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)
Dodging one of the many sapling trees on the sidewalk, Wynter frowned. “And why wouldn’t they want to?”
Delilah fired an incredulous look her way. “You can’t not have noticed how many people won’t dare meet your eyes these days. They’re afraid they might accidentally offend you and earn Cain’s wrath.”
“That’s dumb.”
“That’s fear,” Xavier cut in. “Most had never seen the Ancients indulge in a little torture. They’d heard stories, of course, but stories can be twisted, exaggerated, or incomplete—as I often demonstrate. So there was a lot of ‘oh, the Ancients probably aren’t really that pitiless.’ Until Shelia.”
Anabel nodded. “The woman died hard.”
Wynter halted. “Are you saying that people think she should have been given mercy?”
“No,” Anabel quickly replied. “Far from it.”
“No one’s judging Cain or Ishtar for what they did,” said Xavier. “Least of all us. It’s not like the Ancients didn’t warn people what would happen if they chose to do favors for Adam. But although people don’t blame Cain for how far he went in avenging you, they do worry that he’ll react just as badly to the merest slight on you.”
“Not that that makes you completely safe,” Hattie chimed in. “There are some who are too stupid to heed fear.”
“And some who get off so much on taking risks that it trumps their sense of self-preservation,” Delilah added.
Wynter eyed the Latina. “Kind of like you, really.”
Delilah gave a slow nod. “Kind of like me.”
Xavier frowned at something behind Wynter. “Hey, what’s that?”
She turned. Stilled. Felt her stomach roll and her jaw drop.
A thick, orange-tinged, smoky mass stretched way up into the sky . . . like a humungous cloudy wall. Only it wasn’t a cloud. Or smoke. It was a huge-as-fuck force of sand.
And it was heading right for the town.
Wynter’s heart slammed against her ribcage. Oh, no.
“There’s more of them!” shouted Anabel.
It was only then Wynter realized that stormy walls of sand were coming at the town from all sides. And they were coming supernaturally fast. Flumes of whirling dirt zipped in and out of them, all but hoovering off the ground whatever they touched. Dust devils.
Oh, this wasn’t good. Like, at all.
“Move!” she yelled at her coven, urging them toward the ice-cream parlor way up ahead of them.
Sounds of alarm went up as others spotted the walls of brown air. People scrambled for shelter, but it was too late. There was no escape. Not when the looming gusts rushed at them like a tidal wave from every angle. They swept across the town, all but engulfing it. And it was like the day turned to an orange-hued night.
Grains of dust pelted Wynter’s skin, feeling like tiny little bites. She staggered as the various winds slapped her hard enough to sting, taking her breath away; whipping her hair one way and then another so that it lashed her cheeks.
She ducked her head and threw up her arm to shield her face, but there was no way to avoid the swirls of dust. No way to stop it from slipping into her ears, entering her mouth, or shooting up her nose.
Coughing, Wynter looked around for her coven. There was no sign of them. Because they’d ran? Because she’d been turned around by her wind too much? Or because visibility was plain shit? She didn’t know. She couldn’t see anything through the orange-tinged haze.
She stooped over to get some reprieve from the rougher blasts. “Get low to the ground!” she shouted, only able to hope that her coven heard her. She then clamped her lips shut and tugged up the collar of her crazily flapping tee to cover her nose and mouth.
While she saw virtually nothing, she heard everything. Panicked voices yelling. Tree branches snapping. Hanging signs creaking. Objects crashing to the ground. The wild winds whistling and howling as they beat against hard surfaces.
Wynter flinched as something brushed by her at top speed. Something fast and almost ghostly. Dust devil.
“Where are you, Darla?” a male voice demanded. “Where are you? I can’t—” He let out a cry that gradually faded, as if he’d been swooped away by one of the mini tornadoes.
Wynter’s stomach bottomed out. Fuck, they needed to get off the damn street.
Easier said than done when her sense of direction was non-existent. There was just so much sand and noise and wind—she couldn’t get her bearings. Trying to look around would only lead to her getting more sand in her eyes.
Even if she knew where to go, she wasn’t sure she could fight against the power of the gale-force winds. This storm was so much more powerful than the blizzard.
Muffled cries of alarm came from Anabel, but Wynter couldn’t pinpoint the blonde’s exact location—the gale seemed to be sweeping the sounds around.
She jumped as another ghostly force whispered over her body as it zipped by at top speed. If the subsequent distinct crack was anything to go by, it had taken a damn tree with it.