This woman had the power to depose him. She had the power to elevate and exalt him. If she disowned him, he would be destitute; a multi-millionaire, but completely destitute. For most of his life, he had been terrified of his father because the man was a superhuman god. With the flick of a finger, Vincent could destroy a continent. Now he knew that there were many different types of power, and that Rose Kalgren, without even lifting a finger, and by barely batting an eyelash, could strip away his millions, his title, and his reputation. She could manage this on barely a whim.
But she wouldn’t. Because she was his mother. Right? Thornton swallowed, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable in his suit. He lifted his hands to loosen his tie, which was suddenly throttling him. As his hands fumbled with the silken rope around his neck, he imagined being hung from the ceiling above his desk. Yes, his mother could order him executed by public hanging if she chose—at least figuratively. He stared at the newspaper under her arm, a fire spreading in his gut. It was possible that he had already been lynched on the front page, and he did not even know it yet.
When Rose savagely slapped the newspaper down on his mahogany desk, he fought the urge to look away and spare himself the pain of seeing whatever the world had to say about him today—he had been having a spectacular morning, and he hated to ruin it this way. Not wanting to appear as panicked as he actually was, Thornton forced himself to stare at the newspaper.
Sophisticated, manicured fingernails passionately rapped the headline to draw his attention to the big, bold lettering:
KALGREN TECH SAVES THE WORLD!
He stared at the headline speechlessly. He observed the impressive photo of his mother at one of the launch sites, with a giant rocket in the background. Rose Kalgren looked like a fierce warrior—nothing like the kind, funny woman who liked to drink excessively at family barbeques.
“And that’s how you run a company, my boy. Any questions?”
Thornton cracked a small smile. “Nice publicity piece, mom. But let’s not forget that you and I both know who actually saved the world.”
“People need something to believe in,” she told him. “Technology is the new religion—no one is going to believe that a bunch of demigods used magick teardrop mist from their eyes to melt a diamond-coated missile. But they do believe in spaceships.”
“No, mom. They believe in us. They believe in the Kalgren name. Whether it’s technology or godly superpowers that make this family great—it doesn’t really matter. We’re the good guys.” Thornton continued to stare at the photograph and headline, a slow grin overtaking his face. “But Pax was the real champ this time. I just wish they knew…”
“Sweetie,” Rose said, shaking her head furiously. “The photo on the front page could have been much more accurate—but none of you stupid gods remembered to bring a camera!”
The story continues...
Book #3
Chapter 1: After the Lightning
She was too tired to think. Only vaguely, Pax began to become aware of being unaware of her surroundings. The expensive pillow beneath her face had yielded to accommodate the shape of her nose and chin, cradling her cranium in a most nurturing manner. She was loath to shift her body from the blissful position. A soft whirring noise from an unknown piece of technology in the room, performing a probably-unimportant function, filtered into her ears.
In a brief moment of cognizance, she stretched out her fingers to clumsily caress the sheets, trying to determine by tactile intelligence exactly whose bed on which she was currently drooling. Egyptian cotton. 1500 thread count. Thorn? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there. She considered lifting her face to look around, but this seemed too strenuous a task. She considered inhaling to see if she could recognize his scent on the pillow, but even breathing seemed too inefficient and arduous. Stretching out her fingers further, Pax sought the warmth of living flesh, the tingle of familiar energy, or perhaps a handful of perfectly-arranged blonde hair.
Finding none of this evidence, her fingers relaxed. She realized that there was no glove on her hand as the softness from the sheets settled against her palm. This made her feel strangely naked and exposed. It must be Thornton’s bed. She would never have removed her gloves around anyone else; only he had seen her scarred palms, and only he could bear the scalding heat which radiated from them. Her fingers inched out further, seeking a piece of cold metal which she could use to communicate politely with the blonde demigod. But was a text message or a phone call too personal? Sure, she might be in his bed, but that did not necessarily mean they were on speaking terms. Had they not recently saved the world together, or something of the sort? Well, even that did not automatically mean it was appropriate for them to have a conversation.
The last thing she could recall was being upset with him. She remembered being in a different body and… Pax abruptly stopped her train of thought as she inwardly cringed. That man! I swear. He’s a thorn in my ear canal. A thorn in my bladder. If she had really wanted to reach Thornton Kalgren, she could have spoken to him with an instantaneous thought, connecting through mental wavelengths. But she was not sure if she wanted to reach him. She needed to think about it.
And she was too tired to think.
* * *
“Suraj, do you take this woman to be your lawfully…”
“Of course I do,” the man answered a bit too eagerly, causing chuckles to drift up from the crowd of onlookers. He could feel a blush developing in the corners of his face, and he cleared his throat nervously, glancing around at the witnesses gathered in the holy building. The structure was built in the shape of a pyramid, and he wore a matching triangular pin on his lapel to indicate his family crest. Suraj lifted his hand to nervously straighten the equilateral brooch as he composed himself and sent an apologetic look at the woman standing before him. Her face was occluded by a lacy veil, but he could just make out the curve of her smile as she gazed up at him with amusement through thick dark lashes.
