Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 112398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
They rushed around the boulder at the same moment and let the energy go, hoping the impact of it would be enough to bind the Ghorl.
With a screech, it amassed as it sensed their attack. In one instant, the beast transformed from vapor to a solid, vicious being.
Its flesh was charred ash, though it was somehow transparent, so Pax could see the wickedness streaking through its writhing red veins. Its mouth was deformed. Twisted and gnarled with hate. The monster opened it to reveal jagged teeth as it snarled.
It reared back against their attack, though, unlike the Kruen—who would flee, shift to shadow, and escape as mist along the pitted, desolate ground—it lashed out, the beast flying in their direction as it sent a thousand fiery tendrils whipping through the air.
“Aria!” Pax shouted, jerking her to the left. They dove behind the boulder, hitting the ground with a thud.
The second they landed, Pax scrambled to cover Aria.
To protect her.
To shield her.
He had no idea what a burn from a Ghorl would do while they were in Faydor, but he refused to take the chance to find out. He couldn’t allow her to be wounded when she was their only chance of survival.
Streaks of fire flashed over the top of them, sparking and crackling as the darts struck the ground, before they flickered out.
Aria pushed at his chest. “We have to stop it,” she urged.
Reluctance pounded through Pax, but he finally pulled back, taking Aria’s hand to help her up. They crouched low as they peered out around the boulder to the endless darkness laid out in front of them.
And the Ghorl.
It was gone.
Chapter Nine
Aria
“Do you know how to find him?” I gasped the second my eyes shot open to the morning that had taken hold of the motel room. Pax was already awake, flying off the bed and dragging on his jeans.
Both of us had clearly woken up with the exact same intentions.
“Fucking hope so,” he all but growled as he snagged his phone from the nightstand.
“Peter Conway,” he mumbled, typing his name into the search bar. “Thirty-three. Indiana—at least, I hope that’s where he still lives.”
He started pacing as he scrolled through the results, anxiety ripping through him on tormented waves.
I sat forward, the sheet pulled tight against my chest as I waited. Praying that he would find something. That we could do something.
A heavy exhale whipped out of Pax when he landed on something. “Think I got him. Fort Wayne, Indiana.”
Pax searched something else. “It’s about six hours from here.”
I threw off the sheets and jumped out of bed, limbs trembling as I hurried to get on my clothes.
“If we scared off the Ghorl, maybe its thoughts didn’t have a chance to take hold and the guy second-guessed his plans,” I reasoned. “Maybe we can get there to stop it before the Ghorl returns.”
My stomach tightened. If Peter was still alive? If the man had taken off?
Then we had to do something.
The problem was, Peter wouldn’t even know to be extra vigilant. Wouldn’t know that he had been directly targeted, since he was hunting in Faydor through the night. Our Laven family had spread out and covered too much ground for there to have been a chance for us to find him during the night. At least Ellis had given the warning to be extra vigilant during the day.
My hands shook out of control as I zipped up my jeans, a frenzy lighting through me as I snatched the shirt I’d had on yesterday from the floor and pulled it over my head.
There was no time to delay.
Pax dragged on his tee, too, rumbling, “There’s a number listed. Probably a long shot.”
Still, he dialed it and tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear as he sat on the edge of the bed, grabbed a boot, and shoved his foot into it.
The sound was dull, but I could hear the faint ringing on the other end of the line.
“Hello?” a man answered.
“Peter? Peter Conway?” Pax said in a rush, the words an appeal.
“You’ve got the wrong number, man.”
The line went dead.
“Shit,” Pax spat, and in frustration, he threw the phone onto the bed as he pulled on the other boot, then pushed to his feet. He took a step in one direction, then one the other, continuously dragging the fingers of both hands through the locks of his white hair.
His eyes wild.
He looked manic.
Unhinged.
Likely the same as me.
“We have to get to him before it’s too late,” I said, stuffing my feet into my shoes.
“It’s probably already too fuckin’ late, Aria. The address I found could be as wrong as the number.”
Gloom shrouded his spirit.
Rushing over to him, I fisted my hands in his tee and jerked him toward me. “Don’t give up on me now, Pax. We have to try.”