MasukKenna
I knew something was up with Sydney several months ago when he sat in my sitting room looking so stern and withdrawn after our battle with Gabriel.
Now, I see why he was acting that way. Now, I finally understand.
He’s standing next to Sarah’s bedside holding his son. I almost can’t believe it, but I always knew the Goddess was going to bless Sydney with all the riches he tried to avoid.
A radiantly beautiful
FallonGrandma Kenna walks around Alyssa’s bed in the clinic at the base of the palace. Beyond a glimmering window on the far side of the room, Moonrise is cast in pearly shades of gold and blue, last night’s storm a distant memory. I haven’t slept, to say the least. Peeved and generally overstimulated, I paced my room until I ran tracks in the carpet and then burst into the hallway the second the sun rose to meet the team of warriors and healers I sent to the temple, and I’ve been here, in the clinic, ever since. It’s not even 9:00 in the morning yet, but I haven’t seen Zayn since last night, when he walked me briskly to my rooms and ordered the knight tasked with standing guard over me all night to not let me out of my rooms until he returned the next morning, which he… hasn’t done yet. Grandma fans her fingers down Alyssa’s chest with a sigh. “I don’t understand what I’m feeling. She’s fine. Perfectly healthy. But something is amiss. I can sense that, I just can’t find it.”“She
FallonZayn stills as the young priestess rushes down the steps, her fingers gripping a slightly damp apron that carries the scent of camphor and chamomile–healing herbs I’m familiar with from my education in matters of witchcraft and the like. She looks incredibly frazzled as she reaches his side, out of breath. She tugs his arm in an effort to hurry him back up the steps, leaving me behind. I stare after them. Somewhere in the distance, over the mountain peaks, thunder rumbles, promising another epic mid-summer storm. My skin prickles. Electricity spices the air, and I’m not sure if it's the weather driving the currents or something else–something slippery, slimy, and uneasy now curling in the pit of my belly. I climb out of the truck through his open door. The hem of my gown snags on the clutch and rips, but the sound is swallowed by another burst of thunder, closer than the last. I’m halfway out of the truck and fumbling with my gown when Zayn disappears through a doorway with t
ZaynBlake, Queen Maeve’s emissary and King of the Mystics, although he hates that title but hasn’t vocally admitted it yet, at least not to me, motions at me to follow him into a wide, spacious kitchen in his modern home on the outskirts of the city. I just arrived with precious cargo who could otherwise spirit from one side of our world to the other by simply snapping her fingers had she not gone against her parents’ commands, but I digress. She was, at least, quiet in the car, enraptured by a podcast about the sordid history of the ancient city of Rifthold, now a barren wasteland near the border of Tarsian and the Roguelands. I’ll remember that the next time she grows bored and starts using me as a paper airplane target again, which will likely be sometime tomorrow. “General,” Blake says in greeting, reaching into a smooth, pale wooden cabinet above a sink made entirely of copper. I know he designed this house from the bottom up. He talked about it often with Alex, the vampire w
FallonMaebelle Yarrows, the daughter of Alpha Yarrows of Diamond Ridge in Veiled Valley, stirs her bland, unsugared tea until it spills over the rim of the delicate, pale floral pink teacup I find myself slightly territorial over. It’s my favorite set, and her spoon clinking against the fine porcelain has my left eye twitching against my will, but I have a duty, and that duty is playing nice with fellow princesses, even if they’re grossly beneath my station and absolutely ridiculous, like Maebelle.She’s beautiful in a Veiled Valley sort of way–ethereally rustic. Her red hair is braided intricately through a tiara of gold and emerald that matches her gown and robe of green silk. She looks like a flower plucked from a mountain ridge.Her golden eyes are fixed to a shadow in the corner of the room, oblivious to everything else. A six-foot-six, two-hundred-and-fifty pound shadow that continues to haunt my every move, despite my gallant efforts to lead him astray.Maebelle blushes deeply
Book 19: Witch of the AlphaZayn“Good morning, Zayn.”“General Zayn. You look well.”“Zayn! Good morning! Have you eaten yet? There’s still breakfast left in the dining hall.”“General. Commander Abel has called a meeting at noon. I’m not sure you knew. Actually, I doubt you’re required to go based on your current post. Disregard–”“Zayn, how is your mother? Is she still at the temple?”Zayn. Zayn. Zayn.Early mornings in lower levels of the palace are always a rush of conversation and activity. It’s such a contrast to the quiet of the city beyond the palace walls, still asleep under a blanket of starlight and a cool, swift breeze drifting off the lake. Steam rises like plumes of mist around my shoulders while I sidestep through the main kitchen, carrying a crate the delivery boy forgot to bring in, dodging hands outstretched in good morning salutations–all the usual greetings.The spiderweb of servant hallways is just as crowded. Maids dart back and forth, carrying bundles of laundr
FallonThe humid weight of mid-summer beats down on my brow as I move through the garden, frowning at the twenty-foot wall shielding my view of the city of Moonrise–and the public's view of me. I crouch to pull a few weeds from the base of the hedgerow and dust my fingertips on the apron I stole off a hook in the servants’ hall just off the garden, twisting the rough fabric between my fingertips. I rise and move on to the thickets of mustard greens, ignoring the tomatoes because their leaves make my fingers green and itchy, and all the while, a tall, aggravating, annoying, pointless shadow follows my progress. I look up at the guard in royal garb–which includes a helmet and mask of iron–something I suppose was designed to look menacing, and it sure does. Sunlight glints off braids of iron and onyx covering his nose and mouth. His eyes are pools of the deepest black, even in direct light. His chest and arm guards are no different and likely weigh over a hundred pounds. I guess that’s
MaeveThis isn’t real. None of this is happening.I can’t really be pacing the halls of the palace in Maatua, wringing my hands until they blister. I can’t be craning to hear the voices drifting in from the foyer, where my parents talk in low tones, their voices so wrought with anguish they’re unr
Aviva“Line up,” I whisper against ten-year-old Lexa’s ear. “Breathe in… release.” An arrow splits the cool spring air in two. A soft squeak whispers toward us as a squirrel falls from its perch on a nearby cottonwood tree. I squeeze her waist in silent congratulations while she beams, her dark-blu
LoganI stalk down the hallway at a near sprint, cutting around the corner that leads to a narrow stairwell to the bottom of the boat where the crew quarters are located. Down another narrow hallway, the engine room fades into view, but I’m not looking for the chief engineer. I cut into a room, sl
AvivaA calm has finally settled over Silverhide. The shift in the energy after we brought the kids home was palpable almost immediately.Now, it’s late afternoon. The sun is warm and bright, but the threat of rain hangs over the mountains where dark clouds simmer over the peaks. I walk toward the







