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)
Fuck, Cain hadn’t thought of that. His stomach rolled at the mere idea of it. His witch had to live. There was no other acceptable option.
“You could try asking Lilith. Her creature bound itself to her consort. Maybe she’ll know more.” Seth’s brows dipped as he added, “Though I doubt it. He wasn’t a revenant, and your concerns center around the fact that Wynter is one.”
Sighing, Cain sat back in his chair. “I thought about consulting Eve. She’s a far older being than any of us. Far older than even the texts in front of me. There’s a chance she’ll be able to answer my questions.”
“I’m sensing a ‘but’.”
“But . . . I don’t feel that I know her well enough to entrust her with any information that concerns Wynter or my relationship with her.”
Seth’s mouth quirked. “I’d do the brotherly thing and tease you for being so paranoid and distrustful, but I know that in this instance it mostly stems from how protective you are of Wynter. I like that she’s so important to you. I like that you’re equally important to her. She wouldn’t otherwise ask you to hold off on the binding until the danger had passed if she didn’t feel—”
A frantic knock was quickly followed by the reappearance of Maxim.
“I’m sorry to barge in, Sire,” began the aide, breathing hard, “but a lycan rushed here with word from Wynter’s coven—she’s missing.”
*
Fuck, it was cold. And dark. The glacial mist dampened and chilled Wynter’s skin, surrounding her like a thick cloud. She shivered, righting her tee.
A spinetingling scream split the air, raising the little hairs on her body. A roar came next, deep and feral. She swallowed, a breath stuttering out of her. The sounds seemed to come from the far distance, but she couldn’t be sure. And since she couldn’t see a damn thing, she also couldn’t be certain if any other souls were close by.
Vibes of misery and pain throbbed in the air. Fear had a smell here. Clinical and metallic and sickly.
And where was here?
The netherworld.
She wasn’t a stranger to this place. Or to the haunting, bloodcurdling sounds. Or to the bitterly cold mist that went on and on and on. Or to the many entities that loved to circle, chase, and taunt the souls.
Wynter figured that the reason humans had mistaken the netherworld for hell was that, essentially, it put you through hell. Not to punish, but as part of the purification process. It used agony and terror to break you down so your soul could be cleansed and then rebuilt, free of sin and ready to be reborn.
The rustle of fabric.
Wynter spun, clenching her fists. The mist stirred and danced as a figure walked through it, small, slender snakes twined around Her arms. Long, flowing obsidian hair tumbled around Her like a soft curtain. Only a beige bralette-type top and a short skirt covered smooth dark skin. Deep brown eyes that, regardless of Her mood, always held a red glint of absolute rage were laser focused on Wynter.
Kali. Goddess of vengeance. Creator of revenants. Wrath personified.
She was sometimes present when Wynter’s soul again found its way to the netherworld, but not always. And they rarely spoke to each other. The deity always seemed to have more interest in immediately returning Wynter’s soul back from where it came.
Not this time, apparently. Because Wynter was still there. Not a good sign.
Kali stood before her, studying her closely, a faint smile touching Her lips.
Wynter swallowed. “So I’m dead for real now?” Her chest seized, and her gut sharply twisted. The thought of never seeing Cain again made her feel ill.
Kali scoffed. “It takes more than an iron bullet to the brain to permanently put down a revenant,” She said, Her voice thick and deep with so much power that Wynter felt the vibration of it in her teeth and bones. “Any book on mythology will tell you that in order to ensure revenants do not rise from the dead, someone must behead them, incinerate every part of their body, and then scatter their ashes into the sea. Mythology does get some things correct. But there are so many errors that people tend to dismiss all the tales.”
Wynter frowned as the implication of that sank in. “So, wait, all those times I came back to life, it wasn’t that you were sending me back?”
“I did not need to. Though I would have if necessary.” Kali turned a brief smile on the snake that flicked its tongue at Her cheek. “As I have told you before, you have a purpose, Wynter. That purpose is what ties your soul to that realm.”
Since the deity seemed to be in the mood to answer questions—an extreme rarity—Wynter asked the one that had pricked at her for years. “And if I fulfill that purpose, will I then die?”