*Ella*The healer is a very old, gnarled woman. She reminds me of Mystica based on the pictures Mom has scattered in her home in Maatua. The woman’s hair is bright white and wispy, and her shoulders are permenantly slumped. She barely comes up to my breasts as she hovers around Hannah, who is lying on a cot in the center of a very warm room heated by an ancient wood stove in one corner. I have to duck to walk deeper into the tight room. Bundles of herbs hang from the low ceiling. A kettle whistles on the stove as I kneel by Hannah’s bedside and take her hands in mine, finding them warm and soft. Her coloring is perfect, and she still has that smile on her face like she’s simply dreaming. “You can’t spirit through time and space all willy nilly,” the old woman croaks, her voice wobbly but calm and motherly as she pours hot water into a large, metal bowl full of herbs. “She’s split between two worlds. Here, and with her mate.”I look up at the woman, who has barely said a word to me a
*Maddy*I watch as Isaac leans over his desk to grab another stack of papers from a banker’s box on the far edge. He sighs as he flips through the papers and sets them down, reaching for a pair of manilla folders instead, and sits back down. I turn my head back to the window and watch the rain fall in dizzying sheets of silver, the entire back garden cast in shadow and glistening with dampness. My hand rests on the swell of my belly. Our son kicks me softly, and I smile to myself, tapping my fingers as if to say, “Hello, little one.”“Is he kicking again?” Isaac asks as he leans back in his office chair and places a large, warm hand on my stomach. I adjust the position of his hand and lay my hand over his, waiting. Our son is still so small, but his movements have become more noticeable the last few days. A featherlight movement brushes over Isaac’s hand. I watch my mate’s face as he feels his son kick for the first time. “That’s incredible,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Does it bothe
*Ella*I have no idea what I’m doing. I have no clue where we are, or what to expect when we reach the witches. In my defense, I jumped through the portal blind, unsure what awaited me on the other side beside my mate, who I’d be happy to never see again. I stare into the small warming fire and hug my knees to my chest. The thought of Ryatt causes an ache to spread through my chest, tightening my muscles. My mate. Some people go their whole lives without finding their mates. I should feel blessed that I've found him so soon. Right now, I feel like throwing myself off the bluff we’re sitting next too with a sweeping view of the valley below at our backs. Amanda and Gemma sit beside me facing the forest while their two friends, still in their wolf forms, doze next to the sled where Hannah still lingers in a coma. Amanda brought enough food to feed a small army, but even after not eating for an entire twenty-four hours, I can’t bring myself to take more than a few bites of a sandwich
*Ryatt* Don’t come for me. Those words haunt me as I pick through the forest. Six of my men–my closest, most trustworthy warriors–fan out around me in a wide semi-circle, leaving no stone, twig, or bush unturned. It’s been days, and there’s no sign of Ella. Nothing. Nothing of her, or the maid that flung herself at us right as I used the full force of my powers to spirit us away to Eastonia. Don’t come for me… “There’s nothing here, Ryatt,” Granger says nearby. He stands to his full height, his golden hair gleaming in the sunrise streaming through the tree top. Green eyes meet mine, heavy with annoyance. “Maybe this is a good thing.”“I know,” I agree, but the words leave a bitter taste on my tongue. I hadn’t wanted to do this. I’d bucked against my destiny at every turn. Going to King Isaac’s ball four or five years ago had only made me more steadfast in my decision that I had to find another way to defeat my father without using Princess Ella as the weapon she was born to be.
