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)
“I love fish,” Ditch said dreamily.
“Gods save me,” he hissed under his breath.
Pemphre turned the coin over. “This is from the Skein. Not Gaia. The gold is old, but not old gold.”
The other two sisters said in unison, “Not old gold. Unalone, you must atone.”
“What else can I pay?”
“Entertainment,” Pemphre said, excited. “So few visitors…so many years.”
“So few visitors,” the others chimed, “so many years.”
“You live in the Helter,” he said. “What sort of visitors did you expect?”
“Handsome ones. Like you. Entertaining ones. Like you.”
Ditch flanked him, tail twitching. “And if he doesn’t feel like entertaining you? Maybe I’ll torture the three of you, nibbling on your toes until you give him his answer.”
The sisters’ masked faces turned toward her. In creepy unison, they replied, “We would like you to nibble.”
“Not the way I do it.”
Damn it, woman.
“You are full on our power,” Pemphre whispered. “Glutted on sorcery, yet you still hunger. Nearly as much as your delicious wolf.”
Delicious. A further attempt at flirtation? Or did they think they’d be dining on him? His inner beast roiled, and his Instinct screamed, —Both. Get your mate away from here.—
For fuck’s sake, when did cannibalism become a thing?
“It’s classic horror for a reason,” Ditch said. Then she faced Pemphre to add, “And I always save room for more,” taking up the degree of hostility a few thousand notches.
“We too hunger,” came the reply of three. “Immortals usually do.”
He reached for his sword, about to slide it free—
Caaawww!
A crow burst into the cave. Pemphre snatched it from the air with impossible speed and dashed it against a slab. The bird writhed amid slimy viscera. Those whitish lengths slinked slowly, then all at once to the floor.
When Ditch laughed gaily at the sight, he rolled his eyes. The hells am I going to do with these people?
Pemphre used one claw to slit the crow’s belly.
“A sacrifice for divination?” Ditch asked with professional curiosity.
He frowned, recalling the griffin had made the same cut with that cow. Why hadn’t it eaten the fresh meat and drunk the warm blood? Not even a beak dip. Perhaps that griffin had been making its own sacrifice to the peak?
Even Ditch’s brows drew together as she stared at the crow. Had she had the same thought or read his?
“Divination? You haven’t paid for that yet. I’m peckish.” Pemphre raised a slick tube of entrail behind her mask, sucking it like marrow. Then she chewed it with a pensive look in her pupilless eyes.
Despite seeing it all in his millennia of life, Thane grew nauseated.
Deina chose that moment to float another riddle. “The lightning rod is draped in fire, yet even her tears can’t douse the pyre.”
“Yes, yes, Deina.” Pemphre dropped the crow, its broken body still twitching.
“I’m ready to be about this,” Thane told the Sorceri. “What entertainment do you want?”
Pemphre’s mask tilted. “Survival.”
Deina whispered, “Be swift.”
Enya added, “They come.”
He caught the scent before he heard them. “Ghouls,” he growled.
Pemphre nodded. “You led them here. No traps left to slow them. And our cave has no other exit.”
“No other exit,” echoed the two.
Thane drew his sword. “If I take them out, you’ll answer my question.”
Pemphre inclined her head. “One question. One answer. No traps. No other exit.”
He positioned himself before Ditch. “Stay behind me.”
Her laugh came low and throatier—less witch than something else.
Chills racing up his spine, he glanced back and found fire burning along Ditch’s horns and tail, her eyes bright as embers. “What in the bloody hells?”
Her voice purred through the growing moans of ghouls. “Exactly.”
Chapter 39
Ditch
“Your dam was a Höllenbrut,” the wolf grated in disbelief. He blinked at Ditch as she unveiled her demoness half to him.
Her fangs had lengthened as her face had grown even more angular. Her lips would have gone black, her eyelids smudged like soot. “Yes, a hell-spawn demon.”
The Höllenbruts—born of Pandemonia’s volcanos.
“And nothing brings out my demoness like battle.” Except sex. Though she’d never allowed that part of herself to surface then.
“You’re…mesmerizing.” Gaze enthralled, he let his sword dip.
“I am. Literally.” Her eyes locked on his, her enchantment shimmering. Apparently, Lykae weren’t immune. The trance usually lasted only moments, just long enough for her to gain the upper hand against a foe.
He tore his eyes away. “That’s why you like the river here. Hell is your preferred landscape.”
“It did amuse me when you said I’d go to hell with you. Oh, wolf, my line sprang from sulfur and carnage.” Her tail ignited into a ribbon of fire, coiling like a living whip. “Never say Mother gave me nothing. And Father? He was a warlock who dabbled in fire alchemy. My every hexshot becomes a hell shot.” Instead of pure battle beams, Ditch’s consisted of lava, flame, and acid.
She was overflowing with magic tonight, but she didn’t usually show off like this. Was she trying to…impress a male? The taste of fawning polluted her tongue.