When Nelle Wychthorn was forced to sign herself away in marriage, she should have read the contract's fine print. Because she signs not with ink, but with blood. And that changes everything.
Season 1 'Of Crows and Thorns'
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Fiery Nelle, the isolat...
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Five Years Later
I stumbled out of the woods, struggling to catch my breath. Sweat-damp hair stuck to my temple and irritated the back of my neck. My legs shook with every faltering step before I collapsed with utter exhaustion into a messy heap at the edge of the lawn.
Thankfully, the thing that lived inside me had curled up into a tight knot inside my gut, sated and spent.
I mentally sighed in bliss as a welcome breeze gently rustled through tall, wild grass and caressed my hot, sweaty skin. The burning in my lungs eased as I dragged cool air through my throat. Dredging up the energy to change my position, I rolled over to lie on my back and rest within the lengthening shadows of the woodland tree line that hugged our estate.
I'd burnt myself out, needing to since House Pelan was about to arrive at our home any minute now. This coming weekend was going to be a grueling task, keeping that strange power prowling beneath my skin tamed and unseen from our guests. Tamed, that was a joke. The creature lurking beneath my skin ran wild and unchecked. All I could do was unleash it and burn it out daily. And now I was older—it maturing with me—the creature needed to be let loose twice a day.
Aware I'd received a few texts while finishing up in the woodland, I slid my phone from my skirt's pocket.
At the foot of a gnarled oak, Sage—my wraith-wolf—padded forward, glaring in the direction of the grand mansion beyond the long stretch of lawn. A ridge of mist-wisped fur hackled along Sage's spine as he shimmered in and out of existence, drawing my attention from my phone to him. He'd been my constant companion these past few years and my best friend. The wraith-wolf's massive paws dug into the earth as he bared vicious teeth and snarled. Every muscle in his powerful body tensed.
My stomach sank and I bit back a groan. There was only one person who drew that kind of savage reaction from Sage—Graysen Crowther.
With a tap of my finger, two messages appeared on my phone's screen. Sure enough, both from the same jerk. I'd saved Graysen under my contact list with a more appropriate name than what was given to him at birth.
LordofDarkness: Meet me at seven sharp at your front door. And for fuck's sake remember to wear shoes this time.
And here I thought I could spend my evening without his miserable company. Godsdammit.
At 7:02 p.m. he'd sent another message.
LordofDarkness: Typical. Simple instructions, Wychthorn. Get. Your. Ass. Here. Now.
Sage shifted closer, placing his ghostly body in front of me. Obviously, Graysen was making his way here since I hadn't met him on time at the front door as so courteously requested.
Sage had been my protector for the past few years and his presence had eased back security on the family estate. No one had to shadow me since I had my wraith-wolf. Strangely, he'd been gifted to me by the Crowthers after signing the farce of a marriage contract all those years ago. It was the nicest thing Graysen had ever done for me and, funnily enough, Sage hated Graysen. My wraith-wolf was a great judge of character.
