stability.

  “What does your ring say?”

  I look up at his scruffy chin, and he steps back.

  “No one’s ever asked me that before.”

  “I don’t mean to pry.”

  “No, it’s fine. I never told anyone this, but I was proud of myself the day I finally deciphered it.”

  A corner of his mouth rises.

  “I wore this ring on that chain around my neck when I was little, but when I grew big enough to wear it on my finger, I slipped it on and I’ve never taken it off, not once, just like the note that was left with me, said to do.”

  “That’s dedication.”

  “I feel a connection with my parents, because of it.” I run a finger along the back of it like I have so many times.

  I don’t know what comes over me, but Harpoc watches as I slowly inch it down my finger, his gaze ping ponging between my hand and my eyes like he’s trying to figure out what I’m doing.

  He’s done anything but earn my favor, but he’s the first person to ever ask about my ring, to care enough to.

  His brow rises when I hold it out to him, but he holds up an open palm. “I couldn’t.”

  “You know hieroglyphs, too, judging by all those secrets you scribed on those scrolls.”

  Realization dawns and he smiles.

  “You asked what it said, read it to me… make sure I didn’t screw up the translation.”

  He chuckles as he takes it.

  Movement distracts my attention, and I swear his shadows swirl around our feet for a second before he nods and shuts them down.

  I smirk. I never dream the inscription on my ring will get him excited, but it seems to.

  He’s still looking at the silver circle, but he steals a shy glance at me, like he’s hoping I didn’t notice.

  “Busted,” I say.

  We both laugh.

  He runs his free hand over his chin, then clears his throat. “So, the inscription.”

  “Yes, God of Secrets, the inscription.”

  He twists the ring this way and that before translating, “The beauty of light reveals all, let it always guide you.”

  He hands it back and I slip it on again. “Good, I translated it correctly. I hated to think it said, ‘whales are salvation’ when I’ve believed differently all these years.”

  He chuckles. “Yes, that would be unfortunate.”

  I wander back to the sectional and he follows.

  “My upbringing in a group home was… a challenge as you might guess,” I say, skipping over years of emotional scars and hurt. “I graduated high school, went to UT Austin, graduated in the top of my class and got that job. That about sums up the rest of my life.”

  I can tell by the amusement in his eyes that he knows I skipped gobs of stuff, but before he can probe I ask, “By the way, what language did you speak to the sphinx in? You never said.”

  “You are tenacious.” He laughs, picking up his drink and tossing back the rest. “Hieroglyphics.”

  I furrow my brows. “Hieroglyphs is only a written language.” The words are out before my brain can stop me.

  “It is, but it hasn’t always been.” He rolls his eyes, grinning.

  I snort, then raise a hand in surrender. “Of course, you’d know, oh, ancient one.”

  “Vowels weren’t used, so spoken hieroglyphics gradually disappeared as people no longer knew how to pronounce words.”

  “Will you teach me?” I’m barely able to contain my excitement.

  He brings his free hand to his mouth and starts tapping his lips, a considering expression appearing.

  I gently swat him, making him laugh. “I’d love to teach you, my little harpy.”

  He shifts toward me, and my body turns traitor because I think I see desire again in his eyes, like last night, and it warms to it.

  Stupid, stupid body.

  Of course, I crashed and burned when I expected him to wrap me up in that towel and kiss me senseless. But I’m sure he nuzzled me after our run in with Zeki this morning.

  Butterflies launch in my stomach.

  Pell, no. Not after what he’s done.

  I ignore.

  I feel their wings increase to a frantic pace when he reaches over and brushes some of my flyaway locks behind an ear. I’d no idea such a simple gesture could feel so intimate.

  I know I should hate him in this moment, but my body has other ideas, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. I can’t take my eyes off him, off his dark features, off his gold and silver eyes.

  Citrus with a hint of cloves fills my senses as he leans in and his hand touches my jaw. His eyes move to my lips, and my lady bits warm.

  “You’re hard to resist,” he whispers.

  “Then don’t.”

  Pell, no.

  I don’t know where that comes from, but it’s all it takes for him to close the distance and brush his lips against mine.
He’s so gentle.

  But I want more.

  I draw a hand to the back of his neck, encouraging him to deepen the kiss, and he moans, then cradles my face in both hands.

  I feel like a precious treasure, something I’ve never once felt before, and my heart speeds.

  Traitor. Are you this fragile and desperate for affection, Pell?

  Maybe I am.

  Our eyes meet. “You’re so beautiful, Pell,” he whispers.

  I feel moisture well up in my eyes. I don’t want to ruin the moment crying, but I can’t help myself, and I feel a warm tear slide down my cheek.

  His gaze doesn’t waiver, and he draws closer still, his lips doing more than brushing as he presses his to mine.

  They’re soft and responsive and sensual, and I’m awash in a flood of feelings I didn’t know I could feel.

  I press closer and I can feel him smile against my face, and then he cups the back of my head in a palm and I’m lost. I can’t get enough of him.

  I run my hands through his wavy onyx locks at the back of his neck and he rewards me with another moan. I don’t ever want this to end.

  But no sooner does the thought cross my mind than he’s pulling back, breathing hard.

  Note to self, don’t ever think that again.

  He grins. “So you liked that?”

  I’m panting, still drunk on emotions, and I can only offer back a stupid smile.

  “Good, because I did too.”

  I giggle, I actually giggle, and feel no shame.

  It seems my inner voice is speechless too because she doesn’t so much as peep. No, she’s probably too steamed.

  He reaches over and runs a thumb down my cheek where my tear leaves a track, and the gesture nearly undoes me. I want to kiss him all over again, but he winks as he sits back, seemingly knowing what I’m thinking and toying with me.

  I’m stupidly in over my head with him. I can’t help myself, I’m like a damn schoolgirl, despite knowing better because of what he’s done.

  So what am I going to do about it?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I wake feeling like a traitor, spooned in Harpoc’s arms again. He “let me in” for the first time last night, unashamedly telling me his role as the leader of a whole secret-keeping empire.