Divine Rivals (Letters of Enchantment, #1)

by Rebecca Ross

But other times, they chose poorly, and he was left with scraps of a being. The secret was this: the will had to still be present in the spirit. It usually shined brightest right before death. Mortals ran either cold or hot, their souls like ice or fire. He had discovered long ago that ice served him best, but every now and then, fire would surprise him.

A young man with raven dark hair was crawling through the grass. Dacre stood over him, measuring what remained. The mortal had a minute and thirteen seconds left before his lungs filled with blood and he expired. There were also wounds on his right leg.

Nooooooo

Dacre was quiet, watching the man crawl. What was he seeking? Why didn’t he just lie down and die? His soul was so anguished, nearly rent in half. It made Dacre wince. But he could heal those wounds. He was a merciful god, after all. The god of healing.

Because Dacre suddenly realized with delight … this was no soldier, but a correspondent. And Dacre had never had one of those before.