Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Looking into the cell on her right, Wynter saw a beautiful Latina sitting on the bed lotus style, her eyes closed, her palms exposed.
“That’s Delilah,” ‘Clay’ told her. “She sometimes goes into meditative states to talk to her dead ancestor. She’s apparently gonna ask Annis for advice.”
“Annis?”
He smiled. “As in the Black Annis, yeah.”
Wynter only blinked. Annis had earned her ominous title through her extensive use of blood magick and the many dark deeds she’d committed. Wynter therefore couldn’t imagine why anyone would ask the dead witch for advice of any kind, but whatever.
Hoping to walk off the effects of the drug, Wynter did a few slow laps of her cell, examining every inch of it. Runes were etched into each iron bar. Magick-nulling ruins, she realized. More were etched into the wall and cement floor. Which meant that a captive could blast the cell with magick all they wanted—it would do no damage.
“You won’t be here much longer,” said ‘Clay.’ “I heard some mutterings earlier about how they’re taking you to Aeon once their money’s wired through.”
“They won’t be taking me anywhere. Dead people can’t do anything.” She expected him to let out a skeptical snort, but he instead eyed her with interest.
“My name’s actually Xavier,” he said.
“Wynter,” she offered, planting her butt on the bed, beginning to feel somewhat better now that—
There was a loud plop further along the row of cells.
Someone gagged. “Jesus, Anabel, how in God’s name can your shit smell that bad?” complained a female voice hoarse with age.
“I’ve been eating tasteless goop for days,” a younger female voice defended. “What else is it gonna smell like?”
Knowing the stench would soon make its way to her, Wynter inwardly groaned.
A hoarse huff. “When you’re not dropping bombs in that toilet you’re crying or talking to yourself,” groused the old woman. “I’m trying to grieve over here.”
Another plop and then … “Well if you’d died on death row in a past life, you wouldn’t be coping well with being locked up either. And if you miss your husband so much then maybe you shouldn’t have killed him. No, don’t say you didn’t, Hattie. I heard the bounty hunters talking about it.”
“You’re no more innocent than I am, girl. I heard you went on a killing spree.”
“That wasn’t me. Well … it was. But it wasn’t. My body is responsible. As is a particular part of my soul. But I am totally innocent.”
Okay, that made not one bit of sense to Wynter.
Hinges creaked somewhere up ahead as a door swung open, and a wide beam of light sliced through the ‘jail.’
Silence instantly fell. Wynter went very still, her system going on high alert, her monster slinking even closer to her skin.
More creaks sounded as heavy footfalls descended a small set of stairs. Then more footfalls. And more.
“Christ, it reeks in here,” a male griped.
Before long, heavy footsteps echoed along the stone walkway. Then three burly figures dressed all in black came into view. Wynter recognized them from earlier.
They halted on reaching her cell. The one who was armed with a tranquilizer gun smirked at her and let his gun clang along the iron bars.
The tallest of the trio pointed at her. “You. Up. Time to leave.”
“I’d rather not use another dart on you, but I will if you try anything,” the armed hunter warned. “It’s up to you how this goes.”
She slowly slipped off the bed and crossed to the door, her monster coiled to lunge.
The third hunter pressed the pad of his thumb against the lock. There was a loud buzz and then a horrible grating sound as the mechanical cell door slid open. He then clapped once and said, “Let’s get moving, the people of Aeon don’t like to be kept waiting and …” He frowned. “I think you’ve got something in your eye. Both eyes. It’s … what the hell?”
Wynter felt her mouth curl. “This is probably gonna hurt a lot.”
*
Her world had then gone black as her monster took over. When it had retreated, she’d found herself standing in the walkway with the remains of the bounty hunters lying at her feet. The deity had been swirling around her, Her otherworldly laugh bouncing off the walls and ringing with power.
More, Wynter had been covered in blood and gore, which was the norm for when she shifted back to her own form. Her monster tended to make a mess of itself in its bid to maim and eat its prey, and the shifting process was so abrupt and forceful that its ‘mess’ would blast outward, only to ricochet back onto Wynter’s body.
As such, if asked, she would have said that the other captives would be terrified of her.
And she would have been wrong.
All four had been plastered against the door of their cell, their eyes wide, their mouths open, but they’d been more fascinated than anything else—even a naturally nervous Anabel.