Page 71 of Of Wind and Terror

“It’s so…silent,” Treyton whispers.

Now that I’m paying attention to it, I realize he’s right. It’s an unnatural, eerie type of silence. There are no critters running through the Forest. No owls hooting or crickets chirping or mulnios galloping. And with no wind breaching the tapestry of trees, the branches don’t shake or shudder.

Trepidation weaves its way down my spine.

Runt releases a high-pitched squeak and runs farther ahead. He pushes up on his hind legs and bats at the air.

“What is he doing?” Blaze mutters.

Runt chitters again, glances back over his shoulder, and then takes off in a run to the left.

“I think the furry beast wants us to follow him,” Aleksander says with feigned cheerfulness.

He takes an immediate step after my pacon, but Blaze places a hand on the elf’s chest, stopping him.

“Wait,” the Fall Prince instructs, frowning. His brows pucker. “Do you hear that?”

I strain my ears, but it proves futile. Ever since I healed the shopkeeper from the black virus, I haven’t been able to hear out of one of my ears.

“I don’t hear anything,” Treyton says.

“Me neither.” Aleksander’s eyes narrow on nothing in particular. “Are you sure you’re not losing it with your old age?”

“Oh, fuck you?—”

A high-pitched screech rips through the air, the cry preceded by a creature racing through the thicket.

It looks fae—though that term may be too generous for the demented monster. Its body is emaciated and gray, long and willowy. Its arms are almost the same size as his body, and they end in sharp claws. Large, bulbous eyes peer back at me from a sunken face. Wisps of gray hair sprout from the top of its head.

“Fuck.” The color drains from Blaze’s face. “It’s a wraith.”

“Don’t they usually travel in packs?” Aleksander sounds surprisingly calm, given the situation.

He lazily unsheathes one of his daggers and spins it around in his hand.

“I only see one,” Treyton says.

Famous last words.

More and more wraiths pour out of the trees, all similar in appearance to the first one, though they vary in size. Some are small, barely reaching my hip, while others tower over even Aleksander.

The three males immediately surround me in a protective formation.

“Do we kill them?” Treyton’s voice is a hushed murmur, rife with tension.

“No. I think it would be fun to invite them over for tea and crumpets,” Aleksander drawls.

“Both of you, shut the fuck up!” Blaze bellows.

As the three of them speak, I allow my harbara to slip into my hand. Immediately, my whip uncoils itself and slithers around my feet.

I bring my left glove up to my mouth and bite it off. The material falls to the ground, leaving my hand bare.

I have no idea if my powers will work on these creatures, but it’s worth a try. I refuse to allow these monsters to rip me apart.

“Kassandra, stay between us,” Blaze instructs as the wraiths begin to close in.

They’re all around us. One of them hisses, and I can see row after row of razor-sharp teeth, the color a strange mixture between yellow and brown.

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