Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
He paced harder, feeling as caged as Thane would soon be. Outside, flickering torches glowed, illuminating the warlairds drilling below.
The kingdom prepared for conflict as the Accession gnawed the Skein like a slow-toothed beast. The moon would devour reason soon enough.
Two dozen of the strongest unmated warriors would guard the royals, but the rest would patrol the villages. The witches might strike them, now that they knew the Lykae king would be caged.
War between their factions crept closer, as if seeping through a buckling blockade—
A realization hit Lowell like a cudgel to the sternum.
He had to tell Meera about the portal. One last chance to be together before battles sparked. One last possibility before the door closed for another fifteen hundred years.
Thane and Ditch would never use it, but maybe Lowell and Meera should. In the mortal realm, they would know nothing of the coming wars. His mate could never exist there. Meera’s warlock mating season wouldn’t reach her.
They could live as if alone on a deserted island.
They could be free.
He would surrender everything. His vocation. His pack. Seeing his beloved parents and many siblings again.
Canna live without her.
Lowell crossed to his desk, sweeping aside official correspondence and reminders of neglected duties. He dimly noted that the Fey had written from their land of Faeholt, which was always important. A few words stood out in the flourishing script—force…calamity…ominous…Skein-wide—but he had other cares. I’ll get to it after.
He wrote Meera a letter straight from his heart, planning to slip it under her doorway.
One final chance.
He sealed the envelope with his official stamp, pressing it into warm wax until the insignia emerged, crisp and unmistakable: twin keys crossed before a full moon, the mark of the seneschal, and one he’d secretly been so proud to bear.
He held the letter in both hands, letting the weight of it settle into his bones. It felt heavier than parchment should, carrying the enormity of what he was asking.
If she accepted it, he’d burn down destiny for her.
If she refused…then fate really had chosen his end.
Lowell exhaled a shuddering breath. “One letter,” he murmured to the empty room. “And then I let you go.”
Even as he said the words, they curled like a lie beneath his tongue.
Chapter 44
Nadje
Seven days till the Hunter’s Moon
Ash choked her lungs, filling the tent.
Her mother’s muffled cries were right beside her ear, her body shielding Nadje’s own even as it burned. Rapier beams of sunlight knifed through the canvas above them.
Another wing talon ripped across the roof. Slash, slash!
Nadje screamed in terror.
Her mother’s crumbling hand clamped across her mouth. “No, baby, shh,” she rasped, her very voice turning ashen.
Hunger and hatred had driven the creatures from Strigoi Gorge to hunt this encampment of vampires even beneath the rising sun. Their fur and wings sheltered them as they attacked the tent. Slash, slash!
Nadje whimpered.
“Shh.” Mamă rubbed her other hand over Nadje’s face, using her own charred skin to protect her daughter’s. Ash smeared across Nadje’s cheeks like paint. “Run out back. Get to…hiding place.”
“We can both make it!”
“Silly girl,” she murmured, a ghost of her old tone. “Love you. Now go!”
Slash, slash! Light flooded in.
Mamă clenched her fangs against a scream, but the burn wrenched a wail from her embered lips. “Goooo!” Her body collapsed into ash over Nadje, burying her.
Once Mamă. Now char.
Slaaaaash! A talon hooked the tent and ripped it skyward. The covering spiraled off like desert weeds in a gale.
Light. Blinding. Her heart raged in her ears. Mamă gone. Dispersed on the winds.
Coated in ash, Nadje sprinted away from the hunting strigoi—small, fast, slipping between tents and shadows, unseen. Her lungs burned as she strangled back sobs and ran for her hiding place, a cubby dug deep into the sand. She wrenched the hatch open and hurled herself inside.
Blackness crushed in. Her breaths hitched hard, body shaking as shock took hold.
A canteen of blood and a small bag of ground talon awaited her. As Mamă had taught her, she mechanically rubbed herself with the talon dust to disguise her scent. But each fleck of ash that drifted from her palms felt like a last whisper of her mother.
Sobs racked her as she clawed at the ground, as if she could gather the scattered pieces back—
She shot awake, chest heaving.
Wheezes whistled from her lips. She forced herself to calm, to regulate her breaths. Just a nightmare. The nightmare.
Breathe in. Out. In. Calm.
She could survive a thousand years, and this nightmare would still live fresh.
Bloodreach’s bell tower tolled, and she jolted again. She’d be late for her other job!
She spilled out of bed and grabbed her maid’s uniform. It stank of the cleaner she’d used to scrub out blood yesterday. She ignored the itchiness of the fabric as she tied on her apron.
Inkletter’s visits usually gave her something to look forward to all day, but he’d been gone this week, off studying a new acquisition.