A simple train ride, a leap through time and a world that is so far removed from the world they knew. Zora-Zoelle Gentry and her mother are about to find that the future isn’t heaven; it’s hell. The war that wages is so hot that only a special warrior can balance the forces of good and evil. Is one man strong enough to survive the heat of this war? And can Zora-Zoelle accept her fate of being claimed by the most elite warrior of Rome? Find out in Forged in Fire.
Xaela pinched her hard. “Ouch! What did you do that for?”
“If you were dead do you think you would feel that?”
“I don’t know.” Zora-Zoelle returned the pinch to her mother’s arm. “Would you feel that?” She asked when her mother let out a yelp.
“I don’t think so. I think it’s safe to say we’re not dead.”
“Then where are we?”
“More like when are you,” a baritone male voice sent vibrations through her body. Serial killer she thought, but then why would a killer converse before killing? Maybe it was another passenger. She raised her eyes and turned her head to look at the man to the side of her. He was decked out in what looked like an ancient roman costume—kind of like the ones she saw in Cleopatra, the updated version, not the crazy Elizabeth Taylor version. Only his costume looked real.
“Who are you?”
“It does not matter. We must go.”
“We’re not going anywhere. We need a doctor and there must be other victims around here somewhere.” She didn’t see the train wreck, but she was sure there was a reason for that. There had to be a reason the train wasn’t there and the moon was kind of glowing like the sun would, only not as strong.
“You are the only ones to arrive this time.”
“This time? Wait, arrive where?”
“You are not the first and you will not be the last, but we cannot stay here.” He said more forcefully. “Rise,” he ordered in a belligerent and condescending tone. “We go now.”
Zora-Zoelle got to her feet. “I’m not going anywhere and neither is my mom. You can’t just show up in your Hollywood reject costume and think you have the right to tell us what to do.”
“Zora,” Xaela called to her.
“No. I’m not doing it.” She looked down at her mother before looking back to the man with the near raven eyes and all the headgear that blocked out any other detail about him. Other than what she would say was a hot body hiding under that costume, she couldn’t see much. Well, he was kind of tall too, but that didn’t matter—he was rude.
“We’re not going anywhere!” She ignored her mother’s calls. “You just march your dopey behind back to wherever you came from. But do please tell the authorities that we’re here and need a doctor.”
He growled ferociously.
“Oh don’t think your growling like a rabid dog is going to make me change my mind.” Despite her pain she tacked her hands to her hips.
“What?!” She looked down to her mother who was now pointing behind her. What could be so important that her mother would interrupt her rant? She turned and as suddenly as her eyes connected with the scene in front of her she understood what Xaela had been trying to tell her. There were legions of them, well maybe not a true legion, but it looked that way. They were all dressed in the same costume and they were all carrying swords that looked scarily real.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Yeah, oh,” the man behind her snapped