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

by Nadia Scrieva

  Groaning, Amara slipped under the water, as though the substance would drown out the thoughts. Shutting her eyes tightly, she tried to find a mental off-switch for her telepathy. She had always hated it when Thornton attacked Asher for his lack of job—she knew the boys were about to have a huge argument.

  “Don’t turn this on me, man. Why did you bring Medea home for dinner? Obviously Pax was going to find out about it. Hasn’t she been through enough?”

  “Whoa, buddy, relax. I’m just trying to do right by everyone here on out.”

  “Sure, bro. Don’t you think I know you? It’s not about what’s best for Medea or Pax. It’s about whatever you want—whatever you’re in the mood for at this particular moment. Comfort food or something new and exciting; the trendy modern restaurant that just opened down the street.”

  “Ash, that’s totally uncalled for. If you want to talk about which one of us is more likely to get bored of comfort food, it isn’t me. Do you want to know what I just spent $50 grand on?”

  Amara shot upright so rapidly that she slipped on the tub and slammed her head against the floral-patterned tiles on her wall.

  “Don’t tell him!” she whispered as she tried to catch pieces of the crumbling tiles. “Thorn, please be a good brother and keep my secret.”

  “Just because my sister didn’t freak out and go insane like Pax did doesn’t mean she didn’t get hurt! You know her better than that. You know she just bottles it all up inside…”

  “I don’t want to talk about Mara.”

  “Well, you need to listen to this. When I took Medea shopping for her ball gown…”

  Amara scrambled to crawl out of the tub and dove for her cell phone. She speed dialed her brother as fast as her soapy wet fingers could allow. She bit her lip, hoping that the ringing would interrupt Thornton’s spillage of information in time.

  “… a dress in the showcase, and guess what? It turns out that it was Mara’s… Oh, hold on, man. I’m getting a call.”

  “Forget that. Finish telling me the story. What about Mara?”

  “Speak of the devil! Well, I guess I’ll just call her back later. So this dress…”

  “You dick!” Amara screamed as her call went to voicemail. There was only one way to prevent this—she had to physically intercept the embarrassing data. She opened her bathroom door, and marched out of the room, but when the cool air touched her skin she remembered her state of nudity. Grabbing a pink, fluffy bathrobe, Amara tugged the garment around her body as she used her prana to blast herself directly out of her house and across the city.

  “…designer had custom made…”

  The wind burned her eyelashes as she flew faster than she had ever flown before. Faster than she ever thought she could manage to fly. She finally caught sight of the men lying on the roof of the house at Burnson Grove.

  “…for Amara’s wed…”

  Before she could think, the blonde demigoddess found herself slamming her foot into her brother’s side. He went flying off the roof.

  “Wednesday,” she said, turning to Asher with a furious blush across her cheeks. “Wednesday evening—a thing in Monaco.”

  “Monaco?” Asher asked, sitting up in surprise. “I didn’t know you were going there.”

  “It’s just a small thing,” Amara lied with a nervous laugh, waving her hand in dismissal. “A date. Kind of.”

  “A date?” Asher asked sharply. “With who?”

  “Um,” Amara fumbled.

  Thornton chose that moment to levitate back into their line of sight. “Jesus, Mara. Did you just kick me off the roof?”

  “And with good reason,” she snapped. “Why are you talking about my personal business? My private life should be… private!”

  “You’re right,” Thornton said after a moment’s consideration. “I’m sorry, sis.”

  Asher was staring in puzzlement. “Mara, why are you wearing a bathrobe?”

  “I’m trying to set a new trend,” Amara lied, glaring at her brother. “It’s about wearing silly things to prove that one can be smooth and gracious when the situation is unbearably awkward.”

  Thornton sighed. “Look, Mara—I’m really sorry…”

  She was about to yell at her brother when a missive reached her mind, addressed directly to her in a weak, choppy thought pattern. Mara, I really screwed up here. What made me think I could win against your dad? I can’t get home. Please find a way…

  Amara forgot all about the insults which were yearning to tumble off her tongue. She was needed. “Okay, guys. Is there some way we can use magick to bring Pax and my dad home?”

