Meredith Hart

Monster of the Silver City, the epic second-chance romantasy adventure in the Killers of the Towers series, comes out NEXT WEEK.

But you don’t have to wait that long for a little sneak peek…

Why didn’t the magic kill me when it had the chance?

Maybe it doesn’t want to kill me yet. Or maybe I did this myself, healing my body without even thinking about it. Maybe I have that much control over this strange, wild power. Or—

My head jerks up. The room is as dark as the old god’s eyes, but now there’s a flicker of light seeping in from the bottom of the door.

Light and sound. The distant thud of footsteps coming down the stairs. I hold my breath, listening. The footsteps are soft, like the person approaching my cell is trying to be quiet.

Step, step. Stop. Wait. Step. Step.

The sound stops at my door. There’s a sort of rustling, followed by a dull clack of metal against metal. My breath catches in the back of my throat. There’s the click of a key entering a lock. The soft hiss as the lock retreats.

And then the door opens.

My heart stops.

She doesn’t see me, not at first. She has one hand raised in front of her and one hand in her pocket, with her long hair pulled back in a loose braid and her shapeless gray Disciples robes dragging on the floor. She’s looking at the far wall, squinting like there’s something she’s missing in the flood of light coming in from the hallway, and thank the gods for that, because it gives my numbed brain time to consider the options.

One, I am actually dead. This is a spirit come to collect my soul and take me to the Howling Fields.

Two, I’m unconscious. This is a nightmare, the worst torture my own mind can inflict on me.

Or three, the magic really does want to kill me, and is doing so in the most painful way possible.

But then Veloria turns.

Our eyes meet. Everything in my body goes cold. Her mouth opens, creating a sharp little O, like she’s going to scream or cry. I feel like I’ve just been punched in the chest.

This is real. Her wide eyes, the way the color drains from her cheeks, the few strands of hair that have escaped from her braid to dance around her temples. The way she’s trembling. The way she looks at me like I’m a demon, or a nightmare.

Real. All of it. All real.

Veloria Averyaseth is here, in the pits of the Towers.

In my prison.