Thirty Minutes to Heartbreak Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Nadia Scrieva

  This is divine. Para could not help smiling. I could just die at how sweet this dragon is. I want to keep it forever. Her stomach growled again. Ugh, dammit! Why do you have to be so pretty? You would have made an excellent entrée.

  I am a manifestation of your inner beast, the dragon responded telepathically.

  Para froze. You can talk? Wow, were the old gods on drugs when they made this place?

  The dragon began to circle Para slowly, its long whiskers brushing against her thighs. You must embrace me to leave here alive.

  Embrace my inner beast? She inwardly groaned. Oh, please, no. I am far too tired, hungry, and frozen for philosophical riddles.

  Am I not beautiful and deadly as you are, Para Kalson? The silver dragon puffed a gust of air through giant dark nostrils; the hot breath rustled her indigo hair. She wondered how it was able to breathe in the liquid nitrogen lake, but she had long since given up on pondering the mechanics of magick. You must embrace me, the dragon urged again.

  So, you want a hug? Para asked in confusion. She would have cuddled the beast promptly before she had realized that it could speak English. This made her wary. Para began to move toward the creature’s prognathic jaw, stretching out her hands to rest on the sides of its face tentatively. She stroked near the spot where its whiskers emerged from leathery skin. Why does my inner beast have to be so… bestial?

  It is even more so than the lake can demonstrate. You should always trust your first instinct, Para Kalson, fusion of two devas.

  My first instinct? she mentally repeated, trying to remember.

  Yes. Eat or be eaten. The dragon’s jaw snapped open suddenly, startling Para as the reptile lunged forward. Its pointed rows of teeth grazed her arms before she felt a warm tongue curl around her body. In the next instant Para had been devoured.

  Shit! She mentally cursed as she tumbled down the pitch-black esophagus. She groped around, trying to grab hold of the walls, but found a sticky mucus substance which she immediately released in disgust. She tried to levitate, but the muscles of the esophagus began squeezing her down into the creature’s stomach.

  Don’t worry, Amara. I know plenty of stuff about the gastrointestinal tract. I’ll get us out of here somehow.

  That’s really reassuring. Sorry that I ever worried Pax; I didn’t realize you were required to study the digestive system of dragons in med school. Para rolled her eyes at herself sarcastically as her body was sucked down into oblivion. I told you we should have made this monster into tacos! That was my first instinct.

  The silver dragon roared, a sound that caused its entire body to vibrate. While being tossed around in the black, sticky canal, Para flung her hands up to cover her ears to protect them from the reverberating sound—but when the creature spoke, its voice filtered directly into her mind.

  You are inside your greatest enemy. Your greatest enemy is inside you.

  Bollocks. Didn’t I say I was too hungry for psychobabble? Para lifted an arm and began to gather a fireball in the palm of her hand. Unfortunately, my friend, I forgot to bring a microwave. I’ll just have to use my prana to roast you from the inside-out! I have never tasted dragon-meat before, but I can assure you that my mouth is watering in anticipation. Now if only I had some of Grandma Amelia’s special seasoning…

  Chapter 5: All of April, Most of May

  Sunlight was streaming through the window, casting shadows through the leaves of stately trees. Asher groaned and rubbed his head—he was hung over yet again. The previous day, he had bolted through the air to Burnson Grove once Sakra had opened the portal to California. Upon finding the house empty, he had begun to panic.

  Thorn! he shouted telepathically to his friend, his thoughts breaching the vast expanse of space. He had been too frantic to reach for his phone. My mom’s not here!

  Really? Thornton’s telepathic response was only mildly laced with worry. Give me a sec, Ash.

  The second had truthfully been no greater than a second, but Asher felt his skin break out into a cold sweat while waiting. Thorn! Is she at your house?

  Yeah, buddy. She’s here at the Compound, hanging out with my mom. They’re cooking something that smells really good—you should come over!

  The sigh of relief that Asher had exhaled had been such a massive gust that it rustled his mother’s little vegetable garden. Is my brother there? he asked, levitating off the ground. Tell Raymond to go back to India and guard Sakra’s Point. I’ll look after our mom.

