Bound: A Slavic Urban Fantasy Series (Kozlov Chronicles Book 2) by Elena Sobol

Author:Elena Sobol [Sobol, Elena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2022-03-27T16:00:00+00:00

16

The nocnitza fell on my cousin's form and both disappeared into the night. I didn't bother looking for them. As the ghostly bodies began to move toward us, I had a different problem. Dozens of problems, in fact.

"Time to take off your pants," I told Ethan.

The werewolf threw me a panicked look and dove behind a tombstone. Freaking shifters and their taking their sweet time getting into their battle form. Suddenly, I was left alone, surrounded by my—well, somebody's—worst nightmare.

My daggers flashed in the night, trying to get at the incorporeal forms. At first, I thought I was making progress as they obviously didn't like the taste of ancient steel. I wondered if it was because of some fairy tales saying that ghosts and supernaturals didn't like iron. Then, I realized that my measly weapons were like two mosquito repellent bracelets against a swarm. I seriously wished I had Min-Ho's bag of tricks.

Every time one of them touched me, a bit of my skin went numb. I deeply suspected that if it wasn't for my demigod blood, I would be a piece of paralyzed meat in seconds. I started dodging them then, hopping over the tombstones to lead them on a merry chase and away from Ethan. Most of the ghosts were locals but I saw the gwisin, too—flowing black hair over the pale faces and long robes straight out of the Ring. They hung back to their shadows, watching the spectacle. That was creepy and suspicious, but I decided to focus on one ghost at a time.

Somewhere between the torn faces and reaching hands, I saw Vizg sitting on a headstone. Her feet dangled as she enjoyed the spectacle. That was irritating, but something else was straight scary. I wiped the sweat off my forehead as I searched for the nocnitza, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Ghosts flooded my vision. I could no longer see Vizg through the thick of them. My daggers were barely enough to keep them at bay, and my skin began to grow numb and unfamiliar as ghost hands found more and more of me. I didn't dare to look for a perch in fear of letting my eyes look away for too long and for someone to take a good, hard swipe at some essential giblet. Demigod strength was useless in the face of so many attackers.

Panting, I finally slowed. And that was enough for the crowd of ghosts to swarm toward me like flies to fresh meat. My muscles straining, I wondered if the fatigue I was feeling was due to my human blood. Or if the daggers rejecting me were playing a part. Wasn't stamina supposed to come with strength?

A long claw shredded through an emaciated ghostly man in pioneer clothing. Ethan burst into the scene. He cut through ghosts like a longsword through rice paper.

"Get to highr gouund," he managed to articulate through his wolfy jaws. "I'm immoon."

Seriously, I could've kissed the mutt. Fangs and all.

My needles shifted in my hands.

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