Free The 13th Descent: Book One of The Rosefire Trilogy by Ky Lehman

vast majority believed that the light was an unseen power they weren’t worthy of.
    “ It didn’t take long for those with the resources and a thirst for power to figure out how to fuel this false belief to support their own agenda. They promoted that the light was real, but decreed that in order for a person to gain access to it, certain rules had to be followed. Some agreed to these conditions. Some changed them. And some decided to come up with their own.
    “ The ugly face of fear had grown horns, but with it came new hope: hope that every man, woman and child had a shot at reaching the light. You were drawn to this hope, and that’s when you first came to us and said that you wanted to live as an Earthborn soul.”
    Mike stops playing with my fingers, lays back his head and stares up at the ceiling. “At first, he was the only one who agreed to go with you,” he utters, quickly brushing away a tear he thinks I didn’t see.
    Baffled, I ungraciously blurt out, “Why are you crying?”
    He stills.
    I prod. “Mike?”
    He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and says, “The rest of us thought it was hopeless. But Joshua didn’t. He believed, as much as you did, that with a bit of help, humankind could find their way out of the darkness.”
    “Josh ua? As in Joshua, Shoshanna’s husband?” I ask.
    With a blank expression, he slowly nods.
    Mental pictures of my first life as Shoshanna are, by far, the faintest, but coursing through their blurry lines are powerful emotions, both dark and light. Not knowing, unsure if I want to, but desperately needing to, my question typically spew’s forward unchecked. “So, is that a happy or a sad tear?”
    “Honestly, Ren, it’s a bit of both,” he unflinchingly answers as his gaze shifts down to my mouth. His eyes stay fixed on my lips as his face slowly leans into mine. His mouth gets so close to my own, I can breathe in his long, minty exhale.
    Oh, God…f or the second time in as many days, it is happening again: I am petrified stiff, my face is on fire and the blaze is rapidly travelling south. I am terrified that any move I make in consent: which my body desperately wants to give, or retreat: which my head is half-heartedly rooting for, will be graceless and awkward, and one way or the other will completely change everything. A nauseating, squeaky little voice riding on the mother of all butterfly’s warns me that it will be for the worst.
    I try to look away to give myself a few palpitating heartbeats to figure this out, but even my eyeballs are locked in place. But then I see the end of my nose, and I quickly realise that, to him, I must look cross eyed. This is mortifyingly enough to break my stare, but not the spell as I grow limp and heavy, falling back into another time, another world: straight into a tangled web of hot breath and limbs, blissfully unsure of where Mike ends and I begin.
    Disappointed, I groan as m y focus shifts to the soft, leather couch cushions beneath me, but I soon perk up when I see my shining Archangel-man hovering over me. But I can’t understand why I can no longer feel weight, his need or the wetness of his kiss.
    “ Ren?” he whispers, his warm breath brushing across my cheek.
    “Mmmm?” Still floating, I keep my eyes closed.
    “Are you still with me?” he softly asks.
    I always have been. I always will be…
    “Ren?” he whispers again.
    “Yes.”
    “Are you awake?”
    “Yes .”
    “Good. You had me worried.”
    “What? Why?” I ask, throwing my eyes open.
    “ Um…because you fainted.”
    “I… what?”
    “ You fainted,” he repeats, frowning. He gently places his palm over my forehead and searches my face like he’s looking for ten different kinds of crazy.
    “Oh.” I say, staring up over his head, desperately trying to figure out if all that sweating, moaning and groaning was a dream or a memory, all the while praying that I wasn’t experiencing it out loud.
    “Ren, are you OK?” he asks as his hand