  And he had taken care of her. If he had never been successful at anything else, Asher was a devoted son. (Even while living with Amara Kalgren, he had visited his mother almost every day; since the nasty breakup, he had returned to his childhood home on a permanent basis.) After the impromptu barbeque held at the Kalgren Compound in the city the previous evening, he had escorted his mother home to sequestered Burnson Grove. The warm gathering of the two families had continued long into the night as many meetings of old friends tend to do. Amelia and Rose talked about their sons with pride and disappointment, openly in their presence—although Asher was thirty-seven, his mother easily had the ability to make him feel like he had not grown a day older than five.

  Now, the sunshine was causing Asher’s head to pound. He must have guzzled down more drinks than he remembered. He pulled himself off the bed and stumbled downstairs like a giant bear waking up from hibernation. He could smell something divine wafting up from the kitchen, and he instinctively pursued these promised culinary treasures.

  “Good morning, sweetie,” Amelia said, without turning around. She recognized the loud erratic footsteps creaking on the old wooden floor. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Fine, mom,” Asher said, reaching for a bottle of water with a groan.

  Amelia glanced behind her. “Goodness me! You don’t seem fine, dear. Your hair is sticking up in five different directions. It looks like you were trampled by bulls!”

  “Good,” he said with a sleepy yawn. “Makes me look manlier that way.”

  Amelia waved a spatula in frustration. “Honestly, Ash—you wouldn’t look like a girl if you brushed your hair every once in a while.”

  “Yeah, but then the next thing you know I’m Thorn; addicted to brushing every five minutes until I’m polished like a shiny new car.”

  “Thorn is such a handsome young man. You would do well to learn from his example,” Amelia said firmly. She hesitated as she turned back to the stove, the spatula wavering in her hand. “Well, at least with respect to his grooming and financial success. Not with respect to women. What he did to Paxie was awful.”

  “Pax is a tough girl,” Asher said, polishing off his second bottle of water. “Don’t worry too much about her.”

  “But I do. I worry about her plenty,” Amelia said with a sigh. The gracefully aging lady glanced over her shoulder. “If you take a seat, I’ll bring you some breakfast, dear.”

  Asher obediently moved to the table. He began toying idly with the salt and pepper shakers as his mother continued talking.

  “You know, since her mom passed away, she hasn’t had much of a female role model. A young girl needs her mother! I realize that as her grandma, I was supposed to fill that role—but Paxie has always been such a tomboy that I could never really reach her. I thought that her friendship with Amara would help to…”

  “Please don’t, Mom,” Asher pleaded. “I already have a big enough headache this morning without needing to hear about Amara again.”

  “But I just don’t understand, darling. What really happened between you two?” Amelia deftly transferred an omelet from her frying pan to a white ceramic plate.

  “I left her. In the meanest way possible. I left her and I hurt her, and it’s over. Okay, Mom?”

  “Why, Ash? Why would you do such a thing?” Amelia added potato tots before turning around to deliver the plate to her son. “Everyone was sure that you two would get married.”

  “Everyone should keep their nose out of my personal life!” Asher shouted
.

  Amelia dropped the dish that she was carrying, spilling the omelet and potato chunks all over the floor. “Oh, dear. How clumsy of me…” She stooped and immediately began cleaning up the mess with shaking hands.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom. It’s my fault, I’m so sorry for yelling.” Asher moved over to help clean up the spilled food. “Don’t worry about this—let me get it for you.” When Asher began to toss the potato pieces from the hardwood and back into the broken plate, Amelia collapsed to her knees on the floor and stared at him with worry.

  “Ash,” she said softly. “Do you really think that we might be on the verge of war?”

  Asher paused and looked at his mother with puzzlement. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  “This recent fight with the Asura—Pax said that Suja is intent on causing us harm.” Amelia brushed away a stray tear. “The Asura were the ones who killed your father. They killed your brother’s beautiful wife.”

  “They won’t get to us again,” Asher said firmly.