She was beautiful—but anyone, anywhere, could have discerned that much in a fraction of a second. He knew the unshakable qualities of her soul which lay far beneath her impeccable exterior. Of course, it had been her beauty which had initially attracted him, but it had taken much more than a pretty face to hold his interest for a hundred years. Suraj jerked his hands up with a rapid twitch when he realized that the minister was urging him to kiss the bride. He awkwardly and hastily fumbled to remove her veil.
There was a sheen of mirth in her pale eyes which he could easily recognize. If it were not for their audience, she would have laughed and the sound would have instantly placed him at ease. It was the ridiculously overemphasized ceremony and age-old traditions that threw him off—he had never been comfortable with public events. Later on, in private, they would surely be making fun of all this pomp and pageantry. He could not wait for a private moment. But even so, he could not help admitting that the significance of the formalized union was seeping into his bones. He could feel the weight of his decision. Eternity was a long time; longer yet for one of his particular heritage. It would be inescapable, but for the first time, he had no wish of escaping.
As Suraj leaned forward to kiss the woman standing before him, he was startled by the loud clangor of a door slamming open. Sensing trouble, his hand went to the sword at his waist as he swiveled to face the intruder. Stepping through a triangular door was the person he least wanted to see, and every muscle in his body instantly tensed up.
“Suja,” he whispered.
“Hello, little brother,” spoke a musical voice. The woman with glowing white hair glided across the floor. The gathered crowd had instantly parted to make way for her path, terrified of the unearthly light radiating from her body and her even less earthly reputation.
“Mother said you wouldn’t be able to find us here,” the man said quietly, letting his hand fall miserably from his sword. He knew that it would be useless against the Queen of the Asura. The woman was expressionless as she ho
vered before him, but there was danger in the crinkle of skin beside her eyes. Suraj swallowed, remembering the carnal consequences of his sister’s critical squint.
“Well, Mother was never very bright,” Suja responded, eyeing her sibling judgmentally. “So, you appear to be marrying this docile creature. Did my invitation get lost in the mail?”
“I did not think you would be interested,” he responded.
“Interested in the fact that my only brother was hiding in a distant corner of the galaxy on some farm planet, marrying some milkmaid?” Suja shot back. “Oh, I’m interested. Why do you get to turn your back on our family name and heritage, when I have to carry all the burdens?”
“It’s not like that,” he insisted. “Sister, please understand. I love this woman!”
“Seriously?” Suja asked with a patronizing smile. “We were not raised to know love. We were raised to know responsibility.”
“But anyone is capable of learning such a basic and necessary emotion,” he began to argue, but he was halted by a hand on his arm.
“Allow me,” said the woman who stood beside him at the altar. She stepped forward and curtsied low and respectfully to her sister-in-law. After a silent pause, she rose back to her full height. The people gathered in the room sent her perplexed and curious looks, but no one dared to make a sound. She smiled and opened her hands in a warm gesture of welcome and peace. “Queen Suja, I know you have had differences with your brother in the past, but I am glad that you were able to make it here today…”
“You invited her?” the man asked in a disbelieving whisper.
“Yes, of course,” she responded in an equally hushed tone. “It is not fitting that we should marry without a single member of your family present.”
Suraj felt his jaw become slack. His Adam’s apple displayed his displeasure as he slowly gulped. “You have no clue what you’ve done, Tsirene. I wasn’t joking when I said that my sister was a monster.”
“A monster?” Suja repeated, allowing her bare feet to descend to the ground. “Is this how you will introduce me to the fair maiden?”
“N—no, of course not,” he said, beginning to lose his composure. His shoulders began to tremble in apprehension. He instinctively knew what was about to occur, and he did not know how he could defend himself. “Dear sister, please allow me to introduce you to my new wife. She is the noble Tsirene of…”
“Hi,” Suja said quietly. Raising her hand in a smooth and conclusive motion, she pointed at the innocent bride. Before anyone could blink, a dark red beam shot out of her finger and pierced directly through the woman’s chest. Gasps and murmurs of horror instantly began to echo through the room as the congregation saw the look of shock on the bride’s face as the crimson beam exited her body through her back. She crumpled to the floor lifelessly.
“Tsirene!” whispered the groom, rushing to catch the fallen woman. “No, no, no. Please…”
“She was useless,” Suja said softly. “You know that. She was holding you back.”
“I loved her!” he screamed from the ground. “She invited you here out of kindness.”
“Out of foolishness,” Suja corrected in a vacant whisper. “Come now, brother. Let us go.”
An old man with a cane began to wobble forth from the crowd. “You’re the foolish one if you think that boy is going anywhere with you. That was my daughter you just killed. I won’t let you take the boy away too.”
“And what is he to you?” Suja demanded of the wizened man.
“He is like a son to me,” the old man said through tears. “He helped me to find water for my crops in the middle of a drought, and he toiled in my fields when I was too weak to work. Please, Queen Suja. You have taken my only daughter, the light of my life. Have a heart and let the boy stay. I love him like my own flesh and blood…”
Suja lifted her wrist to her lips, placing a kiss against her palm. With a sad look, she pursed her lips to gently blow a gust of air over her palm and toward the old man. Everyone watched as his skin crumbled into dust. In the middle of speaking a sentence, the bride’s father had disintegrated as though instantly aging a thousand years. His flesh and bones seemed to have been swept away by time.
