The follow is an excerpt from Smoke and Scar by Gretchen Powell Fox. Please note this is an uncorrected version and may be subject to change prior to publication.
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Copyright © 2024 by Gretchen Powell Fox. No part of this book or the characters within may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express permission of the copyright owner, except in the instance of quotes or excerpts for review or marketing purposes.​​
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Prologue
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The end of Queen Daephinia Nero’s life tasted bright.
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It did not look it.
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It was chaos and confusion and clashing steel and roaring spells.
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It was darkness.
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Her eyes blazed, determination and fury warring in them as she stared down the dark sorcerer standing on the other side of the tower rooftop. Rain pummeled them both, plastering Daephinia’s golden hair to her forehead. The faint sound of ringing hit her ears as droplets pelted her crown like a warning bell.
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“You have brought the realm to ruin, Malakar,” Daephinia said between heavy breaths. Her chest heaved; her muscles trembled. This fight had gone on too long. “But your horrific reign ends now. Ends here.”
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Malakar tilted his head, his shadowy cloak rippling like soft waves on a dark ocean. His eyes darted to the golden crown atop Daephinia’s head. “Such conviction, Your Majesty,” he mocked. “But where was that honorable resolve when you were the one sundering the continent?”
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His words were a sharp dagger in her. Guilt bled her insides. “I . . . There is much I regret about my actions.”
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Malakar paused, assessing the queen with a cold arch of his brow. “Regret, Daephinia? Really? Such a human emotion.” He let the word hang between them. “I confess, I am surprised.”
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“I do not pretend that I have not faltered,” she said, steeling herself. “But neither should you pretend that the Chasms were anything other than the result of the pain you caused.”
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“Perhaps, Daephinia. Perhaps. But just look at what your grief has led to. See how your sorrow has nurtured this chaos.” He waved his hand dismissively—almost lazily—at the battle raging outside the castle walls. To the legions of his cultists and the misguided humans fighting against Daephinia’s floundering Arcanian forces. She bit back a grimace as she caught sight of a contingent of Malakar’s soldiers encroaching upon one of her garrisons.
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They were losing.
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A slow grin spread across the sorcerer’s face. Malakar sensed the queen’s faltering will. “Your husband begged me at the end, you know,” he said, his voice slithering over Daephinia’s skin like a snake. “On his hands and knees, tears streaming down his wrinkled face. Begged me to spare you. Spare your daughter. Even as he cursed my name for my betrayal, still he begged. Juno truly was a weak, pathetic human.”
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Hearing her husband’s name pierced Daephinia’s heart. Hearing it spill from Malakar’s mouth set her blood on fire. “You are human!”
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“I think we both know I am something much greater than that now.”
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Her hands tightened into fists, light flickering weakly at her fingertips. “And just look at what your ambitions have wrought. It is enough, Malakar. It ends here and now. I will end your evil and restore the peace I helped shatter.” Her anger was a living thing inside her. It begged her to lash out, to use her magic to ruin this evil man. But there was so little of it left. Her palms warmed, then her power sputtered out.
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“Peace?” Malakar’s low laugh was a death knell. “Our peoples were never at peace—and they never will be so long as your kind continues to hoard your magic, flaunting your abilities while my people must claw their way to whatever pitiful mana stores they can reach.”
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“That’s not—”
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“My people fight not for conquest, but for the power they rightly deserve. That which they are owed. Peace is an illusion. The world was born in chaos and in chaos it shall end.”
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Dark magic burst from his chest, and Daephinia raised her hands to defend herself too late. It slammed into her, sending her crashing into the parapet, the back of her head hitting the hard stone. Stars appeared behind her eyelids. Her chin lolled and she released a strangled cry as the golden crown tumbled from her head—rolling to a stop at the sorcerer’s feet.
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“The Crown of Concord.” Malakar’s voice was reverent as he bent to pick it up, his eyes gleaming. Triumphant. “So much power contained in such a little thing.”
