Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 146722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 734(@200wpm)___ 587(@250wpm)___ 489(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 734(@200wpm)___ 587(@250wpm)___ 489(@300wpm)
It was carnage. Blood and screams and death permeated the air.
Noa brought her knife high, readying to strike another, when she saw a familiar face move from behind the boy on the rack.
She opened her mouth to warn her sisters and the Fallen. But someone growled out the priest’s name before any sound could leave her lips.
“Auguste.”
Sinking her knife into a priest’s leg, straight through his artery, as Beth threw him directly into Noa’s path, Noa risked a glance behind her. Sela. Sela’s dark eyes had focused on his older brother, who was watching them from a safe distance, a general watching his foot soldiers trying to bring the enemy down. Noa frowned, wondering why he was raising his hand as if to signal, when the doors to the back of the barn burst open and a river of Brethren priests came pouring in.
More. There were even more of them. Noa looked back at Auguste and saw a smug, victorious smile stretch on his face. Reality hit her then, as hard as the priest’s fist that barreled into her face as he took advantage of her momentary distraction.
The Brethren had expected them. They had prepared for them.
The Fallen and Coven were outnumbered.
They were fucked.
“There’s too many,” Noa heard Dinah shout over the din of rushing priests. “We have to pull back.” Noa’s heart pounded as she watched another blur of red and black rush through the doors. “We have to pull back!”
“Pull back!” Gabriel said from the rear of the group, echoing Dinah’s command. Noa continued to fight. They all fought, priests falling at their feet. But not fast enough. The harsh reality was obvious—they couldn’t beat them all.
Noa stepped back, feeling Diel’s looming presence still behind her. They had to get out. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t all make it. Someone would get wounded … someone would die.
“Get back!” Dinah said again, but just as Noa went to move, she heard a clanging of metal against metal like thunder cracking through the room. Time moved into slow motion. She lifted her head toward the collared boy on the plinth, the boy she imagined Finn Nolan looked just like as a boy. Dark hair, skin and bone, and pure wildness in his blue eyes. And she watched, heart in her mouth, as the boy managed to get free of the rope binding his wrists to the plinth’s stake, only for his feet to slip off the small ledge he balanced his feet on. His body dropped toward the ground, and his collar and chain acted as a noose.
“No!” Noa shouted. The haunting scene from her past pushed her to break from the group and surge toward the boy. He began to thrash, the collar around his neck quickly robbing him of life. Noa’s feet led her forward, plowing through the priests that attempted to get in her way, her knives veritable swords as she sliced them down. The boy’s eyes bulged, and she was snatched back to the past …
“I’ll kill you for what you’ve done to him,” Noa hissed to the priest beneath her. Her rage spilled over, and she stabbed the priest, over and over, in the chest, the face. He’d had a boy put in a collar. A fucking collar, like a dog. She heard the boy fighting to be free from his chains behind her. But this priest deserved to die slowly. He had to pay. He deserved to perish for what he’d done to the boy. So Noa kept on stabbing, slicing into his flesh.
The priest’s eyes glazed over with death. Victory surged through her. Then she sat back, blood dripping down her cheeks. And then she turned, went to go to the boy, to take him somewhere safe … and her heart shattered apart …
“NOA!”
Noa frantically sliced and stabbed though the Brethren wall before her. Diel’s deathly voice was at her back. But she couldn’t stop. She had to get to the boy, whose face had reddened as he became starved of oxygen. His skinny legs kicked and his bony fingers clawed at the collar, desperately trying to get free. But Noa saw his small limbs tiring; she saw his body begin to jerk with the throes of death.
“No,” she panted as she picked up her pace. “No!” He couldn’t die. Not again. Not this fucking time! Noa fought and fought until she reached the plinth. She grabbed the boy’s legs, lifting him so the pressure would move from his throat. The boy gasped, tried to breathe as a morsel of air sneaked through. But Noa needed to get him down. She was going to have to release his legs so she could free him. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want him to struggle again, not even for a moment. The last time she had stalled …