Page 1 of Creatures that Breathe

1

Leni

twenty degrees north of bikini potential

The sentries promised I’d be hogtied and flogged by now. Dealt a light tar and feathering. Dumped into a vat of toxic sludge, flung off of a runaway Ferris wheel, forced to sip boiling hot ghost pepper stew with my pinky finger raised.

It’s supposed to be inevitable.

The sky will fall, mortals will proliferate, and any who seek the Blackguard will die. With horrendous bloody flourish.

I flew across the ocean for true gut-wrenching torment and what has it gotten me?

Nothing.

No knives to the throat or guns at my temple. Zero impalements. Not even a measly threat to make my theoretical children weep.

I could be on a beach in Fiji right now. Salt sprayed hair, lips pink with grenadine, white sand bunched under neon nails.

Instead, I’m freezing non-essential toes off in this Apollo cursed winterland.

All for him. And does he even care? Has he even noticed?

No.

Males.

For weeks now, I’ve been stalking an endless cycle of dark wash jeans, worn leather jackets, and waterlogged combat boots.

If Yaya were alive, she’d swat me with the tip of her feather pen. Don’t punish them for having style, Eleni.

Typical wisdom for a female who cut her jeans apart at the crack to remix them into skinny-flares: ideal for the rare fashionista bicyclist.

The Blackguard’s style is ubiquitous—ruthless. Once nothing more than human soldiers, they were elevated to immortal warriors to become the great King Kadmos’s personal arsenal: the glimmering Kingsguard. Limitless in power, bound by a strict moral code, the Kingsguard was hailed as near Divine.

Better.

They were better than Zeus and his righteous Olympians, for they were proof of the King’s mission: peace among creatures and mortals.

They were beloved and revered. Temples were forged in their names. Until they betrayed the very male they’d vowed their loyalty.

In less time than it took for Hermes to escort the fallen King Kadmos to the Underworld, the Kingsguard were cursed and their gleaming title warped into an odious and wicked brotherhood: the Blackguard.

The curse decimated their virtue, leaving them cruel beyond imagining. Dripping with heinous power, they went on to wreak havoc across the realm, flaunting lethal skills and detestable perversions.

The savage assassins of the former King Kadmos. Killers of the Vein of Elpis, the Unifier, Dawn’s Rise, the Last of his Blood, Final in the line of Hope.

The Blackguard are the destroyers of hope.

And they’re who I’m after.

“Don’t look at me as if I don’t realize how it sounds,” Nadja says, mistaking my rising irritation for disbelief. She’s perched in front of me, dusting breadcrumbs off her mittens, ignorant of the danger lurking around us. “Believe me,” she doubles down. “I know exactly how it sounds. But Fritz is not usually like that. He’s so frickin’ sweet. He wants the best for me.”

I’ve known Fritz for two-point-five seconds and I can guarantee he and his chain wallet are far from sweet.

To shield an eye roll, I stir my mulled wine with a stick of cinnamon, watching as the smooth reflection of twinkling golden lights above us spins and vanishes. The sweet smelling steam gently warms the tip of my nose, and my cold toes scrunch in my latex boots.

“Well,” I say casually, as if I haven’t spent my life despising males like Fritz. “I happen to think the best version of you should be able to eat and drink and do whatever she wants whenever she wants. Especially on vacation.” Another suppressed eye roll. “Honestly, what was he thinking? Vacation in Estonia? In December? What was the alternative? A cave in the Artic? A snake pit on a hunger strike?”

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