Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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A small group of men and women in formal dress—Deniaud soldiers—had rallied and were set deeper on the lawn, forming a pocket of defense against Jurgana's creatures. The Deniauds had never seen bloodshed. Never been in battle before. Their soldiers and guards were unskilled and untried.
Erratic pops exploded—
Gunfire.
Bullets that did nothing, simply passing through the savage dogs' bodies that looked like they'd crawled out of primeval swamps.
The enormous beasts kept coming for them, snapping and snarling—
The soldiers couldn't react in time—
Couldn't draw their blades in time—
Their screams were cut off as those creatures pounced, knocking the soldiers flat onto their backs, ripping their throats clean through.
Blood and gunk spraying—
Soldiers, falling, one by one—
And the pack of feral dogs charged forward, splitting apart to hunt those alone and vulnerable, but the main host headed straight toward the panic-stricken mob of people.
Jurgana kept her steady pace, marching toward us across the lawn. Her hunger for flesh thrummed through the night air. She was starved in her current state. She didn't know or care that we served her kind.
We were simply something to gorge on after seven years of slumber.
Nausea bubbled in the pit of my gut as I took in the bloodshed, those falling to the might of a half-dreaming Horned God. I trembled inside—an earth-shattering quake. Cold, tacky sweat broke out all over my body, and beads slithered from the nape of my neck down my spine.
The screaming and bloodshed—
I froze—
Couldn't move. Could barely pull in a breath.
A stream of terrified servants in dark suits and a rainbow of bright-silk dresses washed around me like thundering water. I was shoved and jostled as they swept past.
Everything surrounding me, encroaching on me, fell away. My sister, stumbling over my name—V-Varen?—was drowned out by the blood pounding in my ears.
The clashing sounds of terror and pain faded.
The growling and gnashing of fangs become muted and distant like sound did when blanketed by clouds of fog that rose from the damp, slippery moss deep within the heart of the Hemmlok Forest.
The snapping of wings blended into the staccato beat of my heart.
The myriad of names shouted in fear for loved ones was the wind whistling in my ears.