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“Don’t you touch it!” Daephinia shrieked, struggling to her feet. “It was meant to be hers!”
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Malakar rolled his eyes. “What use would a half-breed baby have had for the most powerful object in creation? It is better that her miserable existence was put to a swift end. Truly, you should thank me.”
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Red flooded her vision. “I will flay the skin from your body for what you have taken from me.”
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Malakar chuckled darkly. “I think not.” He raised the crown, a vicious glint in his eye. “There will be no stopping me now.”
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It was as if time suddenly slowed. Daephinia closed her eyes, burrowed down deep inside herself, digging out the final scraps of her magic. With the last vestiges of her strength, she called forth a golden light. It enveloped her hands, her arms, her being. The stuttering rhythm of her heartbeat grew more erratic. She did not care. Her light was within her and without her as she forged it, molded it, gave it shape.
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The crescent curve of a bow, the luminous thread of its string.
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The sharp, focused point of a golden arrow.
With a prayer to Solaris on her lips, she drew the bowstring back, releasing it with a cry of defiance just as Malakar set the crown upon his brow. The luminescent arrow hit its mark, striking the gilded crown right in its center.
“No!” The sorcerer’s roar was swallowed by a burst of white as the Crown of Concord shattered. A brilliant flash radiated out in a wide arc—a tidal wave of light that engulfed him, her, the battlefield, the very city around them.
Malakar was nothing more than a wisp of splintered shadow as the crown, cleaved in two, clattered on the stone.
For a moment, there was nothing but pure, incandescent, dazzling light.
And then that light was sucked back into Daephinia, a blinding assault of power that ripped her open.
The end of her life tasted bright.
Chapter 1: The Revenant
Elyria
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Glass shattered on the wall behind Elyria’s head, sticky amber liquid spraying across her neck.
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“Not the cider, you fools.” She pulled her feet from the stool they’d been resting on as she took a long swig from her tankard. Swaying, she dipped her head to appraise the pieces of the broken bottle that had landed on the bartop beside her.
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Waste not, she thought, picking up what remained of the bottom half of the bottle and gingerly tipping it over her mouth. A few drops of cider, sweet and tangy, dribbled onto her tongue.
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The tavern was a cacophony of shouts and clashing bodies, though that was nothing new at The Sweltering Pig. Falling mugs clinked and crashed, ale splashing across the floor and nearby tables. Elyria ducked, narrowly avoiding a silver flagon whizzing past her ear. It hit the dark wood of the tavern wall with a clang, more cider spilling out in a wave across the cobblestone floor.
She shook her head—such a waste—and caught sight of Artie. The dwarven tavern master was shouting something unintelligible as he attempted to break up a pair of wrestling patrons. Broom in hand, Artimecion Bonejaw was every bit the crotchety, if diminutive, proprietor. And he was glaring at Elyria like this was all her fault.
Her skin prickled as she glared back. Sure, energies were a bit high during the final few songs of her nightly performance. But it wasn’t as if she’d been chanting war anthems. If anything, this was Artie’s own fault. Surely, the crowd would be far less likely to drink themselves into a frenzy if this tavern didn’t serve the best cider and third-best ale in Coralith.
And Elyria certainly wasn’t to blame for the group of six brutes who had barged into The Sweltering Pig during her encore, practically trampling half the patrons on their way in.
So, no, she didn’t think it fair for Artie to act like it was her fault fists had started flying. This time, at least.
The sound of more glass shattering rang in Elyria’s ears, setting her nerves on edge. She’d pay for this in the morning, no doubt.
Elbow on the counter, she braced her head in her palm as someone hurled a stool at the bar and it exploded in a shower of splinters. Her eyes darted back to Artie, whose jaw underneath his woven beard was wide open, his brow creased with outrage.
He’d whittled that barstool himself.
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Elyria grimaced. Yes, she would be paying in more ways than one.
“Come on then, Revenant,” a man’s deep, resonating voice drawled over the chaos. “We’ve gone through a lot of trouble trying to track you down.”
