The moment my foot crossed the threshold of the temple I knew I'd made a grave mistake. A mistake that could cost the lives of myself, my sisters and parents, and every single person connected to the Wychthorns.

I hadn't gone to the woods today—not this morning, nor this evening. I hadn't found time. And stupidly, stupidly, letting the dark power unleash itself in my bedroom wasn't enough. I hadn't freed its fire, its might.

I'd come to the temple as a child, nine years old and already strange. Curiosity had drawn me up the worn stone steps toward the large open archway, Hazus's yawning mouth beckoning me inside his belly, and I'd felt a sensation, almost as if the temple inhaled a breath and expelled it. In the stale rank currents of air, power whispered over my flesh, enticing and intoxicating as if it had sung to me, wanting me to drink my fill of the darkness that strummed through the shadowed temple.

As I'd lingered at the entranceway, my foot hovering over the threshold, the creature had stirred, a slithering of dry scales coiling around my bones, and I'd heard it for the very first time, clearly as if it had been standing right beside me, hissing into my ear. But it was in my mind its rasping voice had spoken. "Hello, tiny little thing... "

Terrified, I'd spun away and fled.

Now, years later, I entered Hazus and Skalki's temple.

The creature was curious and thrummed with excitement. There was too much pain, too much blood and suffering and death residing within these stone walls.

All I wanted to do was spin around and run. Run far, far away.

But I couldn't.

The Houses were split and arranged to face one another to allow a wide gap between them so the Horned Gods performing the blessing could stride through and take their places on the dais.

The gloom was held back by the skittish flames of wildfyre burning in sconces along the wall. A row of pillars braced the vaulted ceiling and slender arched entryways broke up the outer walls. Though fresh air could filter in, the scent of rot stung my nostrils. However, it also seduced my senses and the thing inside me purred.

I followed Graysen, with Caidan striding right behind me, and took my place amongst the Crowthers. Not in the front row, but where Graysen gestured with a flick of his fingers, the second. The Crowthers had chosen to situate themselves near the end position of our society with a slim opening in the wall directly behind us. They should have been ranked up further in the line of Houses, but as usual, chose to keep themselves apart. I gripped my adamere bracelet behind my back, the beads warm against my palm, ensuring I didn't make eye contact with Graysen's aunt and have that blinding fury engulf me. Instead, it was Ferne who stood in front of me.

Sickly-looking thorned vines tangled around the pillars and crept across the ceiling. The insides of the temple, its pillars and walls, were carved into with the varying shape of the Horned Gods. Fascination and distress warred within me at confronting such terrifying beauty. Writhing beasts with claws and fangs, scaled or leathery creatures. Beautiful men and women with forked tongues or a crown of horns. Indistinguishable shapes of elemental beings.

Curiously, I caught a look of pride shared between the Crowthers as they settled into rank as if they'd arrived home in some way.

The temple was inherited from Great House to Great House, from those before us who had either fallen from grace or been annihilated. There was no knowledge of who held the seat before the Final War. But I had my suspicions.

In a book so old I'd been afraid the pages would crumble to dust, there'd been a reference to the family who'd held the position. Not by name. Instead, there'd been a mention of wyrms, and there was only one House who'd battled alongside wyrms in the Final War. Only one House tamed wyrms. House Crowther.

The Crowthers had held the heavy mantle of Great House millennia ago, and I wondered, yet again, what their ancestors had done to reduce them to a Lower House.

I was surrounded by Graysen's family, their body heat warming the air, yet I couldn't get rid of the deep bone-chilling sensation. With so many dark souls gathered in the temple, hoarfrost crawled through my veins, prickling my flesh with goosebumps. I felt as if I'd pushed through the front door into a snowstorm.

Soft murmuring between the Houses echoed ten-fold in the temple, even louder in my ears. The scraping of heels and custom-made leather shoes on ancient stone, the rustling of haute couture dresses, even the breathing was loud—too loud, too many people—a discordant symphony of chaotic notes vying for attention. Humming a note to bring up the wall of white noise wasn't working either.

"Concentrate on your breath," I heard, barely a whisper that cut through the clashing noise. "It's just noise. Dial it down in your head. Drown it out with your thoughts," Graysen murmured.

I rubbed my ears, tilting my head from side to side as if clearing water from my inner ear. I focused on my breathing—in and out, in and out, in...and...out—and perhaps it wasn't the best thing for me to be thinking of, but it kept flipping through my mind—What is he hiding from me?

Graysen hadn't answered me earlier. Mela and Elyse had distracted me from returning to the question—What had I to do with his punishment?

But when I felt the nudge of Graysen's nose nuzzling against my head and a warm mouth right at my ear, that question haunting my thoughts exploded into spinning fragments when he breathed, "If you want to think of all the dirty things I know you want to do with me, go right ahead."

