Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Inside I’m cartwheeling. Declan called me his girlfriend. What does that mean? How will that work?
Or did he just say it so women will stop flirting with him in front of me tonight?
So consumed with decoding the girlfriend comment, I miss a good portion of Declan’s story.
At least the passengers are into it. They lean forward, listening intently, nervously looking around as the wagon continues along its route.
“…Legend says they fled into the frozen woods, driven by some unspeakable madness.” Declan’s voice drops even lower. “Or was it something darker? A curse that swallowed them whole? Tonight, as our hayride creaks through the heart of Crowsbridge Hollow, you’ll relive that fateful night. Hold tight to your loved ones...because in these parts, the lost souls of Hollow Hill are always watching. And they’re starving for visitors.”
Someone in the middle of the wagon shrieks. “I think I saw someone in the trees. Over there!” he yells.
Everyone whips around, unsure of where to look.
The mark on my arm tingles.
While everyone’s distracted, I push my sleeve up.
Around my wrist, the line frantically glows and swirls.
Huh.
A man in a straightjacket and zombie makeup runs up to the carriage and shrieks, then runs into the trees.
People laugh and joke about the scare.
A woman in a nurse’s costume runs up behind the wagon and pretends to climb on. “Save me!” she shouts.
People laugh.
Someone claps. “You got me!”
The wagon jolts.
Not a playful bump.
The horses snort sharply, heads tossing. Snickers lets out a deep, unsettled sound that rattles in my chest. Harness bells jangle out of rhythm.
“Whatcha doing?” Daphne mutters from the front. She tightens the reins. “Whoa. Easy.”
The mark on my arm burns.
Not a tingle this time. Not a pretty, mesmerizing shimmer.
Fire.
I gasp and grab my wrist, breath punching out of me.
Declan’s head snaps toward me. “Emery?”
The air shifts.
An unnatural chill spreads across the wagon. More than winter cold—grave cold. Deadly and final cold.
The horses rear slightly.
Someone squeals.
Thick fog spills from the forest, down the road, then coils around the wagon, swallowing the lantern glow.
“Wow,” a guy near the back says. “This is intense.”
The pendant at my throat yanks hard—like fingers closing around the chain. I cry out, clutching it as pain lances around my neck.
Another hard yank and the silver chain snaps.
The key tumbles, flashing once in the weak light, then disappears in the hay at my feet.
I snort in disbelief and thrust my hands into the hay. Am I really searching for a key in a hay pile?
“Emery?” Even Declan’s muffled voice seems so far away.
Shapes move inside the fog. Long, wrong shadows sliding through the hay.
“These are next level effects!” someone shouts.
The ground thuds. Heavy hooves hitting the ground.
Shudders wobble the wagon.
The woman next to me screams in terror and scrambles off her hay bale, landing hard on the floor.
I glance up and the fog seems to part.
A black horse moves in lockstep with the wagon.
An impossibly large horse, its eyes empty and endless.
And sitting astride it—the Rider.
There’s nothing else that shape could be.
He’s real.
Ink bleeds across my vision.
Iron gates. Screams without sound. Tears on stone.
Declan shouts my name again.
A gloved hand shoots out of the fog.
Cold clamps around my waist.
I’m yanked backward and over the railing.
“Declan!” I finally find my voice.
Declan shoves half his body over the railing, reaching for me. His fingers grapple with the edge of my sleeve, pulling, tugging. I try to grab his hand, but my limbs are frozen.
Finally, Declan’s hand closes around mine.
For a second, we’re locked together.
The Rider tugs harder.
I’m lifted, my world spinning as the fog wraps around me.
“Declan!” Lucy screams. “Grab her!”
“This is amazing,” someone cheers.
Darkness squeezes in around me. Bitter cold. Hooves thunder under me.
And the night swallows me whole.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Declan
One second my hand’s wrapped around Emery’s fingers and the next I’m grasping at air and hay.
The fog closes behind her like a door.
“Declan!” Raw fear bleeds into her scream.
My body surges forward, throwing myself over the rail so hard, wood digs into my ribs. My boots scrape for purchase on loose straw.
I reach again, stupid, useless, clawing at fog that gives me nothing back.
“Emery!” My voice rips out of me.
The horses let out startled whinnies. Leather snaps. Harness bells go wild.
Daphne yells, “Whoa, easy!”
The sleigh shudders beneath the weight of bodies shifting, laughing, and yelling.
“This is amazing!” someone shouts.
A cheer follows. They think this is all part of the show.
I know it’s not because I’ve lived it before. I saw him once.
I was too young to make sense of it and too young to stop it.
But my body remembers.
Cold knifes down my throat. The Rider. He’s not a family curse, or a town legend. He’s real and he just took Emery.
I shove myself upright and nearly land on my ass as the sleigh rocks again. Hay skids under my boots. My hand shoots out, finds the railing and grips it hard enough to splinter wood.