Elyria drew her heavy-lidded eyes—not without effort—toward the man. A strong jaw with a cleft in his chin. Gray eyes. Blond hair that fell to his shoulders. Elyria supposed he was handsome enough, though the garish golden hoop dangling from each of his pointed ears immediately soured her interest. A single ruby-red bead hung from each earring—one of Tartanis’ men.
“All this for me?” Elyria taunted, placing her hand over her heart. “I’m flattered, truly.”
The man rolled his eyes. “Not our fault you got the crowd all riled up during your little performance.” He waved a hand toward his lackeys standing at his back—three men, two women—then to the stage in the corner. “And now you’re coming with us.”
“Am I?” Elyria sighed, setting her tankard on the bartop with a thunk. “And here I thought I’d have a quiet evening.”
He had the gall to smirk. “Well, I leave it up to you to determine if that will remain the case.”
“How do you figure?”
His eyes narrowed. “You can come quietly or we can take you… not quietly.”
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One of the man’s greasy henchmen chortled. “You tell her, Raefe.”
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“Raefe, is it?” Elyria wobbled as she rose from her seat. She was not precisely the pinnacle of sobriety herself at present, she would admit. Not that it mattered.
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Raefe’s brow arched. “It is, Revenant.”
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Elyria rolled her emerald-green eyes. Half the people who used her moniker to address her hurled it like an insult. The other half said it like a prayer. She didn’t care for either.
“Well, Raefe, your nose is bleeding,” she said matter-of-factly.
Raefe’s eyes widened. He dabbed at his nose with the back of his hand, then peered down, his brow creased. “No, it isn’t.”
She cracked her knuckles. Gave him a pointed look. “It will.”
Raefe scoffed and signaled his men forward. “Have it your way then.”
A duo of brawling patrons tumbled close. Elyria stepped away from the bar and Raefe sprang into action. He levied a wild swing at her head, another at her gut.
She spun, dodging both blows and managing to stay upright with a wobbly sort of grace. A proud laugh escaped her lips. Even with more than her fair share of cider in her system, Elyria was still a formidable fighter. Anyone else would likely have been flat on their ass by now.
Still, the liquid courage was of no help when it came to the second opponent waiting to her right.
The woman’s viridescent hair was pulled up in a tight series of braids, her leathers cut to showcase her shimmering wings and the swaths of pearly skin on her shoulders and arms. She flexed her hand and a focused gust of air swept Elyria off her feet.
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A stormbender. Wonderful.
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Elyria flailed toward the ground. As she fell, she couldn’t help but take in the woman’s sharp features: her pointed jaw, the regal slant of her nose, the jut of the bones in her cheeks. A classic fae beauty, so unlike Elyria.
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Were it not for the pointed ears and periwinkle hair that greeted her each day in the mirror, Elyria might wonder if she was fae at all. She couldn’t help but compare her own face, with its soft cheekbones and button nose, to the woman’s harsh beauty.
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Made all the harsher from the sneer on the woman’s lips as Elyria’s back met the floor. Not for the first time, Elyria was glad she kept her own wings cloaked, that the magic that kept them from view also protected them. She knew all too well the pain that came with unceremoniously crushing a fae’s wings.
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Elyria was back on her feet in an instant, steady enough despite the way the room seemed to sway around her.
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She slammed her arm into the woman’s chest—perhaps harder than she’d intended. With a sputtering cough, the woman was on the ground, wheezing as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. Elyria supposed it could have been.
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Poetic, she thought, for a stormbender to lose their breath.
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Elyria Lightbreaker was not known as “The Revenant” for nothing, after all. She had earned her wartime moniker, hadn’t she?
Whether she liked it or not. And it was good she was drunk, all things considered. This was the most fun she’d had in ages. Were she sober, she knew it would be coming to an end all too soon.
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Raefe lunged at her once more. Her fist connected with his nose, eliciting a satisfying crunch. He stumbled back, colliding with a group of thrashing men who bowled over as if they were ninepins.
