Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series Read online

  SAVANT & FERAL

  BOOKS 1 AND 2 OF LUMINETHER

  RICHARD DENONCOURT

  SELF LAND PUBLISHING

  SAVANT & FERAL

  BOOKS 1 AND 2 OF LUMINETHER

  Digital Boxed Set

  BY

  RICHARD DENONCOURT

  Copyright © 2017 Richard Denoncourt

  Self Land Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design: Richard Denoncourt

  Copy Edit: Cynthia Shepp

  The Luminether Series is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

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  Also By Richard Denoncourt

  Savant

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Part II

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Part III

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Part IV

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Feral: Part I

  Prologue

  I. Beasts Of Burden

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Feral: Part II

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  To be continued…

  About the Author

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  ALSO BY RICHARD DENONCOURT

  TRAINLAND

  OUTBREAK

  ASCENDANT

  BOOKS IN THE LUMINETHER SERIES

  SAVANT: BOOK ONE

  FERAL: BOOK TWO: Part I of II: Beasts of Burden

  FERAL: BOOK TWO: Part II of II: Tooth & Claw

  SAVANT

  BOOK 1 OF LUMINETHER: THE EPIC YOUNG ADULT FANTASY SERIES

  PART I

  VISITORS

  CHAPTER 1

  M ilo Banks flew down the street toward his house at the very end, trailing what felt like hot air from a burst of flames.

  He worked the pedals even faster, imagining them snapping from the chains, the metal melting away. A dog chased after him, but his bike—a beat-up Pegasus 4x his dad had bought him when he was ten—was too fast for any earthly creature. Or at least it felt that way today.

  After only a few seconds, the dog gave up and Milo couldn’t help but laugh triumphantly.

  Yet, even on his birthday—the h
appiest of days in his otherwise boring little life—his soaring attitude couldn’t mask the sinister, creeping anxiety nipping at the heels of his every thought.

  School.

  He was going to start school in a few weeks.

  It wasn’t that Milo feared getting an education. He was always eager to learn about the way the world worked, all the incredible things that had happened throughout history, the awesomeness of subjects like math and science and the cosmos. He even read books about history and quantum physics for fun, which is why studying for tests had always been a breeze. He enjoyed soaking up knowledge other kids considered as repulsive as eating spinach soaked in vinegar.

  That, in fact, was the problem. Thanks to his oversized brain, in a little over two weeks, Milo Banks would officially become the youngest student at Dearborn High School.

  Ever.

  “He really doesn’t need the eighth grade,” his guidance counselor, Mrs. Suarez, had told his parents back in April. “His IQ test puts him at around 130, which means his intellectual capabilities aren’t just above average. They’re superior. Plus, he taught himself calculus in his spare time. Honestly, Mr. and Mrs. Banks, I think he could hold his own in college at this point.”

  They called it “academic promotion.” But Milo knew the truth. His seventh-grade teachers had been at a complete loss as to what to do with him. He’d spent most of his time during class either staring out the window or covertly reading novels inside his desk. Yet every single grade that year had been an A plus. Well, except for the B plus he’d gotten in shop class, after his birdhouse came out looking more like a stack of wooden crates someone had kicked over.

  Maybe his mind was ready for the challenge—but his body had never been given the chance to catch up. And wasn’t the body as important as the mind? Milo had already been one of the smallest kids in his class. Now, he would probably be the smallest in his entire high school. As he rode his bike, he imagined what the other kids at Dearborn High would say about him behind his back.

  There’s that freshman, Milo Banks. Did you hear he skipped the eighth grade?

  What a nerd.

  Look. Even the girls are taller than him.

  Ha! Everyone else has a driver’s license. He’s still riding his bike!

  What a colossal dork. No wonder he sits alone at lunch…

  He tried to push out those thoughts and enjoy the rest of the day. It worked—for a little while.

  When his house came into view, Milo relaxed his legs and let the bike glide toward the driveway. If there was any reason for him to be excited today—because, honestly, he didn’t care for the extra attention—it was his birthday present. His parents and his sister had pooled their money to buy him a basketball hoop, one of those tall, metal ones with a sand-filled, weighted base that went on the side of a driveway. They had purchased it after an offhand remark Milo had made about taking up a sport, maybe basketball, so he wouldn’t be a complete loser at school.

  He stopped at the mailbox, which—no surprise—was overflowing with mail. His parents were two of the most forgetful people on Earth when it came to practical matters. He got off his bike, pulled out a stack of envelopes thicker than his leg, and walked his bike the rest of the way.

  His house was a small, cookie-cutter box with a one-car garage, identical to about five thousand other houses in Dearborn, New Jersey. When he was halfway up the driveway, something inside the garage began to rumble like a two-ton robot banging its fists against the door. Milo’s heart pounded. The envelopes fell, along with his bike, which landed on the pavement with a loud clatter.

  The garage door opener. Of course.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. The thing was twenty years old and needed to be replaced, but his parents couldn’t afford it right now. It had only recently started making that noise.

  He watched the door rise like a giant tooth retracting. His father stood inside, dressed in a pair of brand-new mesh shorts, an oversized Knicks jersey, and sneakers so white they seemed to glow. He held Milo’s basketball tucked under one of his arms, and he was frowning in displeasure.

  “Milo, my boy.” He walked out of the garage and into the humid afternoon sunlight. “Leave that bike and those envelopes and go up to your room at once.”

  “My room?” Milo said, surprised. “What did I do?”

  His father winked at him, and his frown melted into a grin. “It’s not what you did. It’s how good you’re going to look when you come back down.”

  It took a moment for Milo to process what was happening. Then, remembering it was his birthday, he raced into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom. When he saw the cardboard box with the Nike logo on it and the plastic bag stuffed with clothing, he whooped in delight. He quickly changed into a brand-new set of athletic clothes. Everything was just his size.

  His father was taking practice shots when Milo returned.

  “You’re going to have to earn your dinner tonight,” he said, tossing Milo the ball. Milo caught it and whipped it back. His father fumbled the catch and ended up lobbing it into one of the neatly trimmed bushes lining the driveway.

  “I guess someone needs practice,” his father said.

  Milo snickered at that. Maxwell Banks—known to everyone simply as “Max”—was one of the clumsiest men alive. Milo didn’t get it; whenever his father went to reach for, or grab, something, he almost always knocked it over or broke it.

  He was also the tallest man Milo had ever seen in person. He was a full six feet, five inches—the height of a professional basketball player. And he was jacked. Many a neighborhood mother had swooned at the sight of Max trimming the bushes in a white undershirt, his bulging arms gleaming with sweat. At least, that was how Milo’s mother, Alexandra, had jokingly described it one night at dinner.