Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1) by Messenger Jon

Author:Messenger, Jon [Messenger, Jon]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Crimson Tree Publishing
Published: 2015-03-09T16:00:00+00:00

Luthor hurried through the halls with his arm clutched to his chest as though it were broken. Another wave of pain rolled up through his shoulder and pierced his heart. His breath froze in his throat as he leaned heavily against the hallway wall until the pain subsided.

“Are you well, sir?” a servant asked from behind him.

Luthor angrily waved the man away before pushing off from the wall and continuing toward his room. The apothecary glanced over his shoulder to ensure the servant had disappeared from view before he risked pulling up the sleeve of his jacket.

Beneath the thick fabric, the warding rune on his arm burned a furious red. The puckered scaring looked new, as though it had recently been burned into his flesh, as opposed to the faded scar it normally appeared to be. Most disconcerting were the black tendrils that spread from the edges of the rune. They ran like dark veins, stretching away from the scar and spreading far enough up his arm that they disappeared beneath his jacket’s sleeve.

Luthor unbuttoned the top pair of buttons on his dress shirt and slipped his hand beneath the open collar. He could feel the heat radiating off his skin and knew the black threads stretched deep into the muscles of his neck and chest.

He coughed, and it sounded raspy and wet in his lungs. For a second, his vision swam as he tried to focus on the doorway to his room. Blinking furiously until his vision cleared, he staggered to his door. His fingers felt thick and numb as he attempted to retrieve his keys from his vest pocket. As his fingers finally closed around the wide metal, he pulled the key free and with fumbling and shaking hands managed to slip the key into its lock.

The interior of his room was blissfully cool compared to the stifling warmth in the hallway. He shoved his door closed carelessly, ignoring the thunderous sound it made as it slammed shut behind him.

Stripping away his suit jacket and vest, he tossed them onto the couch. He fumbled with the cufflinks on his shirt for some time before they finally slipped free. The dress shirt and undershirt came off equally as quickly as the suit and both were discarded with as much care.

Feeling slightly more himself in the magical coolness of his suite, Luthor walked to the washbasin set in front of the vanity across the room. Crystal clear water swirled in the stone basin, and Luthor gladly dipped his hands into the water before splashing it across his face. He allowed a handful of water to pour over the back of his neck and run down his back. He barely gave a second thought to the water as it soaked into the back of his pants.

Standing upright, he observed his reflection. As he surmised, the black tendrils stretched up his forearm, weaving an intricate pattern across his bicep and shoulder before settling in a latticework of webbing across his chest. Numerous black threads culminated above his heart, leaving a wide, dark stain on the skin of his chest.

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