  Chapter 15: Death for Power

  Pax felt a delicious flavor descend upon her mouth. Her tongue darted out to circle her chapped lips, collecting stray droplets of a divine tasting liquid.

  Water.

  Prying her eyes open, she saw Vincent standing above her with a chunk of ice gripped tightly in his palm. The heat from his hand was causing it to melt and drip onto her face indiscriminately. She tried to lift herself off the ground, but found that her entire body ached. All she could do was appreciate the cool trickle of liquid sliding down her throat. She felt she could have guzzled down a gallon’s worth of the precious stuff.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled miserably. Pax wiped the water from her face with the back of her hand, suddenly feeling very pathetic. This was no way to appear before the King of Devas.

  “You’re still too weak to teleport us,” Vincent observed.

  She didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t want to have to agree. She gave the slightest nod.

  “Why did you suddenly choose to have a serious fight with me now?” Vincent demanded. “This was so out of the blue. Is it because you were angry about Thorn’s new girlfriend?”

  Pax made a face and laughed.

  “Be straight with me, Pax Burnson.”

  “Yeah, sure. That’s the reason.”

  Vincent growled and stooped down to glare at her. “Who do you think taught you about sarcasm, girl? You will not use that tone with me.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes flashing red. “And you will not speak down to me. I am trying my best, and I don’t need your trash talking.”

  “If you’re going to act like a foolish, impulsive brat, then I will trash talk you all I want. I am your superior in all ways, and you will show some deference.”

  “No, I won’t,” Pax said with a shrug. “If you think I’m not respectful, just kill me, here and now. I’m weak enough that you could manage it pretty easily. I don’t think I really care.”

  Vincent frowned at this, tossing the chunk of ice aside and crossing his arms. Normally when insulted and challenged, Pax would retort and prepare to fight back, but she seemed too defeated to try.

  “It seems like our little vacation is over, Pax. Gather your energy and teleport us home.”

  She groaned and shook her head. “No. We can keep going.”

  “Pax, you were unconscious for several hours. You nearly died due to dehydration and loss of blood. You need to get your head on straight and realize when you've reached your limits.”

  “I thought that’s how it was done, Vince.” Pax reached out her hands and gazed at them as she flexed her fingers powerfully. The simple movement caused electricity to crackle in the air.

  “What, child?”

  “Morta Bhava.”

  “What the hell? Where did you hear about the Morta Bhava? We destroyed all the books that mentioned that infernal technique!”

  “But I remember you and grandpa talking about it when I was little,” she said, finally pulling herself off the ground. “I’ve listened carefully to everything you said. When a deva approaches death’s door, their entire body is refreshed with a sudden renewed energy. It’s like when you break a bone and it heals—the bone regrows stronger than before, with extra layers of bone reinforcing the break.”

  Vincent stared at her in consternation. “You must have been a toddler of four or five the last
time I mentioned the Morta Bhava to Kaden.”

  “I still listened,” Pax said. “I didn’t really understand until later, but I listened. I remember everything my grandfather ever said—he was my hero, and sometimes I play his words over and over in my mind to keep me strong.”

  “He was a wise man,” Vincent said, shaking his head. “You were a smart child to recognize this. Our deva heritage allows our bodies to grow even more capable and robust than before, upon rapidly recovering from nearly mortal wounds.”

  “I know. I used the technique quite a few times in the vector zone—without really intending to. Once, I drained all my blood to save Mara, and my body managed to replenish itself pretty quickly. I was sure that I was going to die that time. Also, when I began using that incantation of yours to turn my body into a black hole—it began to liquefy my insides, but when I woke up the next morning, I felt so refreshed and strong.”

