Page 2 of Property of Mako
A breath, then none.
The stillness that followed was thick and hollow. A silence that echoed across centuries.
I buried her in secret beneath the chapel, away from the prying eyes of the courts and the blood-drunk royals who would twist her death for their own gain. The prophecy meant dick shit to me. I didn’t care about sleeping gods because as far as I was concerned, there was no god.
As I stood over her grave with hands fisted, the points of the gold pendant dug into my palm. Trying desperately to swallow the lump in my throat, I opened my hand and stared at the sun-shaped design. There was a silver crescent moon that overlaid the left side of the sun. In the center of the moon was a blood-red ruby.
My mother had worn it.
After she was murdered, I had given it to my sister. It had only seemed right—it had been passed down through my mother’s family for years. Now it seemed darkly symbolic of death—brutal, untimely death. Both my mother and my sister—slain like cattle.
After tucking it into my inside pocket, I pulled off the signet ring I wore with our family crest. With one last kiss to the raven, I tossed it into the open grave before grabbing the shovel and covering what was left of my family.
And when the blood moon passed, Calix D’Aragon vanished from the world he once ruled. In my heart, he no longer existed. Nor did the compassion and humanity I had fought so hard to cling to as the ruler of the D’Aragon empire.
On an icy winter night years later, I exacted my vengeance on Thane. I slaughtered everyone in his camp. My only regret was that he hadn’t been there.
Then I traded a throne for the road. A name for a patch.
And a heart for a curse.
Chapter 1
Quiet Things That Break
Lyra
The stallion shifted under my hand, tense and restless beneath the morning mist. Muscles rippled along his flanks as if his skin could feel the storm coming before the sky knew it. He likely could—animals sensed more than we gave them credit for.
I didn’t flinch. I held my palm steady against the chestnut horse’s neck, grounding him with nothing more than a steady breath and the kind of silence that told him, “I’m still here. You’re safe.”
I knew how to speak without speaking. Most things with four legs preferred it that way. It wasn’t something I told most people about because they’d never believe me.
The sun hadn’t quite risen over Talon Ridge, the rundown equine rescue I managed just outside of Red Hollow. At one time, Red Hollow had been a massive plantation—nearly self-sufficient to the point that after the original owners had been killed in the Civil War, it had remained as a small thriving town.
We were only to the west of New Orleans—minutes away, really—but far enough away that it seemed we were in the middle of nowhere. As if we were in our own little world.
I knew the rest of the plantation was nothing more than a tax write-off for the owner. But to me, this little part of it I’d kept was my sanity—my safe place.
My home.
The barn creaked around me, followed by a chorus of hoofbeats, breath, and a wind chime of halters. The scent of pine shavings and hay clung to my worn denim jacket and skin, earthy and clean—the only perfume I’d ever need.
I preferred horses to people. Always had.
People lied—said they’d always be there for you. Horses never betrayed you like that.
That morning was supposed to be ordinary: feed, muck, train, repeat. But my phone buzzed in my back pocket—a rarity, since only one person ever really called, and she was in her bed sleeping.
With a sigh, I held the lead rope in one hand and dug it out with the other.
The sheriff’s department? I had them saved to my phone as I’d called it before for stray animals and once for a poacher. Also, with two women living alone in a fairly remote area, I always thought it was smart.
Except, I certainly didn’t expect the words that followed.
“Hey, is this Lyra Callahan?” the deep but raspy voice asked.
“Yes. Who’s this?” My brow pinched.
