Page 116 of Fated to the Frost King

He chose the fall over what was behind him.

My hand flew to my mouth. I lunged, too late, nails slicing into my palms as my back seized and something inside me screamed.You could’ve saved him.

But there wasn’t time for remorse. A ruthless part of myself reminded me that I had come here for exactly one reason. If there was only one life I could save today, it would be hers. Even over mine.

Find her. Move.

Behind me, the air shifted. The acrid scent of death washed over me, drowning me in wave after wave of rancid decay and suffering.

I turned enough to watch its nostrils flare as it caught the scent of my blood. It turned with that jerking, unnatural motion, its spined back arching, claws scraping deep grooves into the floor.

A roar came from downstairs. Draven’s voice was raw and unhinged just before an unrelenting storm howled through the manor. The temperature dropped instantly. Wind screamed down the corridor, snow whipping through the air in sheets so thick I could barely see.

I braced myself against the sleet and the onslaught of my hair whipping against my skin like daggers. The Tharnok, however, was undeterred. It loomed through the blizzard, creeping closer, its glowing eyes locked on mine.

It lunged.

Its claws tore across my arm, and I screamed out in pain. Fire raced through my nerves as I fell, hitting the solid floor hard enough to disorient myself. The sound of my dagger clattering to the floor was the worst part of all.

The beast scrambled forward, slipping on ice and blood.

My ears rang as I scrambled toward my blade. My trembling fingers scraped at the handle, and it slipped once, twice. Then I found purchase, gripping it tightly before turning back to the Tharnok.

It lunged again, jaws snapping for my throat. I ducked, just in time to drive the dagger up beneath its ribs.

It shrieked. The sound was too loud, too much. I braced my injured arm against the mottled fur on its chest, ripping the dagger free and stabbing again, this time lower, in its gut.

Momentum carried it forward, and the Tharnok fell on top of me, crushing the breath from my lungs. My chest burned as I gasped and strained for breaths that wouldn’t come.

The Tharnok’s jaws stretched wide, and it snapped its teeth again and again. I kicked and clawed at its eyes, slicing furiously with my dagger.

Blood sprayed. My arm ached. My hands were slick, slipping on fur and bone and frost, but I couldn’t stop.

The beast writhed. And I kept stabbing—sobbing, snarling, clawing at it like an animal until it finally stopped moving.

My breaths were too shallow and too raw.

I scrambled out from beneath the monster, soaked in blood that wasn’t entirely mine, and drowning in enough new material to haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. My hands slipped across the blood-soaked floor, my nails clawing at the polished wood as I dragged myself upright.

“Wynnie,” I wheezed. “Wynnie!”

My voice cracked, but I forced my legs to move. I was shaking, and unsteady, and solely driven by adrenaline and the echoing sound of my sister’s name in my head like a prayer.

I reached the bedroom door and grasped the handle, but my fingers slid uselessly over it—slick with blood, both my own and the Tharnok’s. I tried again, sobbing now, and finally managed to wrench it open.

To find that room, too, was bathed in blood.

Chapter 39

Everly

Crimson coated the walls in arcs and streaks like a violent painting. The furniture was shattered just like it was downstairs. The chandelier hung lopsided, half its crystals already on the floor.

And Yorrick, Wynnie’s husband, lay in the center, throat torn open, dead eyes staring up at me as a Tharnok crouched over him, feasting.

I choked back a scream, tears blurring my vision.

No.

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