Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1) by K.F. Breene Read Free Book Online Page B

take him to the ground. Even in this horrible green dress.
    “I’m supposed to esco rt you. Sorry I’m late—“ His gaze hit Shanti and he staggered forward, hands half reaching either to fall or grab.
    Shanti kicked her shoes off—horrible stilt type things that increased her height but decreased her ability to walk--and her fingers tugged down the metal at her back, ready to tear the thing off and engage.
    Then he smiled. “Sorry, ma’am. Last time I saw you, you were a pile of dirt. You clean up well.”
    Shanti hesitated, and then got her fingers slapped away by Molly. Shifting and reclaiming the tiny square of metal, she said, “Do your people have problems with washing? I found the soap acceptable.”
    “He’s saying you look pretty, dear,” Molly explained, swiping Shanti’s fingers away again before re-securing the dress.
    “Pretty. ” She couldn’t help the monotone in her voice. At one time in her life, she’d cared about such things—about men and mates and what it meant to be desired. She was only twenty-four, but even still, those days were gone, along with her people. Now, she’d rather be invisible.
    “Say ‘thank you’,” Molly muttered disapprovingly, noticing Shanti’s shoes scattered across the cobblestones. Her answering scowl was fantastic.
    “Thank you,” Shanti said without emotion. It would behoove her to stick within custom—to stay within the good graces of these people—until she could move on and regain that invisibility. Still, she didn’t like the reminder of days lost. Or being noticed sexually. Not anymore.
    After a tsk, and some shoe orchestration, Molly said, “Let’s move. The Captain hates tardiness. And rude ness…”
    A short walk later, t hey approached a large square building with very few ornaments. In fact, besides a plain, burnished metal door knocker and weathered door knob, it was completely nondescript. And because it was so plain, standing next to domestic dwellings with scrolls and embellishments, it stuck out like a barge amid sailboats. Someone wasn’t very clever at disguises with this office.
    Xavier hurried forward, and Shanti danced off to the side to keep outside of arm’s reach. He opened the door with a flourish, waving them through.
    Shanti stopped altogether, beckoning him in before her, spreading out her mind again. Her awareness crawled across the space within, mostly empty of any heat signatures or brain patterns, until the far right. It was like the sea washing up a beach, the foam of her mind lapping at the awaiting consciousness.
    She strained, trying to reach farther. The effect had her limbs shaking and forehead beading in sweat. Hot pricks dug in her temples. She should’ve waited longer than two days to attempt this meeting. Not that she’d planned to meet at all...
    Xavier, unaware of her mental employment, tr ied to dislodge his smile and failed. “Ladies first.”
    “Yes, I saw to that,” Shanti replied distractedly, wondering how many awaited her. “Molly has entered. Please—“ Shanti gestured again for Xavier to go first.
    “Ladies first,” Xavier re peated.
    H is smile was starting to get irritating.
    Shanti looked at him sternly, deciding. He wasn’t planning to budge, but she wasn’t planning on traipsing in front of him in stilts and green puffy wrapping. She might as well just offer herself for his amusement.
    She settled for removing her shoes, handing them to the youth, and using his confusion to slip inside, dress binding halfway down her back in case she met trouble.
    As she crossed the threshold a splash of deep crimson reached toward her feet. Fearing blood, wondering if Xavier was currently closing the door to her tomb, Shanti hopped over the offending color with nimble grace, landing on weak, half-numb legs. She staggered, crashing into a plant in a pot, her Gift sputtering with lack of concentration and insufficient energy.
    A quick glance told her that what she’d thought was a dead body