My locked muscles tightened for a very different reason altogether, and it was an effort to bite back the moan at the caress of hot air whorling over the shell of my ear, the instinctive bow of my spine.

I blinked up at him, my mouth suddenly dry. His gaze dipped to my lips, and I shivered in response to the desire heating his midnight eyes.

He noticed with a slow, satisfied masculine smile. Acting so quickly I barely registered his movement, he nipped my earlobe. The sting of his bite speared lust through my core.

Holy...Skalki...

He'd done what he'd intended, the maelstrom of noise instantly muted with the anticipation of those skilled hands on my body again, the echo of his tongue on my clit.

I nudged my elbow into his ribs, heat flushing my cheeks. I didn't know why the heck I was blushing since I'd pretty much jumped him only a few minutes ago. "Gods, Crowther, keep it PG," I whispered.

He huffed a laugh and returned a cocky wink.

Air stirred against my skin from the other side of me, as someone shifted their body—Caidain.

Graysen's gaze flashed upward, over the top of my head, and whatever he saw in his brother doused the amusement. He blinked, and all emotion was wiped from his expression, the icy wall returned.

He averted his gaze and stared ahead, bored.

Confusion whirled in my mind, settling uncomfortably in my stomach, as he adjusted himself so he wasn't standing close to me anymore. I was still staring in bewilderment at his profile when I felt a featherlight touch. The back of his hand brushed against mine. Just a whispering touch, that I felt like a shockwave rippling through my entire body. His little finger curled around mine and tightened briefly before he let go.

My heart swelled, actually swelled so big I thought it might burst from my chest, and I was surprised at the intense relief I felt. I knew he cared, knew he was mine, but it was still fresh and new and precarious, so I played his game and turned away to ignore him too.

Rising up on tippy-toes I peered through the slender gaps between the Crowthers, toward where my mother and father stood beside the altar, a slab of rough stone, pockmarked and stained with marks of rusty red. Corné's parents, Aldert and Irma, were there too, as well as the extended family of Wychthorns flanking either side—cousins and uncles and aunts I'd rarely met. My father's protectiveness had extended to even keeping me away from his own family.

I should be standing with my parents.

For the first time ever, I stood with the Crowthers at the other end of the temple, positioned amongst the Lower Houses. This would be my place once I turned twenty and Graysen claimed me with the right of the marriage contract behind him.

I thought I'd have resented the fact, but now as dread inched down my spine like creepy crawly things, I was grateful Graysen had thought this through before I'd even had time to panic. Here, cloistered amongst the Crowthers, I was distanced from the altar, where our innocent tithe would give up her life.

An exchange—hers to extend my sister's life.

This was my world, my reality, my darkness.

It just was.

There was no other way to explain it.

I knew no other life apart from those books I devoured. Mortals, people, who were blind to our existence. The knowledge of their own history, of our old gods Skalki and Zrenyth who had given them, us, life, who they'd worshipped and been enslaved to, was stolen from them after the divergence that had occurred after the Final War.

The Children of the Harbinger, their legion of others, and the army of mortals had crushed the Houses with their might. Those of our ancestors who had survived the endless slaughter, scattered and went into hiding. On the bloodbath of a battleground, the Horned Gods delivered one last frantic blow, collectively gathering their remnants of power and wiping the mortals' memories of their own history.

Without the knowledge, there was no urge to cling to the old ways, no uprising either. No stirring from the Children of the Harbinger with their fervent need to hunt us down, to end us, to wipe the earth clean of our existence.

People, mortals, their population exploded and flourished while the Horned Gods remained hidden in shadowed pockets, and our ancestors regrouped. Over millennia, we'd hunted down the Children of the Harbinger, ending their fanatics one by one.

But what were those things in the catacombs?

Who had tried to capture me?

Movement distracted my thoughts. Directly across from us stood House Estlore. They, along with the Văduvas, Lyons, and Troelsons, were hunters, hunting mortals with traces of other for Upper House Förstner.

Did they know? Can they see me? Feel me?

Elyse smoothed back the stray locks that had come loose from her hair gathered on top of her head. The wind perhaps had caused wayward strands to come free, but more likely it had been from someone else's hands sliding through her golden hair. She smiled, and I didn't need to wonder at who, the bright love shining in her eyes gave her away—Mela.

I sought Mela out. She stood within the front row of her family who was positioned right beside the Crowthers.

A sliver of envy stabbed my heart as soon as my gaze landed on her sensual features. When Mela had earlier rounded the back of the temple with Elyse, I hadn't seen the other woman she'd been entwined with. I'd only seen Mela and fierce jealousy had ignited my blood like oil consuming flames on water. It had driven every rational thought out of my head. I'd wanted to claw her eyes out, obliterate her on the spot. She'd been with Graysen. Had her hands and mouth and tongue on him. Fucked what was mine!

