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)
“We got lucky in the Helter, but things could have gone sideways.” Why had the monsters been so quiet? Thane had sensed legions more, lying in wait.
For what? The idea of taking Lykae into that land to hunt filled him with foreboding.
“Water under the bridge, wolf, bygones, second chances, et cetera. I’m on a clock. So”—Jastorgh produced a scroll and two small hex bags—“do you want these or not?”
“Hand them over.” Thane accepted the letter and the two bags. One was red, the other black. Grains of some kind filled them. He opened Ditch’s seal and read:
Wolf,
If you pour one bag around each cage, magic will make Berserker bars truly unbreakable. Use the black one for yours, and your beast won’t know what hit him.
D
He sniffed the black bag, and his Instinct blared: —Be wary of magics!—Lykae hated it. Despite his mate’s scent on these spells, his hackles rose. Thane set the bags away warily. What a risk trusting them would be!
Ditch might double-cross him, then try to attack that very night, knowing he—and his best men guarding him—would be compromised.
He’d get Lowell to call in even more warlairds. Bracing for war yet relying on diplomacy, Thane scratched out a reply:
My gratitude. When I demonstrate trust by using them, mayhap you’ll come to trust me as well. We could build much from such a foundation.
Jastorgh traced away with the letter, then reappeared seconds later bearing her response:
I like foundations. I like to bludgeon them with a sledgehammer and cackle as they crumble into smaller and smaller pieces until there’s no hint of what once was.
Re: the spells—I’ll personally be fueling them. You will feel my presence in every bar, won’t even know which one to hump. What a savage time you’ll have. Hugs and kisses.
He exhaled through his nose and scribbled another message, thrusting it at Jastorgh.
The demon sighed. “You two could simply have a conversation, you know.”
“Just deliver this.”
Meet me that night. Unleash your demon as I unleash my beast. We’ll make the gods seethe with envy.
Moments after Jastorgh teleported away, he returned, out of breath from tracing back and forth.
Can’t. Washing my hair.
Thane wrote:
I haven’t given up on a way for us to be together.
Jastorgh vanished again, then returned, saying, “She told me this is her final message till after the full moon. Which works for me.” He tossed Thane the scroll, then traced away.
Thane opened it and read:
Yet you won’t sacrifice for it.
He sank back in his chair, fingers brushing her decisive handwriting. The reason he’d made the “easy” decision not to use the portal—and completely fuck over his pack—was partly because she wouldn’t accept him anyway.
But was she hinting otherwise now?
Could they leave behind their inherited animosities to forge something different in a new realm?
His thoughts slid, unwelcome, to Straegan. The specter of his brother’s potential rule cast a long shadow over the Skein. If he ever broke free—if he ascended—it would be apocalyptic. And not just for Lykae.
He remembered Straegan as a lad, always at Thane’s heels. Their parents had worked hard to teach each son to control his beast. Thane had easily succeeded. Straegan…had not.
Had his murderous tendencies been there all along? Or had sorcery truly captured him?
Thane couldn’t erase the memory of that night, the last time his brother’s true face had surfaced:
Straegan laughing uncontrollably, drenched in blood.
Throwing his head back and opening his arms.
Surrendering to his beast forever…
Magic had maddened him. It must have done. Yet now Thane was to rely on a witch’s spell?
He wanted to debate pros and cons with Lowell, but his right hand had been scarce, lost in his own witch trouble after a cooling-off period.
The Accession was the season for finding mates. Could it be possible that he and Meera were one pair more?
The thought made Thane pinch the bridge of his nose.
The world was coming undone. But the moon would keep rising.
***
Lowell
Ten days till the Hunter’s Moon
Pacing. Sweating. Drowning in shame.
Lowell had returned to the Witchwood three more times, each visit ending the same way: pleasure sharp enough to boggle the mind, followed by Meera’s tears.
She cried because she believed he was spellbound. Because she believed she was hurting him.
And he was hurting her each time he went to her.
They were destroying each other.
Last time, she’d begged him not to come back, had actually threatened to move into Strix Keep, of all bleak lairs, just to avoid him. She would leave her place of security and comfort—her beloved home with all her pictures and mementos, the cradle in the attic.
Because of him.
Regret swelled in his chest like an internal wound filling with blood. What is wrong with me?
He’d vowed to himself for the thousandth time that he would never seek her out again.
Yet even here in Craigdúr, he felt her. The tug was constant, impossible to ignore. There’s no way I can live without her.