Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
The three fell silent at that. The Møriør was an alliance made up of primordials, each of them the oldest and most powerful being of a particular species.
Mari sighed. “Though Nïx won’t cop to it, we all know they’re favored to win this Accession.”
“May the Lorce be with you!” Nïx exclaimed. When she rubbed her nose against Bertil’s, the bat gazed up at her with dreamy adoration.
Dorada glowered at the Valkyrie. “If immortals consider a madwoman like you their leader—their coach—then maybe the Møriør should win.” She waved to indicate Loa. “The priestess must think so, else she wouldn’t be selling them information.”
Loa’s amber eyes glittered. “I’d watch your rottin’ tongue, sorceress.”
“It’s no longer rotting!”
“Hey!” Mari cried. “Can we have just one discussion without arguing and imminent bloodshed?”
Dorada and Loa: “NO!”
“The journal,” Nïx whispered, cutting through the tension. Her gaze had gone vacant. “The Enemy of Old is going to want it. Should I give it to him? Will anything matter after this?” Lightning flashed above. “The spheres are smudged once more. Will they crack under the pressure?”
The others grew uneasy, even Dorada.
Mari cleared her throat. “Uh, you okay there, Nïx?”
“We are not.” She abruptly stood, telling Mari, “The die is cast. It’s too late to change anything. Depending on what is unleashed tonight, the Lore will convulse. I hope you know what you’re doing, because for once, I don’t.”
Mari swallowed. “That sounds less than ducky. I thought you’d still be acting as, like, the guardrails for me.”
Dorada smirked. “Looks like you’re about to careen off the cliff and take all of us with you.”
Nïx didn’t deny it. “That’s the thing about shaping fate, young witch.” She stomped her bare foot into the puddle; lightning flashed again, and water splattered up to her face. “Sometimes it resists.” The bat didn’t laugh when droplets ran down her cheeks like tears.
ONE
TRICK-OR-TREAT SUPPLIES
4 battle-magic pouches
1 portal pouch
1 thermos of pumpkin-spice tea
1 apple muffin
Sturdy boots
Unparalleled courage
Raven’s Murk Castle, Wilds of Canada
“You,” Poppy Dyer muttered as a demon approached her, framed in the glow of lightning bolts.
Rök Kours, her nemesis. The mercenary she mused about far too often.
What was he doing at this castle? And how could she get rid of him before the moon rose?
He narrowed his smoky-blue eyes, their color vivid against his tanned skin. “You.”
When he climbed the castle’s steps to join her at the entry, she held her ground, yet her gaze couldn’t help but sweep over his chiseled features with appreciation—his wide jaw, strong chin, and aquiline nose.
She got lost for a moment when she met those heavy-lidded eyes before she dragged her focus upward. His thick black hair was long enough to tie back in a queue, but tonight he wore it loose to cover most of his silvery horns. Over the years she’d seen them flared with aggression—and once with passion.
His demon-may-care attitude matched his appearance. A frayed, navy T-shirt highlighted his muscular chest and arms, and his worn jeans clung to his narrow hips. Scuffed boots and a sword belted around his waist rounded out the ensemble.
He looked tired though, as if he’d just rolled out of bed from his latest conquest. Likely.
Finding her voice, she said, “I wish I could say this was a pleasure, but it never is with you.” She was proud of how calm she sounded when unwelcome chemistry simmered between them like a bubbling potion.
It temporarily overrode her nerves about tonight’s mission: breach this castle at moonrise, find her prize, then get out during the brief window at moonset.
“Never a pleasure?” Rök’s rumble of a voice pricked her senses. “You know that’s a lie.” His lips curved into a slow, mind-scrambling smile that showed off white teeth with a hint of his demon fangs. “You liked my kiss well enough.”
Their sole kiss on their sole date.
Two years ago, when he’d slanted his mouth over hers in the rain, she’d moaned with abandon and dug her nails into his back, her body desperate for his.
Her body was a fucking idiot. “Will you never stop bringing that up?” Would she never stop replaying the feel of those lips?
Rain-wetted, demon-hot.
His talented tongue was pointed—
“As soon as you stop staring at my mouth like you fancy another one.”
She darted her gaze away. “I don’t have time for your games tonight. Some of us are on the clock.” And much was on the line.
She glanced past him to survey the two-hundred-room castle. Lightning flashed behind its gravity-defying towers. Thunder clapped: BOOM BOOM. A nearby pond gave up sulfurous fumes. Dead spruces circled it, limned in silver flickers.
To complete the property’s ill-omened look, a cemetery lined one side of the overgrown drive. The tombstones were all askew, like a witch’s hat after a bender. A couple of ghouls skulked amidst the weathered stones.
This castle was the most foreboding place she’d ever beheld, and that was something for a witch to say. The wizard who’d built it had been a Lore philanthropist and a gifted scientist, until his family had died under mysterious circumstances a century ago.