  Vincent slowly nodded. “The Morta Bhava is dangerous. It’s a trait that humans experience as well, on a psychological level. Close brushes with death tend to give them a renewed appreciation for their lives and a sharper sense of self-preservation.”

  “Or in simple terms: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  With a slight furrow of his eyebrow, Vincent shrugged. “It can be very rewarding. Every increase is exponential. This was a decent strategy, Pax, even if your manner of execution was clumsy and infantile. Fighting at such an advanced level for so long is challenging, but prudent. The longer a deva spends in battle, the easier it becomes. Although at first it seems like a paradox, our bodies possess a unique metabolism which can become acclimatized to a higher output of energy.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Pax breathed. Even as she spoke, she tried to search for the new power coursing through her. It was rather exciting to receive praise from Vincent—even a backhanded compliment. “Do I seem stronger now?” she asked eagerly.

  Vincent felt a smile hijack his lips. For a moment, her tough exterior had faded and he saw a young girl seeking his approval. He would give it to her in the only way he could: by continuing to fight her. And by kicking her ass again. He dropped his hands to his side and exhaled to return to his Pure God form. He felt the way a scientist might feel upon receiving the Nobel Prize, or a journalist upon receiving a Pulitzer. He felt the way an actor might feel upon receiving an award for their performance. The way a parent feels when watching their child graduate.

  He clenched his fists as the white energy of exhilaration swirled around him. There was nothing else he could do now but continue fighting with the passion and skill he’d inherited, learned, and discovered. With the techniques he’d already demonstrated and taught the generations after him. Whether or not they would win or lose the upcoming battle, he felt strangely fulfilled.

  “I’ve trained you well.”

  “You’re supposed to compliment me, not yourself!” she protested.

  “Go to your father for validation. I am your teacher, and I will compliment you if you can continue to survive this onslaught.” Vincent’s pupils began to disappear as his blonde hair turned white. He saw Pax visibly gulp in fear as she tried to pick herself off the ground and scramble into a defensive position. So, child. You’re willing to taste death for power? The Morta Bhava! That is admirable. Kaden Burnson would be proud of you if he could see the lengths to which you have gone to develop your birthright. But it’s not nearly enough yet. We have more work to do.

  * * *

  “Are you really sure that they need our help, Mara?” Thornton asked cautiously. “This incantation is a bit tricky, and we shouldn’t use it unless there’s a dire need.”

  “I’m sure,” Amara insisted. “Don’t you think I know when Paxie’s in over her head? She’s so weak right now that she’s fighting to stay conscious. Her ability to teleport back is kaput.”

  “We need to help them,” Asher said firmly.

  “I wish I could just send a spaceship,” Thornton grumbled, “but we’re way over the company budget.”

  “Didn’t you get some government grants?” Amara asked.

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t want to risk it until after the Charity Ball,” Thornton said, pushing a book forward. “I am going to need some help here, Ash.”

  Asher extended his muscled hands over the book. A black glow surrounded the text before travelling up through his fingertips and over his wrists. “Dude, am I translating this properly? What does it mean, a wormhole through the heart?”

  “You know, man. These things have to be all figurative and poetic,” Thornton said carelessly as he prepared the materials.

  Amara couldn’t seem to rip her gaze away from Asher’s hands, which remained poised above the tome. She drank in the bulging veins beneath his tanned skin—they reminded her of branches extending from a thick tree trunk, or the patterns weaving through a leaf. Everything about him was so natural and raw—he even smelled like fresh dirt. She tried to inhale without being obvious about it, but she could tell he had been helping his mother work in her garden earlier in the day.

  “Bro, have you ever used this spell before?” Asher asked in confusion as he stared down at the book. “I’m not sure that this is going to work. It says that it creates an ‘interplanetary portal’ which allows you to travel to a blood relative—”

  “That’s fine,” Thornton said with annoyance as he opened small satchels filled with various items. “You’re a blood relative of Pax, so it should be fine. Fuck, I forgot the scorpions. I’ll be right back, guys.” Thornton disappeared with a gust of air, rustling Amara’s hair.

