When Nelle Wychthorn was forced to sign herself away in marriage, she should have read the contract's fine print. Because she signs not with ink, but with blood. And that changes everything.
Season 1 'Of Crows and Thorns'
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Fiery Nelle, the isolat...
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Present Time
I awoke...somewhere that swayed and jolted. Sunlight, not in its purest form, skittered across my face as I pried my sticky eyes open to see a low ceiling.
Beneath me—a ribbing of softness.
A seat.
I was lying across the backseat of a car. The windows were tinted but the height of the sun indicated it still was early. Maybe nine o'clock. Perhaps earlier.
The gentle purr of an engine; a rustling of fabric; and an off-kilter melody filled the car's interior. It was a jazz song that floated in the air. Along with a distinctive smell of cologne that assaulted my nostrils. It was a pleasant scent, yet my stomach clenched in revolt at its familiarity.
Sliding my gaze sideways, I watched someone's legs stretch out, their shoes shifting across the floor—navy dress pants and custom leather shoes. Someone was sitting on a plush seat that ran the length of the interior. My dazed head swam as I angled my head to look.
Danne.
I was in the back of a limousine with Danne Pelan.
He'd stolen me.
Fear shot through my chest, menacing and caustic, tightening every muscle as it crawled over my skin.
We weren't alone, either. There were twin boys, perhaps fourteen years old, sitting side-by-side with rigid postures, their brows furrowed in deep concentration. Fingers twitched where they were spread on their thighs. But it was the boys' eyes that set my heartbeat racing. Their unblinking eyes were completely milky-white. No pupils or irises. Other.
As yet Danne hadn't noticed I'd awoken. He was holding a small vial beneath his nose, inhaling a purplish vapor through a slightly pinched nostril. He tipped his head back and sighed in bliss. A moment later he shook his head, blinking blearily before rubbing a hand across his face and swiping below his nose. Twisting the stopper back into the small vial, he went to slip it into his pocket, stilled, then chose otherwise and held onto it. I watched as he rested his loose fist on top of his thigh, absentmindedly brushing his thumb back and forth over the vial's smooth glass.
I wasn't sure if what he'd inhaled was one of our own illicit drugs infused with magic that was created by House Simonis in the Pelan's laboratory and sold through the crime syndicates. And if it was, what influence he might now be under? How much more dangerous and unpredictable could he be?
My tongue felt heavy and furry. I cleared my throat. "What is that?"
Danne's eyebrows rose as he realized I'd awoken, and he shifted his body to face me. He grinned—a flash of white teeth in a broad smile. "Good, you're awake. It's a long drive and, quite frankly, I'm bored."
Pushing up by my elbows, I sat upright and took my measure. A sour taste coated my mouth and my limbs still felt leaden. Whatever dust Danne had blown into my face, which had been forced into my lungs and bloodstream, was some kind of poison the creature didn't want to touch, at all. It writhed, hissing and yowling, utterly pissed-off at having to hide behind a magical shield to protect itself. I no longer felt its power coiling around my bones.
