Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 125179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
The people of the town put up a strong resistance. Cain caught glimpses of Devil’s Cradle residents being knocked to the ground by shifters, slayed by weaponry, and assaulted hard with magick. He intercepted where he could, saving some but sadly not all.
It was easy to tell that the residents were shocked to find their home under siege. It had likely never occurred to the Aeons that it would actually happen, so they’d never trained their people to deal with such an eventuality. He had no sympathy for them—they would have invaded his town if he hadn’t gotten here first.
A group of troops came toward Cain, one of whom held a net that crackled with power. He almost rolled his eyes. They thought they could catch him like a fucking fish? Really? He flicked his hand, plucking a dead tree out of the ground and sending it sailing at them. They fell like skittles.
Two jumped to their feet and fired at him. He raised his hand, stopping the bullets with a wave of pure power. The troops cursed and fled. Wise decision.
He heard a familiar laugh. It seemed that Ishtar was having fun. So was Azazel, if the smirk he wore while pummeling troops with smoky spheres was anything to go by.
Well, what was not to like about the current situation?
Maybe if he’d been a sentimental person, Cain would have felt saddened by the sight of the smoking and broken buildings and the fire spreading along the ruined landscape. But Aeon had never been a place he was truly happy. Besides, it was already dying. The Ancients and dragons were simply speeding up the process.
Another cluster of troops advanced on Cain, exchanging looks, trying to position themselves to come at him from several angles. He waved his arm, sending clumps of heavy rubble from a fallen house flying at the troops. Most collapsed to the ground while others retreated.
Seth sidled up to him, his eyes lit with the effects of the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “It’s possible that we have a problem.”
Cain frowned, hitting yet another building with a ball of lava. “What kind of problem?”
“Eve was supposed to stick with me, but she’s gone. I didn’t see her slip away.”
Cain felt his expression harden. “If she’s betrayed us, she’ll die here tonight. You know that, don’t you? You won’t have a say in the matter. Neither will I. Wynter will butcher her before we have the chance.”
*
Battle adrenaline bubbling in her blood, Wynter slammed up her sword to parry the blow that came her way. Much like every other troop she’d come across, he did his best not to kill her. He simply aimed to defend and disable, clearly planning to haul her off to his leader.
She was having none of that shit.
Wynter whacked him with a surge of scorching hot, toxic magick, aiming for his open wounds so it would enter his bloodstream. He fought on even as his flesh blistered, blackened, and cracked. But when his skin began to peel and decay, leaving festering holes in his face and arms, he freaked the fuck out.
Distracted by the sight of his pinky finger withering, he didn’t see Wynter coming. She speared her blade through his heart and gave it a merciless twist. Once the life left his eyes, she withdrew her sword, allowing his body to slump to the ground.
She blew out a breath, feeling the sting of many superficial wounds. The air was hot from the fires and static from the potent power of the Ancients. She spared a quick moment to check on her coven. All had minor wounds but were otherwise fine. And they were still fighting hard.
Back in her huge cat form, Delilah consistently lunged, swiped out with claws, and bit into throats. Anabel/Mary swiped and parried and slaughtered, currently singing the Backstreet Boys’ “Everybody” as she did so. As a crow, Hattie not only repelled magickal hits but repeatedly attacked, distracted, and blocked the view of any troops who came too close. When Xavier wasn’t raising the dead, he was fencing while also lashing out with his magick, lacing the air with its distinctive smell—the combined scents of death, mold, and decay that could make anyone retch.
God, she had the best coven ever.
So far, she hadn’t seen a single Aeon. None had come to the surface to fend off the Ancients, even though they had to know by now who’d descended upon their home and that their people would be helpless against the eight beings, who were launching power in all directions.
Most troops admirably, albeit stupidly, stood their ground. They also fought hard. And well.
Her heart squeezed each time she caught sight of a Devil’s Cradle resident meeting their end—throats were slit, bodies were ravaged, heads were lopped off, vampires burst into ashes, a dragon came crashing to the ground. It was devastating, but she couldn’t spare more than a passing sad thought for them; couldn’t afford to shift her focus from the battle.