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

this easy, I laugh to myself. He’s like someone else I know and love… me. I’ve never said anything disagreeable. Nope. Never.
Mister Clipboard flares his nostrils and tension spikes. My stomach becomes a bundle of nerves, like happens when riding a rollercoaster—that slow, anxiety-building clack, clack, clack of gears as I near the top of the first rise. My legs twitch with nervous anticipation.
My “partner” shakes his head, shifts his feet shoulder-width apart, and leans back. When he crosses his arms and starts tapping a finger against his lips I know we’re trying his patience. Tough.
I’ve no idea who he really is, but he isn’t the Job of biblical renown whose wife tried his patience umpteen times. Get used to it, buddy, because I have a feeling Mister Clipboard is only getting started.
“Uh, Hal…,” Mister Empty-Hands says, pointing. “It’s getting bigger.”
Hal… he has a name.
Hal turns a furrowed brow on his partner before looking again.
I follow his gaze and my stomach rolls. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. He’s right. It’s gotten bigger. I fist my hands wishing I have something to dig my nails into because this coaster car is about to take the plunge.
Harpoc just watches the speck, tapping his lips, but faster, seemingly waiting for us to get with his program.
I look back at the aerial object that has grown larger still, then gaze across the pair of my peers and bite my lip. It seems we’re at an impasse.
Why does it feel like I’m always in the middle of impossible situations? What about my DNA attracts conflict? I roll my eyes.
Logic, Pell. Use your logic, I remind myself. Yes, I’m a scientist, a logical one at that.
Okay… so if Harpoc’s right and we don’t get however many people are here out of harm’s way, they might get hurt. If we get people to safety and he’s wrong, worst case… My face will again match the color of my hair from embarrassment. It won’t be the first time.
I sigh. Put that way, it’s a no brainer.
I look between Mister Empty-Hands and Hal and in the sternest voice I can muster say, “You need to get your people to safety while there’s time.”
Both men look at me… like men on digs always do… down their noses.
Hal huffs, then inhales, winding up to level some stupid-ass claim as to why he knows more than me about everything—I know his type. Men, they’re all the same—but a growl follows a short roar through the night air and cuts him off.
I inhale sharply, and we mere mortals take a very long look at the speck that has morphed to golf ball size.
Harpoc purses his lips, then runs a hand through his perfect onyx hair as if he’s barely holding it together. I don’t know how much longer he’ll control himself, and my stomach goes hard. What will he do if he loses it? I really don’t want to see. There’s no insuring he’ll use his powers only for good.
The roar and growls become a rumble, echoing across the still night, instilling the fear of whatever gods are out here in me.
“Guys, you have to get your team to safety. Now.”
Hal scratches his stubbled jaw, eyes glancing between his compatriot and the growing orb.
I pinch my lips together. How much more convincing will it take to persuade this “Watson” he needs to act?
For his part, Mister Empty-Hands rubs the back of his neck. “Hal, I think we should do as they say.” Yes. At least I’ve won Sherlock over.
Another roar sounds, and Hal looks his partner up and down. “Fine, Kaz.” Two words, that’s all he says.
About time.
Harpoc exhales heavily and drops his hands as another roar and growl reach us. I know nothing about wild cats, much less a sphinx, but the sounds leave no doubt that such a creature is indeed on its way, and I’ve no doubt she’s one pissed lady. I’ve still no idea how Harpoc knows it’s female, but I’m not going to press it right this minute.
We follow Hal and Kaz as they turn on their heels and head back to the tent where laughter greets us as Kaz throws back the flap. Clearly these people haven’t heard the animal’s rumblings above their jocularity.
The command tent looks much like the one at my dig site with picnic tables running the length on one side and on the other, in a jumble of metal shelving units that have seen better days, an array of pick axes, sledge hammers, head lamps, plumb bobs, wooden spikes, and other equipment on the other.
A dozen people, two of them women, nurse beverages at the picnic tables, but their laughter and drinking halts the instant they spot us. Elbowing and nodding, then silence ripple through their midst until, as one, they stare at us with quizzical expressions.
“We found these two outside. They came to warn us of a threat. From the sounds we heard, I agree with them,” Kaz says. He goes on to give the Reader’s Digest version of what we just experienced.
As he speaks, that panicked feeling that’s been eating at me eases as several furrowed brows morph, replaced by frowns then grimaces up and down the tables.
Hal clears his throat once Kaz finishes. “I’m leaving it up to each of you to decide if you want to evacuate or not.”
Idiot. Don’t give them a choice. That panicked feeling surges in my gut again.
“Happy?” Hal turns to Harpoc and me.
Ass.
Kaz has the decency to at least look sheepish.
Harpoc doesn’t comment, just glares as the tables empty.
Before he can open his big mouth, I say, “Thank you, Hal. And thank you, Kaz. Hopefully they’ll all choose to leave because I’d hate to see anyone get hurt.”
Hal rolls his eyes and heads out of