Page 158 of Bitten & Burned
And then—boom.
The world shuddered. Something detonated against the east-facing ward, and the whole house trembled beneath it. Books spilled from shelves, lamps crashed to the floor, and the windows rattled in their panes. I hit the floor hard, my shoulder slamming into the edge of the armchair, breath knocked from my lungs. Fig went scrambling from my arms to dive under the chair.
My ears rang. My pulse thundered. The room dissolved into chaos.
“Rowena!” Vael’s voice cut through the fog, distant, distorted.
I tried to look up. Tried to find him. Tried to find my father.
I stumbled to my feet, half-crawling, half-dragging my leg. The burning in my thigh had intensified into a sharp, pulsing agony—like the sigil itself had erupted and was now clawing its way out from the inside.
That’s when I smelled it.
A stench so potent it turned my stomach and made my vision blur. Sweat. Filth. Bloodroot rot. The raw, sour stench of unwashed bodies and dried blood. Something fungal, and then,sickly sweet beneath it all—decay, rot, disease. It clung to the air, thick and suffocating. And underneath it, something deeper. Wrong.
Familiar in the worst way.
The boat.
The memory cracked open inside me like a bone snapping clean through. The weight of a body over mine. A dirty hand in my mouth. The smell of their skin pressed against my throat.
They were here. Again.
The Ashbornes.
Panic took me by the spine and ripped. Reason vanished. Thought vanished. All I had left was movement. Flight.
I turned, staggering towards the door, towards the hallway, towards anywhere they weren’t. My skirts tangled around my boots. The floor was slick with blood or wine, possibly both. I slipped, caught myself, stumbled again.
Glass shattered to my left.
Someone orsomethingscreamed behind me.
I kept going. My thigh burned, the sigil flaring hotter than it ever had, electric and blinding. My leg gave out beneath me, crumpling like wet paper. I hit the ground hard, pain flaring in my hands and knees as I crawled, dragging myself across the floor.
The south door. I had to make it to the south door. Through the library. Down the cellar stairs. If I could just get to the basement—just get somewhere and hide. Hide until the others came for me… I’d be okay. If I could just…
My fingers clawed at the floorboards. Nails splintered. My palm skidded across a broken shard of glass. I felt the skin tear, but I didn’t stop. I grabbed the door frame, gripped with all my might.
That’s when I saw it happen. Fig, once safe under the armchair, launched his tiny body at one of the intruders, one who was currently fighting Quil. I could just make it out. I screamed.
The gangling monster then grabbed my cat. My Fig.My baby. He threw him across the room. Hard. Fig hit a bookcase. Fell to the ground. Still.
The scream built in my chest a split second before the hands found me.
They clamped around my ankles—filthy, strong, calloused hands—and yanked.
I couldn’t focus on that. On Fig. I had to… do something. Fight.
“NO!” I shrieked, grabbing for anything to hold onto. The doorframe scraped my palms. I kicked out blindly and made contact—there was a crunch and a curse—but it didn’t matter. Another pair of hands grabbed my other leg. They dragged me, both of them, jerking me from the room and into the hall like I was a sack of grain.
The stench hit me full force out here. Worse than inside. Heavier. Purer.
Hands groped at me, pulling, grabbing, smearing dirt and blood up my legs.
Fingers tangled in my hair and ripped me upright by the roots. I screamed again, stars bursting behind my eyes as they sought out the being responsible for my injuries.
Then, I saw him.
