Wicked Lovely (Wicked Lovely 1)

“If Che’s steed has anything to say, it’ll tell me, and I’ll tell you.” Gabriel’s reminder that she couldn’t hear Chela’s steed—that I’ll never hear one—was delivered with an ominous rumble in his voice. He was already feeling the heightened connection to the Hounds who were filling the aisles.

Somewhere in the distance, a howl rose like the scream of wind. Ani knew that only the Hunt heard it, but both mortal and faery felt it in the shivers that raced over suddenly chilled skin. To some, it was as if sirens came toward them, as if ambulances and police sped to them carrying words of sudden deaths or horrific accidents.

The Wild Hunt rides.

As Ani looked over the assembling Hounds, the green of their eyes and the clouds of their breath were clear. Wolves filled the room where the steeds were not. They would run between the hooves of the steeds, a roil of fur and teeth. Steed and wolf all waited for their Gabriel’s word to begin, to run, to chase those foolish enough to attract their attention. Terror built and filled the air with a prestorm charge. Those not belonging to the Hunt would have to struggle to breathe. Mortals on the nearby streets would cringe, scurry into their dens, or turn into other alleys. If they stayed, they’d not see the true face of the Hunt, but explain it away—earthquake? trains? storms? street fights?—with the willful ignorance mortals clung to so fiercely. They didn’t often stay; they ran. It was the order of things: prey runs, and predators pursue.

Her father, her Gabriel, strode through the room assessing them.

Ani felt the stroke of icy fingers on her skin as they prepared to ride. She bit down on her lip to keep from urging her father to sound the call. Her knuckles whitened as she clenched the edge of the wooden wall beside her. She looked at their horrible beauty and shivered.

If they were mine… I’d belong.

Then Gabriel was beside her.

“You are my pup, Ani.” Gabriel cupped her cheek in his massive hand. “To be worthy of you, any Hound would have to be willing to face me. He’d need to be strong enough to lead them.”

“I want to lead them,” she whispered. “I want to be their Gabrielle.”

“You’re too mortal to hold control of them.” Gabriel’s eyes were monstrous. His skin was the touch of terror, of death, of nightmares that were Un-Named. “And too much mine to not be with the Hunt. I’m sorry.”

She held his gaze. Something feral inside of her understood that this was why she couldn’t live with Rabbit: her brother wasn’t as fierce as her father was. Tish wasn’t. Ani desperately wanted to be. Like the rest of the Hounds mounting their steeds, Ani knew that Gabriel could kill her if she disobeyed. It was a restraint she needed: it kept her closer to following rules.

“I can’t take the Hunt from you”—she flashed her teeth at her father—“yet. Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“Makes me proud that you want to,” he said.

For a moment, the pride in her father’s eyes was the sum of her world. She belonged. For tonight, she was included in the pack. He made it so.

If only I always was.

But there were no unclaimed steeds, and her mortal blood meant she’d never be strong enough to become Gabriel’s successor, never be truly Pack.

A taste of belonging…

It wasn’t enough, not truly, but it was something.

Then a howl unlike anything else in this world or the next came to his lips, and the rest of the pack echoed it. She echoed it.

Gabriel tossed her atop Chela’s steed and growled, “We ride.”

Excerpt from

DARKEST MERCY

Chapter 1

Donia walked aimlessly, taking comfort in the crisp bite in the air. The promise of it made her want to draw it deeply into her lungs. She did, releasing the cold with each breath, letting the lingering breath of winter race free. Equinox was fast approaching. Winter was ending, and letting loose the frost and snow soothed her as few things could of late.

Ev

an, the rowan-man who headed her guard, fell in step with her. His gray-brown skin and dark green leafy hair made him a shadow in the not-yet-dawning day. “Donia? You left without guards.”

“I needed space.”

“You should’ve woken me at least. There are too many threats. . . .” His words dwindled, and he lifted his bark-clad fingers as if to caress her face. “He is a fool.”

Donia glanced away. “Keenan owes me nothing. What we had—”