Breaker (Ondine Quartet Book 4)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form by or any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

Cover design: Michelle Preast (
www.michellepreast.com
)

Description

War. Prophecy. Freedom.

She fought for herself.

She fought for friendship and love.

Now, Kendra Irisavie fights for the survival of her world.

War rages on, leaving no one untouched. Destruction rips through elemental communities and terror flourishes in its wake. Suspicion soars, order fractures, and loyalties crumble despite Kendra’s desperate attempts to protect everyone she holds dear.

When an organized Aquidae army launches a series of merciless assaults, Kendra and her friends set out to end the bloodshed once and for all. With the fate of elementals hanging in balance, the Shadow and
sondaleur
hunt each other down in a brutal match of cunning and will.

Kendra has trained for this her entire life. But in a ravaged world where trust is scarce and no life is sacred, she soon realizes her battle may be against an invincible enemy and that her darkest days lie ahead.

Twists and turns shape her harrowing odyssey, leading to a stunning climax that challenges everything she believes in.

Torn between destiny and autonomy, Kendra must finally decide whether the cost of freedom is too high.

Heartbreaking decisions, turbulent alliances, and shattering revelations collide in Breaker, the explosive conclusion to the Ondine Quartet.

Author's Note

Once again, the glossary is purposefully placed at the end of the book. If you’d like to bookmark it the direct link is here:

Terminology

Praise for the Ondine Quartet

“Another amazing read in the Ondine Quartet.”

-
Book Passion for Life

“
Deadly battles, heartbreaking losses, steamy romance, painful betrayals,
Crest
is filled to the brim with it all and so much more…Emma Raveling is a spectacular storyteller.
”

-
Word Spelunking

“An action-packed, emotional rollercoaster ride of a read that will grip you from the very beginning and leave you begging for more.”

-
Paromantasy

“Non-stop action, love and an amazing world that has never been seen before.”

-
The Kindle Book Review

“I loved reading about the world in this book….and the heroine was one I found myself rooting and falling for. I recommend this book to all fans of young adult and mythology.”

-
Night Owl Reviews: Top Pick

“Filled with adventure, heroes, evil, romance, sadness and, yes, even heartbreak. The storytelling is rich and the characters are vivid.”

-
The Book Hookup

For every Reader who breathed, dreamed, and fought alongside Kendra.

Thank you.

Un matin nous partons, le cerveau plein de flamme,
Le coeur gros de rancune et de désirs amers,
Et nous allons, suivant le rythme de la lame,
Berçant notre infini sur le fini des mers:

- Charles Baudelaire, “Le Voyage”,
Fleurs du mal

One morning we set out, our brains aflame,
Our hearts full of resentment and bitter desires,
And we go, following the rhythm of the wave,
Lulling our infinite on the finite of the seas.

- Charles Baudelaire, “The Voyage”,

Flowers of Evil

PART I

WAR

“War roared forth, an endless rhythm of parries and blocks, triumphs and deaths, as light and dark advanced across a field of blood.”

- “The Start of the End”,
The History of Elementals: Vol. VIII

“Nature never deceives us; it is we who deceive ourselves.”

- Jean-Jacques Rousseau

PROLOGUE

Between clouds and sea, there was a strip of sky promising freedom.

It hung, separate and infinite, commanding a subtle power even the sun must acquiesce to.

Every sunset crossed through on its daily trek to the ocean’s cooling embrace.

And every sunrise stretched pink fingers across its inky expanse to graze the fading ivory moonlight and reach the clouds.

I often pictured myself floating, suspended and untouchable, in that ribbon of sky, a neutral zone where neither water, sun, nor moon could trespass without permission.

A place where you could choose to soar up to the bed of clouds, or dive down into the ocean’s depths.

It was spring, our first in Texas. Mom had been on a roll, whipping us through several towns in Louisiana as if something nipped at our heels. Our move to the small, coastal town nestled along the gulf was our second in four months.

Her increasing paranoia also manifested in other ways. Physical training, martial arts and weapons instruction had uniformly intensified. Magical education involved controlling my Virtue, wielding it over humans and manipulating them into providing me with the information she wanted.

It was a year designed to teach me survival.

But what I remembered most about that time was my bicycle.

It was an ugly contraption, the color a vomit-green, with peeling paint, rust-stained handles, and barely functional brakes.

Mom rescued it from a dumpster and brought it home one night, explaining it was a good way of improving my cardio, stamina, and balance. She mentioned other things, too, boring reminders about responsibility and maturity, protective gear and sturdy footwear.

My mind was too busy spinning with possibilities to hear it.

That bike was my first car.

Every day, I rode to school. I tore out of our tiny home, fleeing her disapproval and anger, and sailed off into the bright morning sun.

Every day, I raced out of class, leaped onto it, and escaped into the humid afternoon.

I had one hour to myself. She thought I spent that time finishing my homework at school and I convinced myself my daily detour wasn’t bad because it was a form of training.

It was the first real lie I told her and the first I told myself.

I sped across narrow back alleys and roads, taking shortcuts through backyards and store lots until I finally reached the beach.

The old promenade was a small, rickety wooden extension jutting from the parking lot over a modest sand dune. It ended abruptly, with a four foot drop to the beach below.

I pedaled harder. The bike accelerated, bumping over asphalt onto uneven boards. The clatter of wheels against wood trembled in the afternoon heat.

The edge drew near. I pumped my legs harder.

My breathing quickened. I focused on my target.

Three. Two. One.

I launched.

The ground dropped away, leaving nothing but the soft cushion of air. Heady exhilaration engulfed my eight-year-old self.

Just over a second later, the bike landed on the sand with a thud and I shifted my weight to stay upright.

A breath, a moment to savor what had happened, and then I walked back up the sand dune, across the parking lot, turned around, and did it again.

And again.

Each time, I aimed for the same spot, that smooth stroke of azure sky just above the horizon.

And when the wooden boards disappeared, the bicycle wheels churning through space, the knowledge of what I was doing made the thrill that much more potent.

I flew.

During that one, fleeting second, nothing existed but the wind rushing through my hair, the sharp scent of ocean flooding my nose and blood, and the triumphant glee of defying gravity.

Nothing held or bound me. Like that pristine strip of sky, I was untouchable.

Those seconds on my bike defined my spring, a quiet mutiny against the iron discipline of training and the growing instability at home.

That desire to rebel escalated as I grew older. But back then, my revolt was more innocent and I easily found satisfaction on a dilapidated bike.

Until the day I stopped.

The weather had begun its slow transformation to summer. The air turned drier, grittier, but wasn’t yet hot enough to stifle spring’s mildness.

I’d just finished another jump and landed hard. The bike jolted beneath me.

“Careful. You might get hurt.”

The stranger’s sleek blonde hair, floral print sun dress, and kind face presented a vision of maternal concern. Her lips curved as if she had a perpetual secret she wasn’t telling.

I shrugged. “No, I won’t.”

It wasn’t a lie. My reflexes weren’t like humans.

“Are you here alone?”

Learned wariness itched under my skin. Empath stretched inside her, but sensed nothing wrong. Just a concerned mother.

“Mom’s at the store down the block,” I lied smoothly.

She watched me for a few seconds as if deciding whether or not to believe me. The sun dipped behind the clouds. Something hard and cold flashed in her pale eyes, a smudge on her perfect veneer.

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