“My brother does not toil in fields,” Suja said simply. “My brother does not fraternize with peasants.”
“You’ve gone too far, Suja,” said the man on the floor as he clutched his dead bride against him. “This was the woman I wanted to spend my life with.”
“She couldn’t even handle my index finger,” Suja said in disappointment, gazing at the finger in question. Shaking her head in dismissal, she gently swept her hands around in a cleansing motion, as if lovingly wiping dust from the covers of old books. As her motions became more aggressive, it appeared as though she were sharply swatting flies away from buzzing in the air nearby—this caused all of the other spectators to evaporate as well. Her attack was so swift that they had no time to run or scream before their bodies dissolved into dust. She turned back to her brother sternly. “I won’t watch you rot away here with these worthless people. You deserve the best. You deserve a powerful woman worthy of your birthright and your name.”
“I don’t want power,” Suraj said miserably. “This was what I wanted.”
“This was what our foolish mother brainwashed you into wanting,” Suja corrected. “Our parents forced me to marry Sakra. Why should you get freedom when they punished me?”
The man on the floor lifted his face a few inches. His violet eyes fixed on his sister angrily. “They married you to Sakra not only because he was powerful and wise, but to end the war with the devas. To protect our people.”
“That’s wrong,” Suja said. “I was tricked into marrying Sakra because the devas were scared of us. It was a pathetic truce that we didn’t need and one which we should not have entered.”
“That may be so. But why should my life be like yours? Mother learned from her mistakes and promised me that she would…”
“Find your true match and counterpart,” Suja finished. She stepped forward, gazing down at her brother with contempt. “I think that if we spend some time reconnecting, you will quickly remember who you are and where you come from.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said quietly. He brushed some dark hair away from his bride’s forehead as he cradled her against him.
A man burst into the room, quickly assessing the situation. “Queen Suja, I see you found Lord Sur—”
“He doesn’t deserve to be called Lord anything,” Suja spat. “Not until I’m done with him. Not until I remind him of his roots.”
“Yes, my queen. Shall I prepare the ship?”
“Make haste,” she commanded. “I want to get the hell off this ball of mud and wheat.”
When her servant left, Suraj swallowed, feeling a sinking sensation in his gut. Everything he had worked for had come undone. All of his penance and retribution had been washed away. “Dear sister,” he said in a faint voice. “I wish I could plead with you to kill me instead. I don’t want to go back.”
Suja paused as she considered her brother’s face. His hair was bland and his complexion was insipid. He was altogether unattractive and unremarkable except for a pair of bright violet eyes. “You look exactly the same as you did when we were younger,” she mused in disgust.
He blinked as he looked up at the resplendent woman. “You do not.”
* * *
Amara Kalgren stared into her bathroom mirror with disappointment. Anyone would have been thrilled to see such an elegant young blonde reflected in beveled glass and soft lighting. Anyone would have felt a burst of pride at beholding the perfect, sophisticated hairdo and sensible pearl earrings. Anyone but Amara. She was not fooled by this socially impressive exterior—she could only see the emptiness and hurt that spun together, shaken in a bitter cocktail just behind her eyes. She could feel the dull ache of depression that lingered inside the deceptively brilliant blue.
“Come on, Mara,” she told he
rself in a tone that was both encouraging and demanding. “Get it together, girlfriend.” She had long ago discovered that it did not matter how she felt on the inside. People did not see insecurities and pain when they looked at her; they saw carefree cheerfulness, even when she was frowning. They saw money and the confidence to acquire more money. Unfortunately, it was no longer speculation or a hunch that led her to feel this way—she was telepathic. She had peered into the minds of her mother’s colleagues as she had spent the morning helping out with the endless excess of administrative work, and she had been appalled by the presumptuous thoughts of people who seemed otherwise largely well-meaning.
Gosh, she’s pretty, a man on the board of directors had thought to himself as he studied Amara’s figure from behind. Rumors say that she’s newly single! I should try to hook her up with my son before this window of opportunity passes. He always had a thing for busty blondes. A marriage like that could help our family instantly recover from my gambling problems and the recent stock dips...
Amara had whipped her head around to glare at the investor who instantly shifted his eyes upon being caught staring. This had happened at least a dozen times throughout the morning, making her feel less and less like a person and more like a piece of company property. She had often felt this way in her childhood and throughout her life; with a company this big, and a family this important, it was understandably difficult to keep her own identity from being absorbed into the greater entity. As she glared at her reflection in the mirror, she tried to steady the churning of her mind. It had been exhausting to watch her mother blowing around the office like a hurricane, soaking up the accolades, firm handshakes, and friendly hugs. The company had achieved one of the greatest successes possible, catapulting them into the public eye and into public hearts. Saving the world from a super-comet would prove to be better for the corporate image of Kalgren Technological Enterprises than any “green initiative” could possibly be. It was much more immediate and dramatic.
Thirty Minutes to Heartbreak Box Set (Books 1-3) Page 63
