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)
Back to her normal self, Anabel realized what she was holding and dropped it with a little squeal. Wiping her hand on her thigh, she whimpered. “Are we done?”
“We’re done.” Wynter led the way as they left the ditch. Instantly, her injuries healed, the blood disappeared from her skin and clothes, and the effects of the zombie bites faded away.
Switching back to her human form, Hattie grinned. “Well, now we know we’d survive a zombie apocalypse.”
Delilah frowned. “Yeah, we’d survive it infected. Every one of us got bitten.”
“But we faced the army and lived—none of us got kicked out of the gauntlet,” said Hattie.
“We were fast,” said Xavier, sending his sword back to the cottage much in the same way that he conjured it. “There’s a good chance our time won’t be beat.”
Returning her sword to her chamber, Wynter nodded. Either way, she was a winner. Because going by the banked heat in Cain’s eyes, he was as hot and bothered as Delilah predicted. A ruthless fuck was the best kind of prize.
And a ruthless fuck was what she later got. Twice.
Chapter Seventeen
A whispered voice pierced the fog of Wynter’s sleep, playing into her dream. A voice that wanted her to wake. To move. To follow. She ignored it, busy cleaning the blood from her boat.
Icy fingertips fluttered over her face as the voice patiently persisted.
Ugh. Couldn’t it see she was busy here?
She let out an annoyed sniff, scrubbing the fiberglass boat harder. The voice didn’t give up. It kept on whispering, telling her that it wanted to show her something; something she needed to see.
Little by little, Wynter’s dream broke apart around her as sleep gradually lost its grip on her. Awake, she tiredly opened her eyes. And froze. Her heart slammed hard against her ribcage.
What the hell?
She was no longer in the bedchamber. She wasn’t even sure if she was still in the Keep. This place . . . it was some kind of grotto. The rock walls looked like they’d been adorned with splatters of gold glitter, much like the vaulted ceiling above her. The light from the flaming torches slashed through the darkness. The stone floor was smooth and warm beneath her bare feet.
Her monster stirred, tense but intrigued—there was so much energy here. An energy that was foreign and intense. It rolled over her skin, causing her flesh to prickle and making every tiny hair on her body lift.
The ethos . . . It was hard to put it into words. It was electric. Magnetic. Disquieting. Charged. Like the buzz of energy before a storm, or the unnatural quiet before an earthquake.
And fuck the grotto was hot. Really hot. The humid air was so thick it felt heavy. It carried many scents, such as mildew and algae.
It seemed safe to conclude that she’d gone walkies in her sleep again. But to where, exactly? What was this place?
Swiping her hands down the long shirt she wore, Wynter looked around her. An arched wrought-iron gate was wide open. The rudimentary carvings on one wall made her think of those that Cain showed her in his temple. Was that where—
Wynter jumped as muted male whispers floated through the air. Whispers from something sentient. Aware. Older than old. Powerful in a way she couldn’t describe. And it was urging her forward.
It was the same voice from her dream, she realized. And it had led her here.
Some of the things that Kali had told her during Wynter’s recent trip to the netherworld leaped to the forefront of her mind. They explained some of what was happening here, but not all.
Swallowing hard, Wynter glanced back at the gate. She could head back to the Keep and wake Cain. She should. Because this whole thing was goddamn weird. It was weirder still that he hadn’t already caught up with her and ushered her back to bed the way he usually did.
Yes, she should go back and ask him to—
An otherworldly breeze nudged her back, urging her forwards.
Crap.
Wynter nervously licked her mouth, able to taste the sweat beading her upper lip and the tang of minerals in the air. Pulling up her big girl panties, she took a few steps further into the grotto. The source of the humidity soon came into view. It appeared to be a natural hot spring, but it wasn’t like any she’d seen before. Whips of power bounced along the surface of the burbling turquoise water—crackly, sparkly, and beautiful.
The high concentration of power was like a beacon. She edged closer, careful not to lose her footing and slip on the wet stone.
Her pulse jumped as water briefly shot upward out of the well like a geyser. Cursing her raw nerves, she walked a little faster toward the spring.
The muted whispers grew louder, clearer, more frantic. And they urged her to put her hand in the water.