  Amelia gestured weakly to a family portrait that hung on the wall. Her husband, Kaden Burnson, was depicted standing beside her with a large smile. Her deceased daughter-in-law was also present; the late Hollywood actress, Bridget Burnson, had a tender look on her face as she held baby Pax in her arms. Amelia sighed. “I can’t lose what little I have left.”

  “You won’t, mom. I’ll be fine, Raymond will be fine, and Paxie is stronger than you can imagine—she’s not tiny anymore like in that photo.” Asher swallowed a lump as he stared at the image; he couldn’t help noticing that his father’s hair wasn’t brushed either. “That was taken 25 years ago. We’re all stronger now.”

  “Twenty-five years,” Amelia repeated. “That’s about how long it’s been since we last sent someone into the vector zone. No one would enter that place unless they believed something horrible was about to happen and they wanted to be ready. There must be a good reason that the girls decided that they needed to go now…”

  “Yeah. Blame it on me and Thorn. The girls are upset with us, obviously. There isn’t any big, bad danger out there—not this time, mom. Don’t listen to Vincent’s cautionary rubbish. Pax just left this world because she was unhappy and needed a vacation.”

  “Then it’s my fault,” Amelia said. “I’m the reason she’s unhappy.”

  “What?”

  “I pushed her too hard,” murmured Amelia. “She never wanted to be a doctor, but I forced her to study anyway. I know she hates her job.”

  “What did she want to be?” Asher asked.

  “Herself.”

  “Like me?” Asher asked with a grin. “I get to be myself every day. It’s called unemployment.”

  Amelia smiled at her youngest son. “You’re a powerful deva, like your father. You protect people from threats they will never even believe exist.”

  “Well, I can’t remember the last time that happened! Unless you count the situation on Venus last week. I did help out a bit there—you could use that as a case for me having a purpose, on certain special occasions.”

  “You do have a purpose,” Amelia said softly. “A great purpose, just like your dad. I tried to guide Pax away from this path, away from the demigods, superpowers, and mortal danger! I didn’t believe it was right for a young girl to be involved in all this, so I tried to make her concentrate on living as a human. I was afraid that if she became too strong, she would be called away on higher business, and I’d lose my granddaughter like I lost your dad. But I guess I lost her anyway.”

  “Aw, mom. It’s not her job that’s making her unhappy. She hardly goes to work at all because her boss is a prick and she doesn’t need the money. Trust me—it’s Thorn that’s been messing with her emotions.”

  Amelia shook her head vehemently, displacing a few strands of hair from her bun. “She shouldn’t have gone to the Pseudosphere! I swear, that girl is just like her father sometimes. Whenever life became difficult for Ray, the boy just up and left to stay with Sakra in India. This is the example he set for her! That it’s okay to leave your family for years at a time. And now she is doing the exact same…”

  “You know Paxie! She’s always been like that,” Asher said with a smile. “She’ll take any excuse to leave the world and have an adventure. I almost don’t think she’d have it any other way.”

  Amelia thought about this for a moment before nodding. She seemed to suddenly become aware of the ruined breakfast. “Sweetie, can you run to the garden and grab me some fresh veggies? I’ll make a new omelet.”

  “Sure, Mom.” Asher stood up and tossed the omelet and broken ceramic dish into the trash on his way to the front entrance. When he turned the knob and pulled open the door, he was surprised to see a dark-skinned girl standing on the porch, sweating profusely and panting as if she had just run a marathon. His eyes narrowed when he saw what she was wearing, and he stepped onto the porch and shut the door behind him. “Look, miss—you can’t come around here dressed like that! My mother lives here, and if she sees you, she’s going to assume the worst. I already have her grilling me about my woman problems, and I don’t need more…”

  “Ash!” The woman pressed a hand on her thigh as she doubled over, trying to catch her breath. “Ash Burnson, you are a tricky man to catch.”

  “Do I know you?” Asher asked, studying her lime-green bodysuit suspiciously.

  “Yes,” she gasped, straightening herself. She brushed her curly black locks away from her eyes. Her irises were hazel with abundant green flecks, contrasting sharply with her dark skin. “Recognize me?”

