Destined to Lead (A Shifting Society Book 3) by Sterling Thomas

Author:Sterling Thomas [Thomas, Sterling]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Four

Wren

“Bran?” I stumble through our dark house, cursing when my shin connects with the sharp corner of the coffee table. Pain radiates up my leg, but I don’t stop. Something’s wrong, and the crawling sensation that scuttles down my spine makes it easy to ignore something as trivial as a minor bump.

Muffled conversation wafts out of our bedroom, and no matter how hard I strain, I can’t make out who is speaking or what’s being said. The door is shut, but there are two sets of feet pacing inside, their shadows breaking up the thin strip of illumination between the bottom edge of the door and the hardwood floors.

Everything inside my home feels larger and more foreboding in the suffocating darkness; as if the furniture I’ve walked past so many times is hiding creatures of nightmare. Malice, cold and unyielding, fills the room with a fog-like manifestation, and the pounding of my heart becomes the metronome to which I match my steps. Faster and faster, I fumble through the kitchen and down the hall, desperate to find Bran.

Whatever’s in this house, it wants him.

“Bran!” I shout, my voice pitching higher with each step I take.

His muffled voice barely penetrates the door, but at least I know he’s inside. “Wren?” I need to get to him, I need to save him from whatever this is that’s infiltrated our home.

My switchblade appears in my hand, open and ready to stab and slash at anything stupid enough to jump out at me, and I grip it tightly as I reach our bedroom door. The air is oppressive, and I struggle to fill my lungs as I reach for the knob. I expect it to stick, for this presence that’s taken over my home to fight me and try to keep me out, but the door flings open the moment my fingers touch the smooth metal knob.

I push inside but falter. My eyes sting when the light hits them and I’ve got to get my bearings. The darkness outside had been so absolute that tears blur my vision like I’m staring at the sun, not some flickering halogen light.

After blinking the tears away, I scan what should be our bedroom, but is somehow a gothic dungeon, complete with an array of torture devices that would make the Tower of London weep with jealousy. A single, swinging bulb flickers in the center of the room, its light harsh and unforgiving as it illuminates a scene that fills my veins with ice.

Bran sits upon a throne of rotting wood, the pieces crumbling around him. His clothes are opulent but three sizes too large, and I’m struck by the absurdity of his appearance. He sits with his feet spread, his arms resting on the moldy support of his throne, and his strong jaw set with haughty pride. His posture screams arrogance and self-assurance, but it can’t hide the truth revealed in his eyes.

I let out a strangled cry as my intended weeps tears of blood, the drops thick and staining as they carve pathways down his cheeks.

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