Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) by Jonathan Michael (ereader that reads to you txt) 📗

“Well…I don’t need help…but I know someone who does. She’s had a serious accident I thought I could handle myself, but her wounds have taken a turn for the worse. Do you know anybody that can help?”

“Yes, sweetie. I do.”

A sudden rejuvenation fills me, and I sit up straight. “Who?”

“You look like you’ve had a rough day. Finish your meal, then I’ll introduce you to her.”

Azure deceives us. Her weather patterns are unpredictable. We know not whether we’ll receive an icy glare or a warm summer’s kiss. Her red waters seem to fill us with life, however. I question whether we’re compatible.

10 Goose

T he Broken Forest demands darkness. Always. And it presses upon us now. Not the dark of an overcast sky or the dark of twilight on a summer’s day, but dark like a deep cavern where the blind roam in comfort. It’s a surprise my flesh is free of shrooms with the amount of grueling darkness we’ve endured over the seasons. I am ready to be free of this. Soon.

The sun has set over the horizon, leaving only the red ambiance of Cerise and even that is faint. Beyond that, sporadic sparks of thunderbugs flash on and off, lighting the occasional bush or tree trunk. If Cerise weren’t looming overhead, I wouldn’t be able to see my hand if it were right in front of my face.

“We need to stop and rest for the night,” I mutter to Jay, exhausted from the unplanned excursion. “I would prefer not to setup camp on the forest floor. We’d be too vulnerable to the creatures of the night. What are the chances you can climb a tree with that leg of yours?”

After scouting the nearby trees with the assistance of the thunderbugs, I glance back at her, seeking a response. I can hardly see her, but it’s clear she’s digging deep. When she realizes I’m staring at her, she doesn’t even have the decency to pretend as if she’s wiping her nose or picking some of the crusty buildup that occasionally accumulates around the nostrils. No, she just keeps on digging with half a finger up her nose and continues on without a care that I’m watching.

My lips curl. “You’re going to charm some boy right off his feet someday, you know.”

“Whatever,” she retorts.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Not really. My theory is that our nostrils are almost the exact size of our fingertips and our fingernails are blunted like a shovel rather than razor sharp like a blade. So, they’re obviously designed to go right up there and snatch any unwanted obstacles. It’s simple logic. It’s not disgusting. It’s natural, and you and everyone else in the world merely hide your nose picking anyways. You can’t tell me you don’t do it.”

I stare at her for a long silence. “You’ve put far too much thought into that theory.”

She shrugs. “Anyways, getting back to your question, I’ve hobbled and hopped halfway through this dense wood, and the other half, you’ve been carrying me. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a yes.”

“There’s no way I’m climbing a tree,” she spits back.

“What are you saying? You can’t do it?”

“That’s not what I said!” she retorts. So predictable. “I can do it. I’d just rather not do it. I do have to confess, though. I’d sleep much sounder knowing we were out of reach of those nasty Lost Souls. What should we do?”

“We find a tree with low branches. C’mon. We’ll push on a bit further.” It’s not a hundred paces until I see a fitting ash for a good night’s rest. “That’s it.” I point to the tree I’m somehow expected to hoist her into. “That one has a solid layer of branches to nest in for the night. Now, how do we get you up there? Here. Get on my shoulders.” I crouch low for her to climb on. “Do you think you could grasp one of the low branches and pull yourself up from there?” I ask.

“It doesn’t hurt to try, but no guarantees.” No sarcasm as I would have expected, but she still has that go get ’em personality. A sign of wits. The injury isn’t overcoming her yet, but it is draining her.

She drapes her bad leg over my shoulder. I help her gain balance before rising to my feet. She stabilizes herself against the tree. Jaymes is a petite girl, and after an entire day of traveling on foot toting her behind me, she feels as light as a pillow.

I shuffle to the closest branch, waiting for her to grab hold. She squirms and grunts, but I have no visibility above my brow to see what the holdup is.

“What’s going on up there?”

“I’m trying, you bucket of snot! Be patient!” She spits back in a tired and whiney voice. “I can’t reach it. My arms aren’t long enough.”

“Hold on a moment.”

“I have been!” She fires back.

I press my palms firmly into her thighs. She lets out a deep moan as my fingers inadvertently dig into her bandaged wound. It’s soft and glutinous to the touch. A stark contrast to her other thigh, which is firm and slick with sweat. I ignore her pain and hoist her over my head. I can feel her weight now.

“Got it?” I wail as my arms are ready to collapse under the pressure.

“Yeah. Now what?”

“Can you pull yourself up?”

“I’m trying.”

“Hurry. It feels like you’ve been stuffing your face with an unlimited supply of cream puffs up there. Your weight has tripled.”

Her heel slams into my chest, causing my knees to buckle. Jaymes is no longer on my shoulders. I look up, and she stares down at me with a smirk stretching from ear to ear.

“Chump. Never discuss a lady’s weight. Now,