Divided Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 4) Read Online Free Page A

toes. “I’m so excited!” She looked over the party with a gleam in her black eyes. “It’s been ages since I’ve been to a social. My family and I have been in the city of Harbor for months now and have just come back.” She smiled, her jet-black hair tumbling to her shoulders in silky waves. “Parties are not nearly as fun in Harbor as they are here. How was Sen Altare? And did you really get captured by rovers?”
    “Who told you that?” Grace laughed.
    “You’re the talk of the town, dearie,” her friend replied. “Word is a tall barbarian carried you off to make you his bride.”
    I wish, Grace thought sourly, but simply sniffed. “If that were true, how could I possibly be here?”
    “The inventor saved you, of course.” Annabelle’s eyes were constantly shifting as she compared the men—eligible and non-eligible alike—in the room. “But then he had to go and destroy the Tower, throwing our entire city into chaos. All that for a slave woman. He’s quite mad, you know.”
    “Undoubtedly.” Grace still didn’t see Mr. Jameson, but she noticed with alarm that Mr. Hartford saw her, and was pushing through the crowd in her direction. She grabbed Annabelle’s arm, pulling her the other way. Annabelle saw and giggled, putting a slim hand to her mouth to stifle it.
    “Come now, Grace, Mr. Hartford may not be much to look at, but he’s filthy rich.”
    Grace shuddered. “I’d sooner marry . . . just about anyone else, really.”
    Annabelle didn’t hear her. “Be still my heart,” she murmured, looking toward the entrance. “Who is he?”
    Grace’s head snapped toward the ballroom entrance and, though she was several yards away, found herself swallowed up in the intense gaze of a tall, lean man.
    Bran. He’d come! He looked smashing, dressed in a black jacket, red vest, and form fitting gray trouser and black boots. His mask was adorned with black swan feathers. Grace’s knees wobbled under the intensity of his stare, but she tried to hide it as she walked over to greet him.

 
    9
    Bran
     
    B ran felt a little unsteady looking across the room at Grace. Shades alive, she had always been a beautiful woman, but tonight she was absolutely stunning. Her hair caught the light of the lamps, making her hair seem to glow. Her silk ball gown exposed pale shoulders, and her full, red lips curved upward in a smile. She glided gracefully across the room to stand before him. She looked up with a smile. “You came.”
    Bran had to swallow twice before he could speak. “I couldn’t turn down your invitation.”
    “I’m glad. Did you have any trouble getting in?”
    Bran smirked, pretending to be confident. “I’m Lord Sirius Archer of Sen Altare. I get invited to all sorts of parties.”
    “See?” Grace laughed, putting a delicate hand to her mouth. “I told you it would work.”
    Bran scanned the area. The ballroom was massive. It could’ve held fifty nomad tents with room to spare. Candles set in sconces lined the walls, and chandeliers sparkled with light. Tables were practically groaning with the weight of food and drink. His stomach growled, and he eyed the tables again. He’d been in such a hurry to get there he didn’t stop to eat. Grace noticed and tugged on his arm. “Are you hungry? Come, you can—”
    “Miss Grace, there you are.” A tall gentleman, wearing an outrageously large silver mask, came to stand by her side, placing a hand on her shoulder in a way that seemed much too familiar to Bran. The man smirked at him. “If you don’t mind, Mr.. . .”
    “Lord Archer.” Grace said, turning to the man. “Lord Sirius Archer of Sen Altare.”
    “‘Lord,’ is it?” Mr. Jameson drawled. His eyes took in Bran’s clothing. Bran tried not to wince; he was wearing his very finest, but they were still rather plain compared to the men here. “Well, Lord Archer, if you’ll excuse us.” His hand—Bran resisted the overwhelming urge to break it—lifted from Grace’s shoulder