Lost Hope (Wildcat Wizard Book 6) by Al K. Line

Author:Al K. Line [Line, Al K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2018-02-23T16:00:00+00:00

A Clue, At a Price

"This is messed up," whispered Juice.

I knew how he felt, I was just surprised he felt anything. "It is," I said, sickened by the sight. Juice was such a mass of contradictions. He clearly had a caring side, but was mostly weak and like a child, yet he thought nothing of killing people in the most inhumane of ways then feeding their brains to his cat. It was hard to reconcile his many personalities, and it was easy to forget that he was dangerous if given the chance. I reminded myself to be careful. He was not to be trusted, no matter that Sasha's degradation affected him deeply.

Sound had gone from the scene, and I was grateful for it. It still made for terrible watching. The man, I presumed her father, towered over Sasha, ranting and raving, gesticulating wildly, pointing off into the distance. He grabbed her, lifted her easily from the ground, and shook her like she was a doll.

Sasha cried and pleaded but didn't try to stop him or run away to escape her punishment. Her father shouted right into her face, holding her up high, and then he threw her to the ground where she curled up in a ball and whimpered.

He shouted some more, pointed away again, and she got to her feet reluctantly. Her dress was ripped, her face swollen from the beating, but her eyes were no longer wet. They were dry, and they were hard, and dark, and when Sasha lifted her head to look at her father there was a coldness and an inner fortitude that made me gasp. Her father took a step backward and said something to her crossly.

Sasha shook her head and he stepped forward, his hand raised.

But something kept her from showing fear, and she didn't cower or try to cover herself. She smoothed her dress down then poked a finger through a hole, scowling at the tear. Sasha shouted back at him, seemingly angry more about the dress than anything else. They exchanged violent words and then something changed. Faery dust swirled around Sasha, whipping her hair violently as flowers tumbled away in the breeze, the heads ripped off, the stalks broken.

Her father screamed but she shook her head, disobeying him, and he swung for her. Sasha lifted her tiny hand and stopped his fist with her palm. He stared at her in disbelief, and as he strained against an impossible strength his face grew red and his eyes vicious. He pulled his hand back, lifted both arms overhead, and muttered something.

The air turned violent and dark as black clouds formed. Wind ravaged her body, tearing the dress from her, leaving her naked, shivering, and back to being a scared little child. The man moved his arms about, directing the elements, and the wind took on form like dark daggers.

I could see the rips on her flesh where the air slashed her, and then she spun violently and clutched her side. There was blood, there was pain, and a deep wound.

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