*Ella*Ryatt goes totally still. “I’ve never–I’ve never done this–” He pulls away, and I feel like someone has just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. I snap my legs shut, a furious blush crashing over my skin like a tidal wave. Even my hair stands on end as a deep, cutting embarrassment shreds me apart. I look at him only once. His eyes are dark now, his expression made of cold stone. “I’m sorry,” I breathe, and his eyes snap to mine. “Don’t be. This was my fault. I lost control.”“No, it was mine–”The door in the front of the cottage opens and several male voices drift our way. I suck in a surprised breath, but Ryatt has already turned and left the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him before anyone can see me in my state of undress. My heart is thundering in my chest as I quickly cover my thin nightgown with a robe and head to the door, but I stop, my hand curling around the knob, when Ryatt’s voice lifts above the rest of the muffled conversation in the next ro

*Ryatt*My men are doing exactly what I told them to do. Run. Run in circles around camp. Try to get the hounds to funnel between the two huge rock formations we camped between. Trap them on either side. I try not to think about the bloodshed, not yet. There’s only a few of us left after battling with my father’s men. Everyone is in their wolf forms except for me. I wield the sword–an ancient weapon that belonged to my mother’s family and was passed down to me. A sword from the first war, the same war that decided the fate of this land. A hellhound in the form of a bear charges for me, chasing two of my men. The wolves bank in opposite directions as I raise my sword and swing, sending the blade across the bear's back. Its cry of agony rains down on us as sparks fly in my sword's wake. Somewhere in the forest, a scream echoes off the trees. A female scream, one of pure, unadulterated frustration. I turn to the sound, panting, blood and sweat dripping from my brow as I narrow my eye

*Ella*Ryatt’s injured, but he doesn’t let it show while we walk into the city belonging to the Moonrise coven. Ravenna disappears before we approach the first buildings–little cottages and outbuildings coated in vines–and instead, we’re ushered into the city proper by other witches of varying ages. I watch with narrowed eyes as an unfamiliar man lifts Hannah up and cradles her like an infant. He turns, being directed by three witches in black cloaks, and carries her into a tall building made of wood and stone, its windows lightly frosted and gleaming in the morning sunlight. Then Granger is lifted to his feet and helped into the same building by Thorne, whose clothes are shredded and caked in blood. I hope it’s not his own. Ryatt stands beside me in total, unnerving silence. Ahead of us, Amanda speaks in hushed tones to one of the witches, a pretty blonde woman with startling sharp gray eyes that leave Amanda’s face to gaze at me and then Ryatt. Amanda turns from her and walks ov

Ella“My dad doesn’t have powers,” I argue as I follow Ravenna through her crystal palace. Ryatt follows close behind me as we ascend a narrow set of stairs. “He doesn’t. I would have known. My mother would have known.”Ravenna opens a wide, heavy door at the top of the stairs and walks into a darkened room. I follow her inside, and overhead a domed crystal ceiling gives us a glimpse of the storm still raging outside. Lightning flashes, dusting the room in blue light. I pause mid-step as an observatory comes into view, brass equipment glinting in the hazy light. Ripples of unease flutter over my skin as Ryatt comes up behind me. Soft lights flicker on, swirling with that mysterious magic I’ve seen everyone we’ve gone. “You’re right, he doesn’t have powers. But that’s not what’s important, Luna. It’s your bloodline.”“My bloodline?” I mumble the words as Ravenna walks in a wide circle around her observatory. I glance at Ryatt, who stands by the door with his face cast in shadow. He l

*Ella*I hadn’t planned on beating up three witches today. It wasn’t on my schedule at all. Putting Petra into a headlock and dragging her to the cold crystal floor hadn’t been on the itinerary, nor had swinging her friend into the wall by the woman’s auburn hair, or using her other friend's cloak as a weapon I then strangled the third witch with. I didn’t kill any of them, but I wanted to. I’d scratched and bit and punched with all of my physical might until all three women were panting, gagging, and choking for both breath and mercy. Then, I’d simply stepped over them and walked out of the castle and into the rain. Petra hadn’t had any idea what she’d been getting into when she cornered me and raked her iron-tipped fingernails over my cheek. She has no idea I’d been trained as a warrior since the day I turned five years old, that I’d let grown men with decades of experience throw me around the sparring ring in the castle until my skin was bruised and covered in welts. She has no i