LOGINSarah
“Get out!”
Sydney shakes his head, taking another step, which means I’m either going to hit the door, or move out of his way, forced further into the sterile, brightly lit hotel bathroom.
“You look ridiculous,” I spit, snarling the words. In my defense, he does. He’s wearing a white, fluffy robe that hits him mid-thigh and not much else from what I can tell.
I’m wearing the same kind of
IanRhett frowns beside me, both of us leaning on a neat stack of logs yet to make it through the mill for processing. It’s well past nightfall, but the village of New Glade is bright under the haze of firelight. Music and dancing takes up my vision, but I’m keeping a close eye on Oakley while she stands in a group of young women a few yards away. I stayed close to her throughout the ceremony, which I’m sure can be daunting and a little outlandish, even for people from the tribes. Funeral pyres were a big deal in the Glade when our people were in Pantharas. Death was everywhere, according to my father and the elders. Now, people live long, happy lives, or will, anyway. All the children here live past their fifth birthdays. No one has to worry about their fathers, brothers, and sons getting swept into servitude or cullings. This ceremony is how we honor who was lost before the wolves of the Glade finally found freedom. Oakley took the ceremony in stride. She was interested, which ma
OakleyI need to see a healer, I think. A priestess actually. Yeah, that would be more helpful in my situation. I’m either cursed or losing my mind, along with chunks of memory, because I do not remember hurting myself last night. I meet my bloodshot reflection in the mirror in the bathroom while rubbing my swollen wrist with a potent healing salve I pilfered from my Aunt Shuna. It’s from Teshka, of course, like she is. It feels gritty on my skin, like the rough sand beaches in that territory, but it does quell the incessant tingling. A sharp knock on the door tears my attention from my reflection. My mom’s voice rings out, “They’re here! Prince Ian is downstairs waiting for you.”“I’m coming,” I murmur, shaking my head several times like I can somehow knock loose the wool rolling through my mind like a ball of yarn, snatching memories and rational thought with it. When I step out of the bathroom, every female hand in the house begins to fuss over me like it’s my wedding day. By t
Ian“Ian?”I haven’t even closed the front door to my childhood home before Mom’s voice rings out through the foyer. For a house in New Glade, it’s rather nice. The foyer connects to two front rooms and a wide staircase leading to the upper floor, where three bedrooms and a bathroom soak in late afternoon light. Downstairs, a small, seldom-used kitchen is tucked in the back, as well as another, larger room where my parents spend most of their free time. I find her there, at a worktable, priming arrows. Shelves line the walls, full of weapon-making supplies and little trinkets of past adventures. Family pictures hang on the wooden walls, alongside blades dangling from hooks. My toy box is still in the corner of the room collecting dust, but I used to sit here, at this very table, playing with little carved effigies of warriors and wolves while my parents talked in quiet tones about hunts and the occasional skirmish between packs and tribes. I can still feel that silver chain around
OakleyIt takes three days for my arm to heal. Even so, the wound itches like mad and will definitely scar when the scabs heal over. But, there’s work to be done. Chores, as well as avoiding my mom and aunts, are all I plan to do today because, if I’m out of bed, I’m able to return to the forest tonight under the glare of the moon. I’d like to stop that from happening. Allison moves a few feet ahead of me in the garden behind the fiber shop. It’s an expansive space with fruit trees and flowers galore, as well as herbs and very specific flora we grow for even more specific reasons. Grandma Freya planted all of this decades ago, when she first came to Silverhide and the village was nothing but a few buildings, a packhouse, and the forge grumbling behind me. My Grandpa Andrew gave her anything she wanted and needed, carving out a sanctuary for his mate in the village that grew around them. My fingers are already stained a bright greenish-blue as I set down my container of true indigo
OakleyThere’s an epidemic in Silverhide. It’s a slow creeping kind of affliction that takes hold of almost every young woman starting around the age of thirteen. It turns some into raging, spiteful monsters. Jealous gremlins with sharp teeth and even sharper tongues, to be honest. Lifelong friendships suffer endlessly during those long, overwhelming years of late girlhood, and there’s only one thing to blame. Men. Handsome, slightly sweaty, gleaming men. I have never been, to be fair, one to go all goo-goo eyed over the boys who work the fields while I run my errands and do my chores. I’ve never seen the need to let the straps of my tank tops, which I’m not even allowed to wear, fall off my shoulders while hanging laundry on the line. I listen to my friends purr and giggle over their crushes and let those same friends shed tears on my shoulders when those crushes went awry. But I’ve never caught the bug. The love bug. I am just… too busy. I’m sure that’s the reason.Granted, I’ve
IanI wake in a cold sweat at first light to shouts beyond the rain-smothered glass of my bedroom windows. My dreams swim, turning into a muddled cacophony of fractured, made-up memories that vanish before I have a chance to rub sleep from my eyes. My cabin is cast in calm, silver shadows like I left it the night before, but unlike the night before, I’m completely, utterly naked. Another trio of shouts rings through the still morning air. I can taste the fog. It’s too early for the first streams of morning sunlight to illuminate the forest floor when I slowly swing my legs out of bed and fist the damp sheets. I sweated through them. The trail of clothing on the side of my bed gives me a single shred of an idea of what happened over the course of the past few hours. The cold, aching prickles erupting all over my skin are just the remnants of a dream. A bloody nightmare. Several howls break through the stillness and fully rouse me. I pull on some clothes, stumbling on my way to my dr
*Isla*I open my eyes to the feeling of… suffocating. I grip my throat, fighting for breath as an icy blast of water shoots from my toes all the way to my fingertips, my hair standing on end as a crush pressure drags me down, and down, and down. My eyes attempt to focus through the utter swirling da
*Isla*Mystica’s eyes are hollow as she ties a ribbon around a bundle of herbs–rosemary, lavender, and sage. The whole room smells like spice, and when I look up at the ceiling I see nothing but bundles of drying greenery and flowers. This is Mystica’s haven, a small room near the back of the castle
*Maddox*I’m at my desk going over a few reports, trying to decide whether or not to continue to take Beta Seth’s advice when what I really want to do is plan a huge festival and announce to the entire kingdom that I’m having a child with the woman I love when a knock at the door interrupts my though
*Maddox*I am growing leery of interrogating prisoners in the dungeon, but I have no choice since I don’t trust anyone else to speak to Austin. He’s still bleeding from the injuries he sustained when he ran from me. All he has on is a pair of ratty old shorts, and he’s sitting on the dirty dungeon fl







