Red and Her Wolf (Kingdom, #3)

When he turned back, the crone was even closer. She did not walk, or float, she moved as silent as thought.


Sounds, threatening and violent, seeped from his lips.

“You mean nothing to me, mutt,” the crone spat by her bare, arthritic foot. “I’ll make mincemeat of you. But you,” she hooked a finger toward Violet, and something dark and twisted encased Red’s body, lifting her off the ground.

He yelped when her fingers left him.

Violet screamed. Twisting, she tried to reach out to him. Ewan latched onto the edge of her red dress, tugging hard, but succeeded only in shredding off a long piece. He jumped, attempting to latch onto her arm, but a tingling shudder ran like a bolt through him, locking him in place.

“Malvena, told me to call her, bring you to her. But I’m so very hungry, you see.” Her dirt stained green robes brushed the ground as she reached out toward Violet who was now much too close. Cloudy blue eyes filled with an avaricious gleam.

Fear clawed at his brain, Ewan urged his legs to move, to tear the crone limb from limb as he’d done Jana, but he was frozen. Locked in place and unable to do more than howl as the crone dragged Violet closer to her side.

The black miasma circling Violet pulled in tight, forming a thick shadow, so that he could no longer see her. The crone laughed, devilish eyes glinting with glee. Then her hands were inside the shadow and she began to inhale. Every color of the rainbow seeped out from the shadow and the screams of terror turned to moans of horror.

“So much power,” the crone murmured in ecstasy, eyes rolling to the back of her head.

Seeing the crone pull Red’s soul out, Ewan finally understood what Miriam meant when she’d called Vi a soul sucker. He needed to tell her. Straining, heaving against the invisible barrier, Ewan prayed as he called the unbecoming. His lungs had barely shifted, before he was roaring. “Breathe her in, Red. Breathe her in.”

He wasn’t sure she’d heard him, he screamed it louder, hoping to penetrate the fear riding her soul.

But then the scream turned different, higher pitched and frantic.

“What are you doing?” It was the crone and the impenetrable fog that’d bathed Red lifted, pulling back inside the emaciated witch.

Vi was pale, skin almost blue, as she reversed positions and latched her hands into the crone’s twisted body.

Violet breathed, inhaling through her mouth, lungs expanding as the crone began to twist and wither. A wave, every color of the rainbow oozed from Red’s body, wrapping them in a kaleidoscopic hug.

A pale red miasma bleached Violet’s blonde hair pink, her skin turned to swirling bands of green, blue and purple, her lips a bright yellow. The Ten--represented by their individual colors--bled out of Violet, making her shimmer with a fiery and icy glow.

Entranced, Ewan watched the dance of death play out. Macabre as the crone’s dark soul poured like black venom from her mouth, and yet the swirling colors… so, so lovely.

The witch’s mottled skin turned to paper, nothing but a husk over bones. Her black soulless eyes blazed fear, as she twitched and shook. Soon even that stopped. The screams reverberated long after the crone was gone.

Violet dropped the husk, the green robes fluttered like a dead leaf to the ground. The barrier holding him back lifted, and Ewan was finally free to run to her side.

But the moment he touched her, he felt the stain of that dark soul. It clung to his flesh like a leech sucking on blood. And when he looked in Red’s eyes, only black stared back at him.

“Ewan,” she sobbed, “something’s wrong with me.” Then she dropped to her knees, and retched, but nothing came out. Sweat peppered her brow, her back, her skin blazed fire.

The colors she’d bled while killing the witch, pulled back inside her body. Once it did, he was able to see how pale she’d become. White as freshly turned snow.

“Red,” he gripped her face.

“It hurts,” she screamed, “oh goddess, it hurts so bad!”

Going stiff in his arms, she seized up. Shaking violently.

Desperate, he glanced around. Where was the antidote? Miriam had said he’d know what to do. But he didn’t know.

Bringing her hand to his lips, he licked her thumb. But there was no wound and nothing to heal. So he licked her neck, still she screamed.

Licking her jaw, her cheek, he finally came to her mouth and the moment his tongue touched her lips a sickly sweet substance clung to him. It was a parasite, gripping on, sliding down his throat, the acidity burning sores into the skin of his mouth.

Startled, he jerked away as the sickness spread through his belly. The screaming had stopped. Whatever he’d just done, it’d worked. Bracing for what was to come, Ewan sealed his lips to hers, slipping his tongue deep into her mouth.