The same wrathful feeling rose to the surface. Oblivious to everything but Mela, my hands fisted and lifted, dark power gathered—

The adamere bracelet softly chinked—

Calm, calm, calm...I reminded myself, stunned at how quickly I'd succumbed.

The creature rumbled inside, chuckling.

Shut up!—I snapped at it.

My lips thinned, and I twirled my wrist, freeing the long strand of adamere beads my father long ago had given me, just as I felt it. Felt them.

They were here.

The Horned Gods.

Their power was so great, the air thinned as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the temple to gather at Hazus's opening where they stood just out of sight. The wildfyre burning in ancient sconces, spluttered in response, then roared higher, the fierce blue flames flaring toward the entrance as if reaching for the insidious beasts.

Inside me, the creature raked along my bones and writhed beneath my skin.

The murmuring of conversation died. There was nothing but silence as everyone waited, still as death.

Footfall rang, like rock cracking against rock, reverberating inside the temple as three Horned Gods stepped into view.

Master Sirro.

A Frankenstein child of no more than ten years old.

And a creature I'd never seen before, but everyone knew of—Urstlo.

Likeness sang to one another, and my blood strummed an intoxicating note as the Horned Gods stood beneath the toothy archway. Their darkness brewing like black thunderclouds sang to my own. An electrifying sensation, as if the storm rolling across the sky outside had exploded within the confines of the tomb-like temple, stuttered my heartbeat and buffeted against my skin, prickling all the fine hair on my body.

For one long, long moment, desire crawled beneath my skin like smoke.

I wanted that power, to steal it, make it my own, wield it how I wanted. I craved it with a blistering intensity that flowed through my veins and made my blood burn hotter.

My power breathed out, icy tendrils of wind toyed with the ends of my hair, skimming my flesh—

"Wychthorn," was softly murmured. A sharp tug on my little finger—Graysen.

I snapped out of it, blinking rapidly and squinting as if I'd stepped from the depths of a black cavern right into sunshine, terrified at how easily I'd given in.

The creature hissed, furious at being denied.

I barked at it—Hide yourself!

It snarled in reply, a snapping of fangs.

Now, do it now!

It growled, long and low and full of fury, but bound itself up in a tight coil, but also not quite shielding itself either.

Shield yourself!—I shrieked.

NO!

Blind panic erupted and filled my vision with dizzying black spots. The thing inside had never disrespected my commands before. However, I'd always burned it out before entering a dangerous situation. And here I was, facing not one but three Horned Gods.

Please—I begged it.

It chuckled in reply. The sound of its rasping laughter stabbed my chest with icy needles.

The Houses gracefully swept to one knee, bowing as they entered. Every single one bowed, but the Wychthorns. We lowered our heads in respect. But we did not bow. We did not fall to our knees. We stood out amongst the ocean of followers like flotsam, our rank separating us from the servants to the Horned Gods.

Though the Crowther family kneeled and I remained standing, I was still hidden in some ways. Ferne knelt directly in front of me, her father and Jett on either side, flanked by Valarie and Kenton. I stood in the second row, pincered between Graysen and Caidan, and the extended Crowther family filled up the remaining space, five rows deep. Had they purposely placed me behind the front row and themselves in prominent positions, not to show me my place in their family, but to hide me from the Horned Gods?

Master Sirro, in a three-piece suit, elegant and refined, smiled broadly at everyone as if he were entering a soiree, not an actual sacrifice. With a hand tucked into a pocket of his pants, he strolled into the temple. Silvery threads of power rippled off him like a nightmare and his Familiar, his faithful shadow, followed in his wake.

Golden eyes gleamed when they fell upon me and his smile grew sensual.

An oily sensation slicked over my skin at the flare of lust in his eyes when they darted to my lips. He inclined his head, acknowledging my presence, and I swallowed thickly, returning the gesture.

In my periphery, Graysen angled his head and sharpened his gaze on Master Sirro. I felt the heaviness, the hardness of his stare. But I kept my line of sight straight ahead, my gaze vacant, while every single part of me focused on wrangling that creature inside me, begging it to hide from the Horned Gods.

It wouldn't listen. It wouldn't obey.

Master Sirro's companions followed leisurely.

My truesight raked over the child—the patchwork of Frankenstein limbs and individual features, stolen and stitched together with stringy sinew to make up her face.

As the Horned God approached, it was the softest sound, but I heard it like a gunshot—Ferne sucked in a sharp breath.

Blistering fury sparked against my icy skin like embers caught in a flurry of wind. Glancing down, shock barrelled through me to see Graysen fixated on the young girl, with as much hate in his eyes as the fury rolling off him.

Anger, such unrelenting anger was directed at the Horned God.

And not just him either. All his brothers vibrated with dark rage.