Page 48 of Beyond the Storm
“I only spoke the truth.”
Alastair softly whimpered before deepening the kiss. He pressed himself more against me, as if he couldn’t get close enough. I understood the feeling. I could never get close enough to him either.
A log popped in the fireplace as he straddled my waist and dipped his hand between our bodies, unzipping my pants. Everything about Alastair intoxicated me. His kisses. His sweet cedar scent. The way his body melded to mine.
“Make love to me, Laz,” he whispered. “Let’s fly together.”
“You love flying.”
The sight of his tender smile did strange things to my chest. “There’s no one I’d rather enjoy it with than you.” He rocked his hips forward, issuing from me a light groan. “Both in and out of bed.”
I snagged his lips for another kiss.
And then, we soared.
The End
Kallias:A Sons of the Fallen Novella
Since Kallias never got his own book, this story shows how he and Elasus met and where they are now. Readers of the series know what happened to separate them once before, but that won’t be described in detail.
I hope you enjoy.
Content warningfor bullying and violence pertaining to Kallias’ past as a Spartan.
Prologue
Kallias
Many Years Ago in Sparta
I never knew my father. My mother said he had hair as dark as a raven’s feathers and eyes like midnight.
“Did he fall in battle?” I asked her late one evening as a cold wind howled outside the walls of our home.
She sat on the edge of my bed and smoothed back my hair. “A coward took his life. Jumped from the shadows and slain him from behind.”
“Why?”
“Fear.” Sadness shone in her brown eyes. “Your father was a great general who commanded an army of the gods. Warriors who look like men but are much more. This coward feared facing him on the battlefield.”
“An army of the gods?”
She nodded. “While our army marches among mortal men, your father’s army battles in the heavens. You possess the blood of a Spartan, yet the blood of the gods also flows through your veins. Someday, you’ll grow to be a warrior just like him. Strong and feared by your enemies.”
Days later, I left home to join the agoge—the training for Spartan youths. It turned boys into men and prepared us for the life of a warrior. My hair was shaved, my clothes were taken, and my body was beaten. Yet, my spirit never broke.
You couldn’t break something that was never whole to begin with.
It took little time for the boys to learn I wasn’t like them.
“See this!” one boy exclaimed before smashing a rock into the side of my skull.
My head jerked to the side, and I lost my footing. My backside hit the dirt, and a sharp ringing started in my ears. Warmth trickled from my temple. But then the bleeding stopped. The ringing did too. A shadow blocked the sun as the boys in my herd gathered around me.
“The wound closed!” a smaller boy squeaked.
I blinked up at them. Their expressions varied between shock, amusement, and even fear. Other boys took it as a challenge.