  “Oh!” Asher snapped his fingers. “You must be someone I met clubbing recently while I was wasted. I gave you my number and address? Look, miss, you’re really pretty, but this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of stressed out about some family issues…”

  “Ash, seriously…”

  “No, I mean it—you’re gorgeous.” Ash eyed her lean figure and shapely legs which were poorly concealed by her kiwi jumpsuit. “I would love to hang out sometime. I can see that I have great taste, even when I’m pissed drunk. Just so you know, I was pretty much smashed for all of April and most of May, so I don’t really remember how we met, or anything we may have talked about. I would be happy to let you refresh my memory in the near future.” Giving the strangely dressed visitor a suggestive wink, Asher returned into the mansion and shut the door.

  The woman stared at the closed door in shock. Is he insane? she mentally mused. He thinks I’m some woman he met in a bar? She lifted her index finger, and considered pushing the door off its hinges. She could have burned the house to the ground with a breath to get his attention, but she merely shook her head in disgust. That idiot! Exhaling angrily, she turned away from the door. Maybe I’ll have better luck with Thorn. He always was the brighter of the two.

  Chapter 6: Liquid Live Wire

  Pseudosphere, Month Eighteen

  Sweat trickled down Pax’s neck in little streams, tracing the lines of her straining muscles. She brought her fingernails up to her neck and scraped at the sweat until her skin was reddened. Tilting her head back, she ran her hands over her forehead, lifting her black bangs off the skin and combing them back into the length of her hair. She grunted as she stared up through dizzy double-vision at a spinning forest canopy. Sakra save me, Room Three is brutal. This is far worse than the dragon and the lightning.

  As devas, neither of the girls had ever suffered illness. Upon entering Room Three, they had been plunged into a jungle filled with all manner of infectious-disease-carrying insects. Pax had tried to overcome her own illnesses as best as possible to take care of Amara, but she was fairly certain that malaria was killing them both. In the past few hours, Amara’s fever had taken such an awful turn for the worse that she could not even find the strength to perform the coalescence technique and become Para to save her life. Pax was now desperately stumbling through the forest, looking for some sort of medicinal plant to help heal her friend.

  I’m a fuckin
g doctor, she thought to herself weakly. It hurt her head even to think, and she imagined that the infection was spreading to her brain. I can help Mara. I can find something. Her family is counting on me. Pax pinched leaves off of various shrubs, and scratched bits of barks off trees, sniffing and tasting everything for something familiar. It did not help that her sense of smell and taste were woefully dulled by her own illness, but the plants were painted with such multicolored hues of pastel—this may have been a mild hallucination—that Pax was beginning to believe the same foliage did not exist on Earth. She could be administering a poison as easily as a cure.

  Collapsing against a tree with a groan, Pax found herself sliding roughly down the trunk and scraping a decent chunk of skin off her back. Her whole body was in so much pain that she almost felt relief to have her skin removed—she had long ago removed every article of clothing, including her underwear, and was stumbling around the jungle covered only in a thin layer of mud to protect against further insect bites. The fever had made her body so sensitive that after a while, she had begun to scrape off the mud—she would have ripped off every inch of skin too, if that were possible and hygienic. She winced as strands of her long black hair pulled taut against her fresh wound. Reaching over her shoulders, she tried to move her hair to the front and give it a loose braid. Before she could even separate the hair into the required pieces, Pax’s head had bobbed forward and her hands fell into her lap limply.

  She slept like this for a minute before her head jerked up in shock. She could not afford to sleep, regardless of how ill she felt. Moving her hands clumsily, she tried to do something, anything to keep her hair away from her bruised body. The result was a lopsided, tangled, bun-braid thing. She briefly considered ripping her hair out of her scalp, but knew, having recently shorn it all off, how much she would miss the usually-luscious dark locks. They were the only beautiful, feminine aspect of her appearance. Mustering all of her strength and pride, she attempted to grasp the trunk of the tree and pull herself to her feet. After several seconds of wobbling as she stood dazedly half-upright, she promptly fell forward, landing flat on her face.