Page 17 of Veil of Blood and Bone

The sigil carved into the crystal glows once and my understanding of the meaning solidifies. Doom is upon us. The change of the wind, the compulsion to circle this woman, somehow they’re tied together.

I land on a wooden beam and cling. My head aches and spins. Then the ground trembles.

The girder shakes, a bellowing roar landing over the festival like the aftermath of an explosion.

Troll.

I blast out a response, but the sound disappears in the sound. Rather than fear, excitement strikes, urging me to life.

A troll hasn’t been seen in over a century in this realm, and never on this continent. The lightning in my blood settles.

It’s here now. And it’s coming for her.

...She is mine.

Which means the creature has to die.

Chapter 4

Wren

The shadows belong to me. I linger inside them, watching her, hard as fuck already.

Forest has his eyes on her again with a longing he doesn’t understand. He has no clue how he gazes at her—like she is the only light left in this rotten carcass of a world.

I want to rip that immortal bird right off the ground and break his neck. Again. Maybe this time he’ll stay dead for five minutes before he annoys me back to life.

Forest always did look best dying.

But he doesn’t remember me. He doesn’t remember what’s been started with my arrival. Or his introduction.

A part of me hates him for it. Hates him more because he doesn’t recollect what he is. What any of us are.

He flies from tent to tent, smug in his immortality.

I’ve tried to murder him more times than I can count, useless asshole. And I’m on the sidelines for now even though I initiated this mess.

At least she’s living somewhere with dense timberland and ancient ties. The woods—yes, the woods are a vast improvement. Dark roots tangle deep in the earth, branches bend and knot overhead, hide secrets. So much better than that heat-bleached desert bullshit where we lost her before.

Here, the woods hold darkness like they’re praying for night. As soon as the sun goes down, the trees crowd closer together, ready to shed their leaves for fall.

This place remembers. It remembers her. It whispers of things buried and waiting. When she finally retrieves her name, and ours, it will be mine she calls first.

A vulgar smile lifts my face.

Shadows tighten, and even the troll roar can’t pull them apart.

Nicholas drifts to my side, sharp-edged, silent as winter, until Helene turns her head.

He halts, dead still. The abrupt click of fangs splits my silence before I look at him. “You’re late.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

We both hold our ground when the troll lumbers out of its hiding place. Let it come. She doesn’t know who she is, not yet, but her blood knows. Her body will move the way it's made to.

Instincts this old never die.

The troll rushes as quickly as trolls are able, dragging a beastly knotted club behind it. Its swollen wooden head mangles several tents on the outskirts of the festival.