Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Remembering his manners in the nick of time, Samuel gave Rodrigo a smile. “Thanks for meeting with me. I’ll email my mother tonight and try to arrange a call for tomorrow.”
“I look forward to it,” Rodrigo responded with a smile of his own.
As Samuel followed Evora out, he couldn’t help but think that this trip might have started out rough, but at least he was in the right place to hopefully get some answers. Truly, there were worse fates than staying with the Valerii.
Meeting in the office in ten minutes.
Dimitri sent the text to his team the second he dropped Sam’s gear in the guest room. He paused and gazed down the hall to his left before turning right. Was the grumpy mage going to be pissed when he undoubtedly discovered that he was mere feet away from the mage wing, where they cooked up all their spells, potions, talismans, and chaos?
The scent of magic hung thick in the air, making him feel as if he was walking through a slightly sticky cloud. It always reminded him of the old castle in Russia. In all of the Brazilian compound, this was the only place that did.
But when they’d been living in Russia, the magic had permeated every stone and crevice, almost a living, breathing entity within their home.
Now it was a ghost that floated about the mage wing and no farther.
Would Sam notice? That had to convince him he was a mage. Or piss him off.
One corner of Dimitri’s mouth quirked up as the memory of those wide eyes flashing behind glasses filled his mind. Flushed cheeks. Full lips thinning as he prepared to unleash his irritation on Dimitri’s head. Mage or not, he was still adorably hot.
A sudden onslaught of vibrations had him grabbing his phone to see his team responding to his meeting announcement.
Misha: Beijinho?
Vasily: Why so late? Do you need us both? Luka is taking a nap.
Gregori: I JUST DRAGGED OUT THE BLACK POWDER! SERIOUSLY???
Misha: Ilya is in the pool. You want him too?
Misha: Did you remember the beijinho?
Dimitri stopped walking, tipped his head up toward the ceiling, and released a heavy breath. Lazy fucking dragons. Since the Jaeggi had been taken care of and mages were popping up around the world, it had become harder to get the dragons to focus. Of course, they’d not had much to do following the final battle in Europe. A little expedition into the mountains would do them some good.
Dropping his gaze to his phone, he started typing.
No beijinho.
Yes, both.
Put the powder away.
Misha, snag Ilya.
I brought back a non-mage mage instead of beijinho.
Smirking, he shoved his phone into his pocket, ignoring the fresh round of vibrations, as they were likely all demanding to know what the hell a non-mage mage was. They would have to come to the meeting to find out.
On his way to the meeting room, Dimitri passed through the kitchen, made himself a hot tea, and poured it into a travel mug. He was sipping leisurely as he pushed open the door to their meeting room. The cacophony he’d heard a second earlier instantly stopped and five sets of eyes locked on him, even if one of them still looked half asleep.
Their meeting area was a large room with a trio of enormous couches arranged in a U shape so they could all comfortably stretch out while planning a mission or simply watch some soccer on the various big-screen monitors on the walls. A strange hodgepodge of both old and modern weapons littered the room along with magic talismans, books, and food wrappers. This was the official playground of the Valerii trackers.
For centuries, they had served as an elite subgroup within the Valerii’s warriors. During the old days when the dragons were fighting the Jaeggi (and occasionally other dragon clans), Rodrigo had called them his secret weapon. The trackers could sneak into anywhere, find anyone, and, if necessary, steal anything.
While their numbers had ended up being greatly reduced thanks to the Dragon Wars, their skills were not lost. If anything, they’d been updated and refined thanks to new technology.
Misha jumped up from where he’d been seated on one of the black leather sofas and turned to face Dimitri. “You couldn’t convince him to stop on the way?”
“No. I was lucky to bring him here in the first place,” Dimitri grumbled as he shut the door.
Misha huffed and dropped heavily on the sofa, earning an eyeroll from Dimitri. The dragon was an expert tracker but easily distracted by his bottomless pit of a stomach.
“What the hell is a non-mage mage?” Gregori asked. He was perched on the arm of the sofa opposite with a piece of black nylon rope he was endlessly tying into knots and then untying again, as if his fingers had to have something to do. His dark eyes were framed by strands of long black hair that had come loose from the braid that hung down his back.