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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Twelve Years Ago
I didn't know how long I'd been unconscious, only that when coming too, my head was spinning, and cold, dirty water lapped at my skin, soaking my clothes and chilling my bones.
Blinking away the confusion, I discovered I was sprawled on my front, lying in a ditch. I pushed upright and swayed, huffing out pained breaths between gritted teeth. My right arm dangled uselessly by my side as I woozily shifted my weight to my good leg. My nerve endings screamed in agony as my mother's bloodline, her gift from her to us, knitted the splintered bones back together. Sagging, I shuddered in relief as the ferocious pain began to ebb away.
Blood dripped down my forehead and seeped onto my eyelashes. Using my forearm, I wiped the stickiness away before clambering up the steep incline back to the roadside. Moonlight glanced off the clouds of swirling smoke, a sinister light in the darkness.
My sister and mother—where were they?
A choking scream cut through the air.
Ferne!
I bolted, following the shrill screams of my sister.
The long stretch of country road was deserted but for the littering wreckage. The acrid stench of burnt rubber and scorched metal irritated my nostrils. Brutal skidmarks cut across the asphalt leading right to the crumpled limousine flipped upside down on the side of the road. My mother had gotten herself and Ferne out and was trying to pull our driver, Wes, free from the wreck. Ferne was still buckled into the car seat which leaned against the crushed side of the car. She wailed and shrieked, her chubby limbs flailing.
"Mom!" I cried, relief slightly calming my frantic heartbeat.
"Gray?!" My mother rose and staggered toward me. I fell into her, hugging her tight. Pulling away, she cupped my cheeks with shaky hands as she scanned my face. "You're okay? Thank gods..." She dropped her hands to my shoulders and squeezed, determination furrowing her brow. "Wes, he's hurt. I need your help!"
While my mother spun away, I rushed over to the limousine and kneeled by the shattered window. Carefully, I pulled Wes out. A twisted piece of metal had punctured his chest. He was a sickly, pale color, cold and clammy, shivering as he gulped down ragged breaths. We needed to stabilize Wes's wounds and stop the flow of blood loss until help arrived. A kit filled with modern-day medicine blended with magic would be in the trunk of the limousine.
My mother was already running behind the crumpled vehicle. I heard her frantic wail of "Oh no, no, no," before she spoke to me. "The trunk's been smashed apart. It's not there!" The clatter of her high heels cracked against the road as she dashed partway up the road where the wreckage was strewn, desperate to find the medical kit. It was perhaps the only time I'd ever heard my mother swear. She stamped a foot while barking out a string of curses when she found the kit, only to discover all the glass vials containing healing tonics and painkillers were shattered.