  Reaching up to brush the blonde strands out of her eyes, Amara scowled at her brother’s lack of manners. She was surprised when Asher grabbed her wrist.

  “Mara, I need you to read this script.” He placed her hand down on the book he had been studying.

  She felt a shiver at the awkwardness of his touch, and glanced at him shyly. “Is this Phoenician?”

  “I think so. Could be Etruscan,” Asher said with a frown. “Doesn’t matter—can you tell me if you think this is the right incantation?”

  Amara felt a blush darken her cheeks. She found it flattering that Asher still valued her opinion, but she was ashamed that she could not help him. “I—I don’t know how to read foreign languages with my prana,” she admitted.

  “Really?” he asked in surprise. “Then how have you been practicing all this time?”

  “Pax usually translates it for me,” she said with embarrassment. “I’m sorry I’m of no use to you.”

  “Here, it’s pretty easy,” Asher said, pressing her hand firmly against the book and separating her fingers individually. She was suddenly very glad that she had recently gotten a manicure. He rested his large hand on top of hers, and released the dark blaze of energy that she had seen so often whenever anyone translated a manuscript. “Thousands of years ago, someone penned these pages—they probably had their hand resting on the book, really focused on the words as they wrote them. They were totally engrossed in the task, thinking about the value of these sentences and the curves of the letters; they probably imagined that someday, people like us would be reading them. Either way, there’s a little bit of that person’s soul left behind in the book. The ink is organic, so if you release a bit of prana into the book, you can connect with the ink, and reach across time to derive its meaning.”

  “That’s amazing,” Amara said, feeling the warmth of the energy surrounding his hand. “I didn’t know that was how it worked.”

  “Try to create a prana pattern that matches mine,” Asher said, gently pressing the back of her hand. “Then close your eyes and let the black energy just merge with the ink before it travels back into your body, and into your mind. Then you’ll understand what it means.”

  Amara closed her eyes and tried to follow his instructions. She was afraid that she would release too much prana and destroy the book. She could not breathe without having Asher’s scent fill her sinuses, and she could not
concentrate at all with his proximity. She felt her skin break out into goose bumps because of the sensation of his hand resting on hers. “I can’t do it,” she whispered.

  “Let’s see—there’s an incantation which can help you focus,” he said in a low voice. “It’s been a while since I used it, but maybe I can remember.” He pulled his lips to one side thoughtfully as he searched his memory. Finally, he spoke:

  Words of deepest midnight from a distant mind;

  Cross now the parchment, ancient tongue, and time.

  Amara nodded and mentally repeated the words until the meaning of the Phoenician text became clear to her. Her eyes widened in surprise. “I understand it, Ash! It says—oh, what the heck does that mean?” Her brow furrowed in concentration. “A cavernous chest reveals an unsealed channel—it doesn’t make sense, even in English. What is this gibberish?”

  “That’s what I’m asking you!” he said with a laugh.

  She couldn’t help giggling as well. “I guess I’m still not much help—but thanks for teaching me. You’re a really patient instructor.”

  They smiled at each other, and that was how Thornton found them when he returned.

  “Whoa,” the blonde man commented as he examined their position. “Am I interrupting something?”

  Asher briskly removed his hand from Amara’s. “We were just trying to figure this shit out, man. From what I understand, some sort of temporary passage is created which you have to travel through. It won’t be instant like Pax’s teleportation—it could take several days or even a week for you to get to them.”

  “Then I’d better get started, no?” Thornton said impatiently, tossing a few scorpions down into the ground. He used his prana to fry them, and a strange blue smoke wafted up from their bodies. “See if you can begin chanting now, Ash. Once you create the portal, I’ll step through.”

  Asher frowned. “I just don’t think we should use this particular incantation. It sounds like there might be dangerous side effects.”

  “Scared of a little danger, bro?” Thornton asked with a grin.