Return (Lady of Toryn trilogy) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Charity Santiago
like vinegar over glass. "No one around here seems to remember that."
"I understand that better than you, apparently," Ashlyn retorted.
They stared at each other for a long moment, Ashlyn’s dark eyes boring into Restlyn’s burgundy ones. Finally Restlyn looked away.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said. "I came to get you for breakfast. You can come down to the kitchen if you want.'
She turned on her heel and walked out, brushing past Vargo, who was lurking in the doorway, looking scummy. As usual. When he was still working for Lord Angelo eight years ago, the red-haired Spartan had proved himself a formidable opponent, but his arrogant attitude and constant lewd remarks made it impossible for Ashlyn to think of him as anything but a total creep.
"Hey beautiful," he said, smirking.
Ashlyn dug her knuckles into her eyes. Could this get any worse?
Her stomach, always the pessimist, chose that moment to give a very loud and unmistakable rumble.
"Now that was attractive," said Vargo.
She dropped her hands and shook her head, irritated. "Shut up, jerk."
"Hey, no skin off my nose. I'm not the one who started a world war by taking leave from life for a while. I don't need all the friends I can get." He sauntered off, obviously pleased with his parting blows.
"Bite me," Ashlyn yelled, but he was already halfway down the stairs and out of insult range. Hadn't Skye said that Vargo's room was distanced away from everyone else's? Either Skye had lied - which was unlikely - or Vargo had deliberately gone out of his way to walk by her room - which was more than likely.
What a loser.
Scowling, Ashlyn stomped into the bathroom and braided her hair in front of the mirror, pulling it up to hide the length underneath her bandanna. She didn't want to give Vargo any excuse to notice that she was female…although her too-small shirt really didn't leave anything to the imagination. Weren't there any clothing stores in town? That might help.
She stared at herself in the mirror for a few moments before heading downstairs. She at least hadn't gotten her hair cut and styled to look like someone else, but nonetheless she looked totally different from the scruffy sixteen-year old her friends had last seen.
The steps didn't creak beneath her feet as she descended. That was probably why, in her post-near-concussion stupor, she hadn't noticed Drake carrying her upstairs.
It just figured, with her luck, that with a fifty-fifty chance of being carried by the guy she was crushing on (ahem…Skye), she would end up being toted around by the one ancient vampire with creepy red eyes that she‘d sworn never to speak to again.
All right, all right, so his eyes didn't bother her nearly as much as they had when Ashlyn had first met Drake. And yeah, vermilion eyes were unspeakably cool by anyone's standards. But after dealing with Lord Angelo and the DEMON army, after saving Drake's life and then having him return the favor at least a couple of times, then having to watch him walk away…after everything, after everything , didn't she mean anything more than that to him?
Apparently not.
Ashlyn wasn't interested in excuses or qualifiers. After she'd resigned herself to the fact that Drake was simply a moron, suddenly all his other shortcomings became very obvious. Without the resist stane that he wore on a chain around his neck, sunlight was deadly to him, and he spent his free time brooding in a coffin. Plus, um, inherent need to drink blood? Major yuck factor.
He was not one of the four people sitting around the table when Ashlyn entered the kitchen. Vargo, Aaron, and two other Spartans were though, and it struck Ashlyn as surreal that her former enemies would be sharing breakfast in Restlyn’s kitchen. Ellis, the last Spartan whose name Ashlyn could remember, had not been present in the tavern the night before, but he was here this morning. Restlyn was at
"I understand that better than you, apparently," Ashlyn retorted.
They stared at each other for a long moment, Ashlyn’s dark eyes boring into Restlyn’s burgundy ones. Finally Restlyn looked away.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said. "I came to get you for breakfast. You can come down to the kitchen if you want.'
She turned on her heel and walked out, brushing past Vargo, who was lurking in the doorway, looking scummy. As usual. When he was still working for Lord Angelo eight years ago, the red-haired Spartan had proved himself a formidable opponent, but his arrogant attitude and constant lewd remarks made it impossible for Ashlyn to think of him as anything but a total creep.
"Hey beautiful," he said, smirking.
Ashlyn dug her knuckles into her eyes. Could this get any worse?
Her stomach, always the pessimist, chose that moment to give a very loud and unmistakable rumble.
"Now that was attractive," said Vargo.
She dropped her hands and shook her head, irritated. "Shut up, jerk."
"Hey, no skin off my nose. I'm not the one who started a world war by taking leave from life for a while. I don't need all the friends I can get." He sauntered off, obviously pleased with his parting blows.
"Bite me," Ashlyn yelled, but he was already halfway down the stairs and out of insult range. Hadn't Skye said that Vargo's room was distanced away from everyone else's? Either Skye had lied - which was unlikely - or Vargo had deliberately gone out of his way to walk by her room - which was more than likely.
What a loser.
Scowling, Ashlyn stomped into the bathroom and braided her hair in front of the mirror, pulling it up to hide the length underneath her bandanna. She didn't want to give Vargo any excuse to notice that she was female…although her too-small shirt really didn't leave anything to the imagination. Weren't there any clothing stores in town? That might help.
She stared at herself in the mirror for a few moments before heading downstairs. She at least hadn't gotten her hair cut and styled to look like someone else, but nonetheless she looked totally different from the scruffy sixteen-year old her friends had last seen.
The steps didn't creak beneath her feet as she descended. That was probably why, in her post-near-concussion stupor, she hadn't noticed Drake carrying her upstairs.
It just figured, with her luck, that with a fifty-fifty chance of being carried by the guy she was crushing on (ahem…Skye), she would end up being toted around by the one ancient vampire with creepy red eyes that she‘d sworn never to speak to again.
All right, all right, so his eyes didn't bother her nearly as much as they had when Ashlyn had first met Drake. And yeah, vermilion eyes were unspeakably cool by anyone's standards. But after dealing with Lord Angelo and the DEMON army, after saving Drake's life and then having him return the favor at least a couple of times, then having to watch him walk away…after everything, after everything , didn't she mean anything more than that to him?
Apparently not.
Ashlyn wasn't interested in excuses or qualifiers. After she'd resigned herself to the fact that Drake was simply a moron, suddenly all his other shortcomings became very obvious. Without the resist stane that he wore on a chain around his neck, sunlight was deadly to him, and he spent his free time brooding in a coffin. Plus, um, inherent need to drink blood? Major yuck factor.
He was not one of the four people sitting around the table when Ashlyn entered the kitchen. Vargo, Aaron, and two other Spartans were though, and it struck Ashlyn as surreal that her former enemies would be sharing breakfast in Restlyn’s kitchen. Ellis, the last Spartan whose name Ashlyn could remember, had not been present in the tavern the night before, but he was here this morning. Restlyn was at
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