Libra Ascending: An Epic Urban Fantasy Romance (Zodiac Guardians Book 1) by Tamar Sloan (adult books to read .TXT) 📗

“There.” Cassandra smiles as she returns the pen to her bag. She steps back, cheeks a little pink. “I’ve gotta go or my dad will have a fit.”

“I’ll call you,” Tristan tells her, retreating back.

She glances over her shoulder. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

Cassandra climbs into a shiny Mercedes—seems she hit the jackpot when she got adopted—and drives off. Tristan glances at his arm, his skin tingling where the numbers are printed in small, round numerals.

That’s two orphans at Mirror Point. And one willing to talk.

Tristan punches the air. “I’d call that progress.”

He puts the car into gear, looking forward to telling Zarius and Tess the news, when something catches his eye. Tristan stills, glancing back at the school. The front steps are empty, the afternoon light casting long shadows down one side.

He takes his time scanning. The door’s shut, there’s no one around.

But still…

Tristan narrows his eyes, peering closer. Nothing moves, there’s barely a breeze. Even the shadows are as peaceful as the rest of this town. He’s probably overreacting after the rollercoaster today has been. But something keeps him there.

You’re not the only one looking for Zodiac Heirs.

Tristan climbs out of the car, closing his eyes as he holds still. The softest sound reaches him. The subtle crunching of gravel.

Then the smell. The scent of a person.

Yet there’s no one around.

Tristan’s eyes fly open, his muscles flooding with adrenaline. There’s no time to call Zarius.

He’ll be facing this Skin alone.

8

Brielle

I’m an alien prince and I’m here to find others like me…

Tristan’s words keep replaying in Brielle’s head like an annoying song lyric all the way back to the orphanage.

He actually believes he’s an alien prince. And what, he thinks Brielle’s an alien, too? She’s not sure what’s more upsetting; that the only guy to ever ask her out thinks he’s an alien, or that she’s such an outcast that he thinks she’s one as well.

I may be a freak who has visions and can sniff out lies like a bloodhound, but I’m certainly no alien. Thanks for the confidence boost, Tristan.

She sighs as she walks up the steps to the front door. She can’t let this distract her. The Pierces will be here soon, and she needs to be her best self. She’s just going to have to shake the unpleasant encounter off and get ready for the most important meeting of her life.

Getting to her room, Brielle tosses her backpack on her bed and takes the brush off her nightstand, running it through her hair for good measure. She examines her reflection in the mirror, pulling in a steadying breath. Her clothes aren’t the most fashionable, but this outfit is the best she’s got. At least the pant legs fit all the way down and have no rips like the others, even if they do now have a rip at the knee, thanks to Cassandra. While ripped and frayed jeans may be a fashion trend, they’re just too real when it comes to being an orphan.

Before she can debate changing her pants, someone knocks at the door.

“Brielle.” It’s Sister Agatha.

Brielle turns around, her heart clambering up her throat. She’s out of time.

“The Pierces are in the drawing room waiting for you,” Sister Agatha says, the eager glint in her eye betraying her serene façade. “Are you ready?”

Brielle inhales slowly and nods, following Sister Agatha out of the room.

“Relax, Brielle,” she says softly. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Just be yourself.” Sister Agatha doesn’t hug, but her kind tone wraps around Brielle, offering the same comfort that an embrace would.

Brielle nods, the walk to the drawing room feeling more like a procession down death row, with the eyes and whispers of her inmates following her as she passes.

Too quickly, they cross the threshold into the drawing room. Frank and Beatrice are sitting on the green paisley loveseat, and the welcoming smile they cast as she approaches helps to ease the tension that has Brielle’s shoulders aching.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Brielle,” Frank says, standing and extending his hand.

Brielle shakes it in return, hoping to hell her palm isn’t sweaty. “Trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”

The couple chuckles at what was apparently a charming remark on her part, and she blushes.

“I’ll leave you to your meeting,” Sister Agatha says, bowing slightly before she leaves the room.

“Please, sit down,” Beatrice invites, gesturing to the armchair opposite the loveseat.

Brielle sits, only vaguely noticing that the cushion is too stiff from lack of use. The drawing room is only used for one thing—meetings between adoptees and potential parents. Children are not allowed to lounge in here, and it’s kept in pristine condition, looking as close to a cozy living room as it can despite the dark wood-paneled walls and hardwood floor. This is also the only room in the building with curtains on the large central window, a seafoam green to match the paisley furniture and the ancient rug.

The Pierces seem to look just as nervous as she feels, Frank tapping his fingers on his lap and Beatrice bouncing one leg.

“I’m not entirely sure how to start the conversation,” Frank confesses with a laugh.

Brielle chuckles, releasing some of her own nervous energy. “I know what you mean.” She bites her lip. “Well, what do you do for a living, Frank?”

“Ah, excellent question.” He claps his hands. “I’m an investment banker with Sinclair Trustees, and Beatrice is a real estate agent slash freelance interior designer.”

“Yes, so if this is a good fit for all of us, you’ll never want for anything,” Beatrice says warmly.

Brielle nods with a smile, appreciating the reassurance even though that’s the furthest thing from her mind.

“Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself,” Frank says, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. “Your hobbies, talents and goals for the future.”

His mention of talents invites the memory of her disastrous date with Tristan. She’s not going to make any