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Sadly, there was no time to savor the sight.
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A young nocterrian surged toward her, their hands outstretched as if meaning to grab her. She darted out of the way, her brow furrowed. The nocterrian wasn’t even part of Raefe’s gang. They were merely getting caught up in the brawl.
Elyria grabbed one of the thick horns on their head, swinging them around as they screamed in outrage. Her boot swiftly connected with their ass as she sent them careening toward the tavern door. When they finally regained their footing, they were staring at Elyria with wide eyes.
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“Boo,” she said, and the nocterrian fled into the night.
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A cold sting scraped down the back of Elyria’s neck. She whirled. Another one of Raefe’s people—the other fae woman—stood in the middle of the tavern, her eyes narrowed.
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“Did you just— Was that a snowball?” Elyria pawed at the back of her head. Sure enough, her hand closed around remnants of snow. She squirmed as slush slipped down the back of her vest, dancing over her spine. The icy bite sharpened her senses.
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“Points for creativity, tideweaver.” She hooked her boot through the rung of a nearby barstool. “A snowball in high summer. Can’t say I expected that.” She kicked her foot up, launching the stool into the woman’s face. The collision of wood and bone sounded eerily similar to ice cracking.
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“Put that one on my tab, Artie,” Elyria said.
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A disgruntled grumble came from near the bar in response.
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With a crash, a table was overturned to her right. She leapt up, landing on the thin rim with a dancer’s grace. “Come on, then.”
Her voice was bright as she teetered back and forth along the table’s edge on the tips of her toes. “Who’s next?”
Another tankard soared through the air, aimed at Elyria’s skull. She caught it mid-air with a laugh, took a hearty swig, and tossed it aside. It was cold but stale—she grimaced as she felt it slide into her belly.
Her next laugh died in her throat as her vision went suddenly blurry. For a moment, she saw luminous golden eyes, a curl of dark hair across a strong brow, wings of deepest black and glittering gold.
She grasped at the image as if she could cement it in her mind. As if it wasn’t a picture of a ghost. A pang of longing stabbed her chest, sharp and painful. She could almost feel Evander’s breath, warm on her skin. Could almost hear the whisper of his voice in her ear. It cut through the drink-induced haze in her mind.
The sound of the tavern door slamming snagged her attention, and Elyria cursed. In the few seconds she’d lost herself to whatever vision just overtook her, most of the tavern’s patrons had fled.
Most, but not all.
Raefe and three of his thugs remained—the men. Something uncomfortable pricked at the back of Elyria’s mind. She wondered where the women had gone. Standing watch outside, she supposed. Or maybe Elyria had wounded them badly enough that they had simply fled. As she observed the four men, huddled by the door, leering at Elyria, she felt regret about that.
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The gold links in their tapered ears gleamed in the firelight as they traded tense whispers. Elyria frowned. The men were clearly strategizing about the best way to bring her down. Ten minutes prior, she would have welcomed the challenge. She had wanted to draw this out, give them a good show, have a little fun.
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But that vision was… unexpected.
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And Elyria didn’t feel like fighting anymore.
Her eyes found Artie’s and she made a show of looking deliberately at the tavern’s back door. Irritated as his constant scoldings might make her, she was fond of the old dwarf. He needed to clear out—she didn’t want him getting hurt when she did what she had to do.
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Artie rolled his eyes but took cover behind the bar.
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Good enough.
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Power hummed in her ears as Elyria raised a hand, calling upon her wild magic to bring this to a quick end.
The ground shook. Wood groaned. Dust drifted from the rafters.
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And that was it.
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Elyria looked at her hand and sighed. Perhaps she’d had one too many after all. The earth below the tavern floor was refusing to answer her call.
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A taunt cut through the din. “This is the might of the Revenant?” jeered Raefe. “We’re truly to believe this waste of wings took down three dozen cultists during the Battle of Luminaria?”
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“Guess the tart’s become sloppy over the decades,” said one of the men, cracking his knuckles as he leered at Elyria.
