Strayblood (Draev Guardians #2) by E.E. Rawls

Author:E.E. Rawls [Rawls, E.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Storyteller Wings Press
Published: 2021-11-30T16:00:00+00:00

The next morning, Mamoru poured waffle batter into molded fryers, while Harlow waited around the kitchen table for breakfast. Cyrus made soft-boiled eggs and handed them out, the yolk inside a delicious molten gold.

The boys were somber and many brows furrowed. Bakoa rested his chin on the table, stomach growling, yet not bothering to beg Mamoru to hurry up. And Hercule glared at his coffee mug to the point that Cyrus feared it might catch on fire.

She knew just how they felt.

Inadequate. Nearly defeated. Too weak to ever become real Draevs.

Mamoru brought the finished waffles on a platter, setting them in the center of the table. No one was fast to grab them, not even little Apfel.

The scarred older boy shared a look with her, then planted his hands on his aproned hips. “If you all don’t stop sulking, these waffles will get cold. And if that happens, don’t expect me to make them for you again,” he warned.

Muttering to themselves, they slowly stabbed their forks at the food.

Mamoru shook his head in disbelief. “You’re all acting as if you failed the mission. When the truth is, you kept each other alive and rescued Apfel, despite going up against a foe that even official Draevs are having trouble with.” His palm smacked the table. “So, enough moping. Wipe those miserable frowns off your faces and think of ways to improve your Abilities.”

Bakoa straightened in his chair. He pounded a fist on the table, determination setting the lines of his shoulders and his cleft chin. “You’re right! I need to improve my sand attacks.” He stuffed half a waffle in his mouth, now in a hurry to eat.

Zartanian nodded, his winter-blue gaze hardening, and he started to eat faster.

“Yes, you should all improve,” spoke Lykale, while thumbing through a copy of this morning’s city papers. “The Hunters Race is coming up, and I’d rather not look like a fool on a losing team.”

Mamoru sent him a look, to which he ignored.

Hercule finished his plate, stood, and downed the rest of his coffee. The mug thunked down on the table. “We won’t be a losing team—not if I can help it. I’m going to use every spare hour to hone my skills.” His thumbnail dug into his palm, and he marched out the door of the dorm flat without another word.

“Right, me too!” Bakoa’s chair screeched back, and he headed out.

Zartanian followed next.

Cyrus noticed Aken over in a chair in the connected living room, quietly forking a waffle Mamoru had handed him. She didn’t have time to wonder why he was acting so strange, though. The academy’s bells gonged out the hour and the start of class.

She swallowed her last bit of waffle, almost choking, and hurried out. She refused to just sit back and let herself be useless—not without working her backside off and sweating blood and tears, first!

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