*Ella*I open my eyes, blinking into the eerie green light of the cramped room I was thrown into a few hours ago. The walls are made of stone and drip with condensation. I look up at the wooden ceiling where streaks of light filter down and cause the floor to dance with pockets of pale gray. The ceiling is a trap door; the room I’m in is an outdoor cellar. A set of slimy stairs lead up to the ceiling, the slime now covered with muddy footprints. There’s nothing down here but me. No chair, bed, bathroom bucket, or food. The bastards who dragged me here stripped me of the coat I’d been wearing, and the chilly fall air bites into my skin. My hands, bound by iron shackles behind my back, are numb from the cold. It’s raining now. Water has been dripping through the ceiling, but now rain pelts the wooden boards above my head so violently it rattles. I close my eyes and imagine my studio, my paintings, mentally going through stacks of canvases and my inventory of paint. I’m just trying to
*Ella*I shove Ryatt away from me, putting several feet of distance between us. I can still feel his touch on my chin from when he’d inspected the bruising on my cheeks. I realize with a start it had been only the second time we’d ever touched, the first being when I placed my hand in his hand when he’d come to take me home, to take me here. Now, I’ve shoved him. That’s the third time we’ve touched. Maybe, hopefully, the last. At least, I tell myself that. Seeing him in the flesh is incredibly unnerving. The sharp angles of his devastatingly handsome face draw me in, and those eyes? They’re magnetic. But being drop dead gorgeous only gets you so far in life. “I told you to stay away from me.”One dark brow arches, and his eyes narrow with obvious frustration. “You said, ‘Don’t come for me.’ What makes you think I’m here for you, Princess?”I bite the inside of my cheek. “Why else would you be here? I didn’t need your help with anything.”“Oh, really?” He looks down at the pile of as
*Ella*It’s raining harder than I thought possible. Outside, the day has faded into night–and whatever gods they worship in this strange kingdom are livid. Thunder booms, shaking the small cottage. I curl my hands around a little metal mug full of whiskey and keep my head low as I listen to the conversations taking place all around me. Ryatt has an entourage–every one of them young, each of them built like a brick wall and oozing with violence. At least, that's what it seems like at first glance. But as the men, and one other woman, in the cottage grow used to my presence, that icy, murderous feeling in the room fades, replaced by something I find shockingly familiar. Ryatt and Granger left, taking Quinn, the only other female beside myself, with them to what sounds like a nearby town. Now, those left behind are playing drinking games and eating whatever feast the Magpie had laid out for his packmates before they all met a gruesome end. In fact, there’s a pile of dead wolves right
*Ella*By all accounts, the village we arrive in under a cloak of inky, starless darkness looks like a small town somewhere in my brother’s territory. Streetlights cast a wide, crumbling gravel street in muted light, and buildings made of wood and stone rise in the distance along curved roads. A narrow, lazy river winds through the village. We cross several bridges, our footsteps the only sound. Our group has been broken into smaller parties of three or four people, everyone in their human forms, everyone acting like they’re simply out on a midnight stroll. As we walk further into the village, the buildings start to group closer together, and noise begins to cut through the hushed night air. There are no cars to be seen, but lighted signs and the sound of electricity buzz as we pass shops and what I believe are apartments. It’s like home, but… different. Less polished, less refined. Less modern, I realize. I stare up at one streetlight as I pass beneath it and see the same strange,
Misty“Wait, wait.” Georgia smooths her hands through her hair, riling up her curls. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, “Let me get this perfectly straight.”“Okay.” I curl my legs beneath me as I sit across from her in our bed. It’s been a few hours since Declan stupidly left the door jammed, but I haven’t made any moves yet. Instead, I told Georgia everything. I figured if I leave tonight to map the castle and get caught or killed, she’ll live on to at least tell my story.“We’ve been kidnapped by an underground secret society, and they’re responsible for the attack on TU,” she begins, raising a finger. “Nathan not only cheated on you, but is part of the order.” She raises a second finger.“Yep.”She frowns. “You think the order is trying to start a war with your family.”I nod, and sh
MistyI follow Cole through his… apartment, I guess. The layout of these suites is remarkably like the Firestone castle in Moonrise where my family has their own apartments within the castle. But this place is practically empty. Dusty and stale. If he has personal objects, they’re not here.I creep behind him, careful to keep at least a few feet of distance between us as he leads me into a bedroom that… smells like him.I hadn’t noticed before–his scent. It’s very clean and brisk. It’s hard to describe. I don’t dwell on it. Instead, I’m looking at his perfectly made bed–so perfect I wonder if he’s ever even slept in it.“Sit down,” he commands… gently, at least.“Why?”“Because you need stitches, and you’re very short. I don’t want to have to bend down the whole time.”“