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She bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from snorting. He wasn’t nearly as intimidating as she knew he was trying to be.
Raefe, on the other hand, was a walking column of menace as he huffed a laugh, his teeth bared in a bloodstained grin as he stalked toward Elyria. Blood dripped from his nose, the effect of her previous punch.
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At least she’d made good on that promise.
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He didn’t seem to care. “When word reached Master Tartanis that the mighty Revenant had been spotted back in Coralith, he couldn’t believe his good luck. Neither could I believe mine, when he sent me to track you down. Imagine my disappointment to instead find a waif spinning musical yarns on stage before getting pissed in this hellscape of a tavern.”
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Elyria tamped down the growing discomfort in her gut and forced a grin. “You should be thanking the stars the cider tonight was so sweet, or this would have been over before it had begun.”
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She hopped off the table and planted her feet on the ground, bracing for the rush of bodies that were surely about to come her way.
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They didn’t.
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Instead, Elyria felt the air around her grow thin. She suddenly couldn’t take in breath fast enough. Her vision started to go black at the edges. She reached out to grab hold of something, to steady herself, and recoiled when her fingers found nothing but the sweaty arm of one of her attackers.
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Through her bleary vision, she saw two of the men with their hands outstretched—Raefe had brought a near army of stars-damned stormbenders with him tonight.
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“Ch-cheater,” she stammered as the tavern spun around her. Then, without warning, air whooshed back into her lungs as the men let their magic die down. Elyria gulped down a greedy breath, unable to do anything more before the man nearest to her took hold of her wrists. She yelped as another wrapped his meaty hands around her ankles. The third righted the upended table and Elyria was slammed upon it, the wood groaning under her back.
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“Such a disappointment,” Raefe said again, towering over Elyria as he stood next to the table. “Not only have you dashed our dreams of witnessing the legendary Revenant in all her supposed glory, but the fight barely even lasted long enough to count as entertainment.” He dabbed at his nose again, his expression darkening. “Sing for us again, then. Your power may have underwhelmed, but I concede I rather enjoyed your performance earlier. You do have a lovely voice.”
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Something about the way he said that made Elyria never want to sing another note again.
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“Maybe another time,” she managed to grit out. “I think I’ve had just about enough for tonight.” Her glare roved over the faces of the men pinning her down, committing each of them to memory. “And I don’t think your boss will be too happy with you roughing up his prize,” she added.
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The way Raefe’s lip curled up at the mention of Tartanis only confirmed as much.
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“Get her to show us her wings, Raefe,” rasped the man pinning Elyria’s wrists. She suppressed a shudder, jerking against his hold.
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The grip on her limbs only tightened.
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Raefe traced a finger around her ankle in slow, deliberate circles. “Ah, yes. Won’t you bring your wings out to play? Perhaps if you put on a good show, we’ll let you go.”
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Even if his lecherous gaze hadn’t been raking over her body as he said the words, there wasn’t a chance in the four hells Elyria believed him. He’d already told her they came here for her. They weren’t leaving without her. But even if he was telling the truth, there was still no stars-damned way she was unveiling her wings. Not a fucking chance she would reveal the most vulnerable part of herself to these scoundrels.
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“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” she spat.
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“That can be arranged,” Raefe said, and Elyria had to swallow to keep the evening’s libations from making a violent return up her throat.
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Her pulse quickened, that feeling of discomfort—of warning—stirring in her gut once more.
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“Fine,” she said quickly. “I’ll sing for you—and I’ll do it happily, too.” Raefe arched his brow. She smiled sweetly. “When your body is cold in the ground and I’m dancing atop your grave. In fact, I’ll put on a whole celestial-blessed concert, motherfucker.”
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Raefe made a tutting sound before widening his grin. The blood froze in Elyria’s veins. “Oh, I think we’ll be making sweet music together long before then.”
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Smoke and Scar will be released on March 11, 2025. Preorder now, or add it to your TBR on Goodreads!
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