Empire of Ash: A Passionate Paranormal Romance with Young Adult Appeal (God of Secrets Book 1)

I still as I drink in the moment. The ancient city of Tanis, it has to be, and my mouth goes dry. So much history that’s changed mankind—that’s changed my life—lies below.
The site comes closer and closer as we descend, and my feet itch to find solid ground.
“Put your feet forward.”
He has to be kidding what with the wind rushing by, but I attempt to comply and bring my feet up despite anxiety peaking as the ground rushes ever closer.
Please don’t crash.
I screech when the hard-packed dirt looms mere feet away.
Harpoc only grins, no doubt thinking my terror is cute.
Cute my ass.
He tilts his wings up, then beats them, no different than a bird.
“Feet out.” He sets us down gently. “That wasn’t so bad now was it?”
We made it. We didn’t die. I’m not roadkill, or flightkill.
I stagger, then trip over my own feet as I try to stand. Grace, my agility-challenged compatriot, has come, too, it seems.
“Whoa, Pell, you okay there?” he asks, steadying me.
“Just peachy, can’t you tell?” I say, fighting for stability.
He eases his grip, seemingly testing my prowess at remaining vertical.
 Breathe, Pell, breathe, I tell myself and finally release Harpoc.
“I think you broke only two of my ribs,” he jokes.
“Sorry.” I look down.
“You’ll get used to it.”
I bring my head up sharply. He’s assuming a lot. “Used to it? I don’t think so.”
He only smiles as his wings vanish.
I gasp, and my knees nearly buckle. What have I gotten myself into, wanting to know more about his secret magic?
Harpoc winks. He’s really getting his jollies out of startling me, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Good thing he’s easy on the eyes. Butterflies rise in my stomach.
He scans the area. “We beat the sphinx here, but we should let the dig team know she’s coming.”
“Dig team?”
He points to a modest grouping of tents a ways up the field.
Of course, Tanis is a virtual trove of antiquities and is still an active dig site. What’s wrong with me? That flight messed up more than my stomach.
It hasn’t been raining here that much is clear as my boots kick up dust as we pass the legs of a statue no longer connected to its torso, and my pulse speeds. Ruins always leave me feeling a connection with the people who once lived here when I touch the artifacts they left behind. I long to run my fingers over them, but first things first.
Halfway to the encampment, we pass mega blocks of granite that are loosely stacked to mark where a wall of some ancient building must have stood. But the whole time we walk, Harpoc keeps scanning the skies, making me nervous.
I still don’t want to believe him, but he has some really unimaginable stuff going on—materializing out of shadows, magically transporting us here—why the heck not a sphinx? I can’t believe I’m maybe starting to believe him.
My inner voice remains silent, unable to counter my arguments. I wish she could.
It’s downright balmy here, and I unzip my heavy coat as we pass four broken obelisks that have been repaired, after a sort, and stood up again, marking what might be a large courtyard. No doubt hieroglyphs are inscribed on them, and I’d love to study them, but not right now.
The encampment turns out to comprise six large, blue tents that sit near three partial stone walls with what I guess is a statue of Ramesses II or some other big shot pharaoh along one of them.
“The temple of Amun.” Harpoc points. “This is where the sphinx will come. It used to guard it.”
He knows this how? I glance over at him, but he’s looking at the sky again.
A flap of one of the tents opens and two men dressed in cargo pants and lightweight white cotton dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up step out. One carries a clipboard.
They haven’t heard us talking because they both startle when they spot us, then head our way.
“Can we help you?” Mister Clipboard says, giving us a stern, you-shouldn’t-be-in-this-restricted-area look.
Harpoc opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a hand. No matter what’s happened, this is not the time to have them throw us out because they think we’re crazy.
“Hello, I’m Pellucid Rose and this is my”—I give Harpoc a quick look—“partner. I’m a third-year dig supervisor on the Mycenae, Greece excavation.”
The pair continue staring. Mister Empty-Hands shifts.
“Um, right. So we need to let you know that—”
Harpoc scans the skies again. “A sphinx is about to ravage your camp.”
I scowl at Harpoc. Leave it to him to mess this up with his crazy talk.
The pair look to each other, furrowing their brows and Mister Clipboard says, “I don’t know who you are or how much you’ve had to drink, but you’ll need to leave. You’re in a restricted area.”
I hold up a hand. “Sir, I know that sounds crazy, but please, hear us out.”
The men both cross their arms.
“All right, explain,” Mister Empty-Hands says.
“I don’t know how many folks are here, but you’re all in grave danger. You need to evacuate. There’s a… potential threat looming.”
Mister Clipboard exhales heavily.
“She’s here,” Harpoc says, pointing.
I, along with the other unbelievers, turn and squint. My overstuffed, baklava-filled stomach quivers when I make out a speck on the horizon, fifteen degrees west of the moon.
No, it can’t be.
Can it?

Chapter Eleven
Mister Clipboard scowls. “That’s a planet.”
A planet? I squint harder, wanting to believe him. Yes, a planet. I’ve fallen for Harpoc’s story, but it’s just a planet. My brain’s addled by his hubba-hubba good looks.
Harpoc’s metallic eyes turn cold. “That’s no planet.”
Of course he’s not making