MistyThe next morning, I’m summoned by Declan and his cronies. Dressed in my favorite brand of athletic shorts and a tanktop–my school uniform, basically–I walk steadily behind them, in iron chains over my silver manacles, and Declan keeps his distance.I’m hungry and tired but curious about what comes next, especially after last night. Georgia seemed okay this morning–quiet, a little dazed–but that’s expected. I’m sure reality hit her as we ate bland oatmeal together in the warm sunlight streaming through the windows that bathed the dust all over our apartment in gold.I feel chipper and ready to commit murder, however. Which is my plan. I feel like I’ll give Declan a pass, though, at least for now, since I damn near bit his cheek off yesterday. Still, I size up the two men standing at my sides. Gregory, an art history student, like Georgia, has dark skin and short, black hair. He&
MistyI pace in front of a set of wooden double doors. They’re etched with sweeping designs that’re a near perfect match to the doors littered throughout the castle in Moonrise. This place–this apartment within the castle–it’s beautiful. At least, it was likely very beautiful once. Everything is covered in dust as it stands. The glass vases scattered across nearly every surface probably held bouquets of tropical flowers at one point. Books used to line every shelf. Silk and satin draped over the massive canopy of the four poster bed in the main bedroom, I’m sure, and the bed was covered by silk sheets that smelled like rose oil, freshly cleaned.Now, this apartment is a shell with ancient furniture and cheap, slightly ratty linens covering the beds, chairs, and old couches.But I haven’t really explored, not while my mind races. Where is Georgia? How do I get out and find her? I’ll escape
ColeShe’s exactly what I hoped she’d be.Beautiful, sure. I knew she’d be beautiful. The soft, ocean blue of her eyes reminds me of the sky in the early mornings, when stars still dance toward the horizon until they’’re chased away by the sun. She’s dainty and graceful. She’s exactly what a princess should be, as long as she doesn’t open her fucking mouth… but she needs to keep talking. She needs to keep pissing off the Umbra Mortis. She’s the perfect distraction.I hate that I need her.I hate that she showed how useful she could be when she unleashed her powers in the library because she’s just as trapped as I am now. But she might be our only hope. My only hope.I sink behind the desk in the sliver of personal space I've managed to carve out for myself in this massive fortress built in the dead center of the desert. We’re hundreds of m
MistyDrip. Drip. Drip.I open my eyes to darkness, blinking it away. My body aches like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, but I’m alive. I’m alive, and in a dungeon.I rise to my knees, crawling to the bars that separate me from a dingy, damp hallway lit by flickering torches.I hesitate before gripping the bars, but it’s iron, not silver, thank the Goddess. I’m not sure how much more I can take… wait a minute.I lift my wrists to the torchlight. Twin silver bands–wide, and seamless–hug each wrist. They’re no chains between them. Nothing keeping me bound to the wall. Manacles. I immediately try to pull them off, but I can’t. It doesn’t hurt, though. I wedge a pinky between my skin and the manacle on my left wrist and feel… leather? Some type of barrier between the silver and my skin.Still, even without the silver restin
AvivaI’ve never been to Crescent Falls before. I imagined something different than quiet, somber hallways and hushed murmurs. I guess, in any other circumstance, we would have been able to drive here in a real car from the border with Eastonia, taking several days to travel through the sweeping plains of Moorn before reaching the mountainous, sprawling mecca of the capitol while Ryan told me stories about growing up in this fascinating place but that’s… not how this is happening.We arrived an hour ago to chaos. Now, I pace behind a couch, watching my mate lean into conversation with his twin brother Sydney and their father, Alpha King Isaac. Ryatt, the Alpha King of Eastonia, isn’t here. Neither is his wife and mate, Ella, Ryan’s aunt.Evander’s here, however, and he keeps stealing glances in my direction while I do my best to fade into Maddy’s floral wallpaper.One second, I&rsq
MistyGeorgia turns to the railing in awe. The students sharing our little alcove rise from their chairs in confusion as the books crash to the ground.My already thundering heart nearly stops, skipping several beats, and in that time, the first screams echo all the way down to us on the second to last floor, splitting the normally silent air into pieces. I stand, my chair falling over backward, as green-hued light blasts through the upper section of the library.“GEORGIA!” I scream, lunging for her as debris–a tangle of stone, books, and paper–cascade down the open space housing the staircase. A shockwave slams into us, knocking Georgia away from the railing and sending me backward into one of the racks, my spine singing in pain. More screams follow, growing in intensity, as I open my eyes to thick dust and the haze of magic I can taste on my tongue.Shadowed figures move down the staircase. Wolves
MistyBurning sunlight stuns me into alertness. I open my eyes to slits and promptly close them again. A dull pain spreads through my head, reminiscent of the type of hangover I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, but that doesn’t make any sense. I’m standing in the damp, dusty corridor in the web-like underground beneath campus… right?I open my eyes against the light and stare blankly at the ceiling of my dorm room. Soft snoring echoes all around me. Ignoring the sickening pain in my head, I turn ever so slightly to look at the person who’s arm and leg are draped over my body, finding Georgia sleeping peacefully, still wearing her black dress. We’re in her bed on top of the bedspread, and one quick glance across the room shows me a tangle of cloaks and shoes separating Georgia’s section of the tight room from mine where Fia and Darby are fast asleep in my bed. I sit up. Georgia’s arm slips from my waist as I slide out of bed and walk on unsteady feet to the door, grabbing my shower k