Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
“The very same. We should have been alerted about his crossing by the sigils on his collar, but looks like he's not wearing it.”
“Interesting that the man we’re looking for is one of the few who could remove it.” Gloombane says, unsheathing a long, curved sword in a silent threat.
A drop of sweat rolls down my back as I note five more Nightcloaks with chest plates bearing the symbol of a gate. They’re standing down for now, but their posture tells me they’re ready to step in the moment their captain commands them to. One can fly and could hunt Sylvan down like an eagle capturing a chihuahua for dinner, so how can I possibly defend my man?
But Tristan can’t hear my inner monologue and lands on the floor, folding his wings. “Look, Sylvan, you might be a traitor, but you did save my life once. I don’t want bloodshed. You are the last Goldweed of your generation. Please, stand down and follow us outside along with your… your human.” He frowns, taking me in as if I was a pet, not Sylvan’s spouse. “We both know you can’t win this.”
Sylvan’s sweaty hand twitches in mine, and something pulls at the very core of me, somewhere beyond flesh. “How dare you? You have no idea what I’m capable of!”
I stiffen when the stairs creak, and a glance down the steps tells me one of the soldiers is climbing our way with a rope so matte and black it looks as if it’s made of coal. We’re surrounded, and the noose tightens around us, leaving little breathing room.
“You know it’s true, cousin,” Tristan insists when the soldier dashes our way, spinning the rope in her hands as if it were a lasso. I step between Sylvan and her, ready to protect my man as the rope flies our way. Obsidian spikes rush from behind me, transforming the cord into dust at first contact. The shadow tendrils then leap toward the soldier and soften to the consistency of flesh, slamming into her. The railing breaks when the black tentacle shoves her off the stairs and into the nearest wall. Her fall is met by stunned silence, which then transforms into panic as all our wedding guests and tavern workers fling themselves at the exits.
I’m frozen, unsure what’s just happened until I realize that it’s Sylvan who controls the dark force behind the tentacle.
One of the other Nightcloaks dashes to his fallen comrade, but raw fear put its claws into every single person around us, even Tristan, who pulls out his own sword, watching us, wide-eyed. “What did you—” His voice chokes when he stares at the black expanse at Sylvan’s feet, then sees where it originates. “That shadow…”
Something pulls deep inside me again, making me lightheaded as the black goo covering the floor simmers.
“Out of my way!” Sylvan slurs, shaking off my hand, and dashes forward so abruptly his tall and muscular cousin recoils like a wolf that might have met its match. My husband’s footing is unsteady from all the booze he’s drunk, but he’s not letting that stop him and claws much longer and sturdier than the ones that killed Tassarion erupt from his fingers toward Tristan.
I’m about to follow him and ensure he doesn’t end up impaling himself on that stuff when an icy fog settles around me. Gloombane is a faint shadow below, but he too disappears, with a coppery flash in his eyes. My jaw drops open when I realize I can’t spot the railings anymore. Even my own hands remain obscured by cold gray mist. How am I supposed to fight magic?
Just as I’m about to head forward, Sylvan’s voice echoes from the wrong direction. Could it be that I’m lost without any visual clues to go by? Or is this mist made to confuse my senses?
Squawks resonate everywhere around me, as if I’m surrounded by a maze full of hungry mice. I turn once. Twice. Thrice, because my sense of danger is ringing in alarm, but I can’t spot anything in this fog. My heart thrums. My back is damp, but just as I’m about to blindly run forward, the gray cloud around me disperses, creating a bubble of clear air. Huge bats smash against the translucent shield protecting me from the fog one after another until the smoke disappears. It reveals Gloombane scowling from across the room. He must have been the one causing the fog, so the only logical conclusion is that Sylvan shielded me with his new powers.
I’m in way over my head.
The tavern spins, then rocks like a ship during a heavy storm, and I find myself dropping to my knees. Blood drizzles to the wooden floor and it takes me a moment to work out where it originates. My nose and gums. I can taste iron, but a little nosebleed isn’t enough to stop me. I’ve survived drowning, an overdose, two car crashes, and a stabbing. This shit is nothing. When I look up, Sylvan is a blurry figure three steps above, but at least I can see him again. I summon my strength and drag him back to me.