Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Anabel squared her shoulders. “Call her.”
Knowing who she meant, Xavier leaned into the witch and quietly sang, “Mary, Mary, please come out.”
Anabel’s irises clouded over just before a manic glint sharpened her eyes. She glanced around and then eyed the scene up ahead. A grin curved her mouth. “I can kill them?” she asked with an almost childlike excitement that dripped with bloodthirst.
“Each and every soldier, but not the Ancients,” Wynter clarified. “Let’s move.” Because the shades were perfectly solid now and therefore vulnerable to attack.
Her veins fairly fizzling with battle adrenaline, she brought up her sword and charged into the clearing. And Saul . . . his face lit up in pure delight. He quickly chanted something with a smile, a dozen more shades appeared, and then a gust of wind snatched him right out of the air.
Wynter whipped her gaze around, trying to find where he’d relocated to, but she couldn’t see him. Then her attention was swiftly stolen by his soldiers as they split it into two groups—one charged right at Cain, and the other charged right at her.
Hell.
Wynter dealt with the soldier directly in front of her, slamming up her sword to block his. Xavier and Anabel sprang into action, diverting the attention of the other shades. At the same time, Hattie swooped down in her crow form while Delilah’s monstrous cat lunged forward and both animals worked in tandem to take out other soldiers.
Wynter kept her focus on her attacker. Their swords clashed over and over as they fought. He didn’t speak or snarl. There was no emotion whatsoever on his face. It was like fighting a damn robot.
A robot who was a freaking expert with a sword.
But Wynter soon got the opening she needed. Her heart jumping, she thrust her sword into his chest and twisted the blade. Boom. She yanked out her sword . . . and he promptly disappeared into thin air.
“That’s so shit,” said Xavier, disappointed. Well, his favorite trick was to reanimate his victims and send them after their friends.
Another shade materialized, replacing the one who’d died.
“Fuck,” spat Wynter. “Is that gonna happen every time one is taken out?”
“Don’t know,” replied Xavier. “Hope not.”
The shade rushed her fast. She blocked the blow and sharply pitched her upper body forward, rocking him backwards. Singing “Who Let The Dogs Out,” Anabel/Mary sliced out with her sword and disemboweled him.
Wynter spared a moment to check on Cain. She couldn’t tell if he’d suffered any injuries, but she could see that the other Ancients had now arrived. They were killing soldiers left and right, but those soldiers kept instantly getting replaced by others.
Swords clanged. Voices grunted. A crow screeched. A wild cat roared and hissed. Glass vials shattered as Anabel/Mary threw potions at the shades.
The air was now static with the potent power of the Ancients. Wynter would rather that she and her coven were fighting alongside them—or, more specifically, alongside Cain. But the shades acted as a barrier between them and the Ancients, keeping the two groups separated, preventing them from combining forces . . . and thus making her and Cain easier for the shades to kill.
Fucking Saul.
A shade bypassed Xavier and ran at Wynter fast. Heat blazed her arm as his blade carved into her skin, drawing blood. Son of a fucker.
Snarling, Wynter hit him with a hot, toxic blast of magick just as Xavier struck him with a surge of magick that smelled of death, mold, and decay. The combined attack took out the shade. But she didn’t get the chance to feel even a moment of triumph, because another shade lunged at her. He swiped out his sword, tearing through her tee and slicing through flesh. Gritting her teeth, Wynter took him out moments later by slicing his throat.
She and her coven fought on, eliminating soldier after soldier . . . but more just kept on replacing them. Annoyingly, the runes on her blade seemed to be useless against the shades. Because they weren’t really alive, she supposed. They were solid, but not people. If they felt the scuttle of phantom insects courtesy of the sword’s enchantment, they showed no signs of it.
They showed no signs of anything.
They bled, but they never grunted, swore, or cried out. Never wore expressions of frustration or pain—only a cold determination. Even her magick garnered no emotional reaction from them. Their skin blackened, blistered, and quickly began to wither, but the soldiers kept fighting, no disgust or panic on their faces.
It was a minute or so before she realized that the “deceased” shades were no longer being replaced by others. There were now only three left—two, actually, she corrected as Delilah ripped out the throat of one. Anabel/Mary beheaded another while Xavier snapped the neck of the third.
And then there were none.
Wynter waited, but no more soldiers winked into existence. There were only a few left battling the Ancients, but they were swiftly taken out. None replaced them either.