Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
She was, essentially, a prisoner inside her own body. And this wasn’t even the first time it had happened. She’d been this helpless once before, paralyzed by magick as two thirteen-year-old boys had some “fun.”
Her heart pounded as the awful memories crowded her. Feet slamming into her ribs. The taste of mud as it was shoved into her mouth. The feel of pebbles jammed up her nose. The smell of urine as it splattered over her head like a warm stream. A scorching, blazing heat against the soles of her feet. Lances of pain as a blade sank deep into her flesh over and over. And then, finally, the feel of a knife slicing across her neck.
The lethal move hadn’t killed her quickly—that seemed to only happen in movies. The boys had watched while she’d faded away. Until they got bored and thrust the blade into the side of her throat.
Rafe, seeming to sense how important it was to her that she never be that powerless to protect herself again, had taught her everything from fencing to magickal combat. Sadly, none of that helped her now.
Still, Wynter had no intention of accepting defeat. No, she went back to battling the exhaustion. She’d get out of this situation somehow. She would. Really. She had managed to stay awake and keep her memories—those had to be good signs.
Hinges creaked, and then she was flung on a cushioned surface. The good ole musty car smell hit her hard. He’d dumped her on the rear seat of his vehicle, she realized … just as he had Davina back when she’d been exiled.
It wasn’t long before hinges again creaked. Moments later, the car shook as his weight settled into it. The engine sputtered to life, and light-hearted whistling filled the air as he drove off.
Inside her head, Wynter growled in frustration as she battled to fight off the paralysis that had overtaken her. Those battles never came to anything, never—
“I know you’re awake, Wynter,” he said, making her pulse spike. “I know you still have all your memories, too. You’re probably marveling over that. You may feel it’s some sort of victory.”
Yes, actually, she did. Or she had until that familiar taunting note entered his voice.
“I’ll tell you the truth of what’s coming. You see … none of the exiled are ever really put to sleep. None ever lose their memories. And none are ever driven to the border.”
She paused her internal battle. Wait, what?
“No one ever really leaves this town alive, Wynter. An Aeon only seeks to daze and immobilize the outcasts, nothing more. Keepers such as me then drive to the falls and toss the exiled over the cliff. That’s what happened to your mother. Yes, she’s dead. Has been for a long time.”
Her heart sank. She wanted to tell herself he was lying, wanted to believe he was just trying to mess with her head, but the ring of truth in his voice couldn’t be ignored. Grief was like a jagged knife in her chest, sawing deep. It felt as if said chest slumped in on itself as she silently screamed with rage and devastation.
Her mother had done nothing to deserve being cast out. Not one thing. But she’d pled guilty to the accusation that she’d used forbidden magick, because she’d known that the truth would condemn Wynter. Davina had, in sum, given her life to save Wynter’s … only she hadn’t known that would be the real price. Not until this motherfucker killed her.
Wynter was pretty sure she’d never hated anyone as much as she did him in that very moment—not even the teenager boys who’d once taken her life as if it were their right.
“Drowning is a harsh sentence, if you ask me,” said Wagner. “Especially when a person’s immobilized. You can’t do a damn thing while water floods your nostrils, pours down your throat, and enters your lungs. But the Aeons, well, they have their traditions, and they like them.”
Panic thudding through her, she dug deep for the strength to shake off the power holding her in place, but its grip wasn’t weakening under her struggles. Calling for her sword didn’t work either. Nothing worked.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You know, the mages would like me to rape you,” he said ever so casually.
Wynter inwardly froze.
“I won’t, of course. I’m not an animal. But I have nothing against their second request. They want me to kill you before I throw you over the cliff. Want me to dismember you, in fact, just as you dismembered those boys with your magick when you took their lives. Hey, you might get a laugh out of this—they also want a … souvenir, shall we say. An eyeball, to be precise. Seems a little morbid to me, but I’m not one to judge. I’ve never actually gouged out an eye before. It could be fun.” He chuckled. “Scared yet?”