Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
He nodded. “Of course.”
A breeze toyed with the colorful headscarf atop Vanda’s silver locks as she crossed to give Ren a hug. Her familiar scent of lavender and liniment enveloped them. This woman had been her mentor since Ren’s parents had died nearly seventeen years ago.
Vanda pressed a kiss into her hair, saying, “You will always be a little wild, my fierce Ren. As wild as that wolf you captured.”
Before Ren could ask about that puzzling comment, Puideleu escorted Vanda from the tent.
Alone with Jacob, Ren lifted her dress to holster her knife. The weapon was perfectly weighted to her hand, its edges as pure as devotion. Esoteric writing had been carved into the bone hilt, the surface worn down through centuries of her family’s use. Wood-grain patterns adorned the crucible-steel blade, but it still shone like a mirror.
She considered changing from her mother’s dress, but she didn’t dare take that much time. Though the effects of her blade lasted for hours, a Lykae in the camp equaled a live grenade.
Ren caught Jacob’s gaze on her legs before he glanced away with a blush. She frowned as she smoothed her dress in place. When the wolf had leered at her body, Ren’s senses had flared to life. Now, she felt awkward.
“After you,” Jacob said, his voice thickened. Out into the squally night they went, winding around tent stakes as they took a shortcut to the trench.
Though the circus traversed the countryside from one immortal threat to another, they always returned to their previous spots, and this one was her favorite. Soaring stone pines and braided brooks circled the fairgrounds. In the distance was a heart-shaped boulder flanked by two oak trees. She met Jacob there to steal kisses. The oaks leaned toward each other, growing closer over the years—just as she and Jacob had done.
A misty gust buffeted them as they skirted the far side of the living quarters, a collection of individual wagons. Painted on each side panel was a description of a Circul Vânătorilor act.
Hers read: The Great Kereny, Transylvanian Blade Huntress. That was her stage persona for her knife-throwing act, but also her reputation among immortals in the forest.
She was proud of her wagon and excited to share it with Jacob now that they’d wed. Inside were her treasured scientifiction novels, costumes, and an arsenal of various weapons.
It was the only home Ren had ever known. She and her parents had shared it until they’d been taken from her much too soon.
Past the wagons stood a multitude of booths, the Ferris wheel and carousel, and the animal cages. Battle was coming, and like a wardrobe change, the fairground had been transformed according to her defense plans. Gone were the juggling balls and the candied treats. Out had come the pikes and mounted machine guns.
Olga’s carpentry crew had added scaffolding to the structure of the Ferris wheel to make a sharpshooter tower. Björn’s earthworks detail had dug pitfall traps, as well as a trench filled with pikes and oil.
This rain was problematic for the trench, but Puideleu’s bad leg had told him the weather would clear tomorrow, and his prediction success rate hovered close to a hundred percent—
“You can’t turn it off for even a second, can you?” Jacob asked, reclaiming her attention. “We’re going to be fine tomorrow. Thanks to you, we have the numbers and the discipline. Not to mention the strategy.”
“And thanks to your skillful negotiating, we’ll have more than enough ammunition.” A weapons dealer was arriving at dawn to restock their depleted supply of grenades and bullets. “We’re going to blow that pack to kingdom come.” As if to punctuate her statement, lightning flashed, and the rain intensified.
Ren despised immortals. They didn’t go bump in the night; they were the night—a great, ravening darkness that might relent but always returned.
Fitting that the circus called the struggle against them the Night War.
Ghouls, shifters, and demons kept Ren and the hunters busy—as would those newlings—but she didn’t feel as if they were turning the tide of the war. She dreamed of taking down high-value Lorean leaders to strike fear in the hearts of immortals everywhere.
She wanted to send a message: We know you exist, and we’ll be hiding under your beds from now on. Then maybe they’d think twice about preying on humans.
“I love it when you get bloodthirsty,” Jacob said. “Speaking of which, are you bent on killing this wolf?”
She nodded. “I can’t keep stabbing him with my blade. Sooner or later, he’ll get the upper hand.”
With his charming grin, Jacob said, “I didn’t mean we shouldn’t kill the Lykae. But I can do it. Maybe you should leave off committing mate-icide.”
Ren punched his arm. “I will catch grief for this mate nonsense till the end of time.” Carnies were boisterous; hunter carnies were impossible. “Should I expect a kobold suitor next? Perhaps a pus demon on bended knee?”