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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I dreamed.
A strange dream... A face floating over mine.
I knew that face...the light gray eyes with flecks of charcoal, hair as pale as moonlight, sharp cheekbones, and freckles scattered over a straight nose. Knew the crooked smile, the top lip a little fuller than the bottom.
I knew that face because it was my own.
But the sobbing... The sound a lament that tore at my ears...
That was not my own.
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I wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. Not because I was keyed up over hunting the tithe or dealing with Byron's pathetic attempt at ending me, but because I didn't sleep. Only my family knew that I was an insomniac—awake for days until eventually I'd crash, dragged under to sleep half the day away, sometimes a full day if I was lucky, and left undisturbed. Until then, I filled my nights with working out or running through drills with my blades, reading, sifting through music, or down in the garage fine-tuning engines and making performance adjustments to our vehicles.
It was maybe three or four in the morning. The storm had bypassed this area, but wisps of clouds shadowed the moon. I'd already showered and changed. Now I was on the lawns heading toward the woodland. I was curious as to where my little bird ran every morning and evening. Maybe, somewhere in the trees, I'd discover her secret.
There were a few lights still on in the mansion and guards stalking the perimeter.
Heavy curtains were half open and a dim golden light spilled from Wychthorn's bedroom. A night light perhaps. I didn't think she was awake.
At least I hadn't thought she was awake until I heard the soft whine of a wolf floating through the night air. My gaze whipped toward the direction from which it came. Sage's wraith form bounded across the lawn, following on the heels of Wychthorn as she darted over the grassy blades, her nightie clinging to her petite figure as she ran. I grinned. White nightie, a little see-through, and certainly not ruffled and patterned with pink unicorns and sparkly rainbows.
