Lady of the Lycans

Description

Lady of the Lycans – Rhiannon Fraser

Verdanthia Chronicles 1

Elyrea’s early years were upended by the Plague and left her, and her deathly-ill mother, stranded in a cabin. Ely learned to fight and hunt to survive the harsh winters and brutal summers of Verdanthia, but nobody could fend off the night beasts that hunted those woods after dark.

When her mother’s previous life and identity catches up to her, Elyrea is caught in the crossfire – and only the Gods, and a devilishly handsome beast, hold the dark truth behind it all.

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EXCERPT:

My hands were raw from where I had been gripping the wooden axe handle. My breaths were rapid, white puffs in the icy December air. Soon, the new year would begin, and usually that would bring the worst weather with it, but this winter seemed a little warmer than the previous few had been.

Still, I prepared for the freezing weather and hungry months ahead. No doubt we would be holed up in our little cabin again. Just like the last few years. Thankfully, I had a good enough supply of food and just needed to stock up on firewood.

The pile of raw logs was only halfway chopped. Even though what had already been chopped was enough to get us through the next month, I still pushed for more because I could sell the extra at market in Citrella.

I set my worn axe against the chopping stump. My fingers were painfully stiff, and I hissed as I flexed them and rubbed them together. They stung like the summer I’d scooped honey from a beehive with my bare hands, and that was ages ago. The last time I ever had normalcy and color in my life.

I turned to follow the gravel and stone path, walking the short distance to the wooden porch of the old cabin, and considered possibly getting some rabbit or squirrel stew started. I plucked some splinters from my palms and fingers as I walked, though it was difficult to do with numb fingers, so I sucked a couple of little ones out of my palm.

I hopped up onto the little ledge of the porch and pushed open the door. The warmth and smell of old wood had become familiar to me, and I began to relax just a little. It wasn’t much to look at—but, it was home to us, and that’s all that I cared about.

My mother rested by the fire, wrapped in a blanket made from the fur and hide of a black bear she’d killed years ago. Back when she was still… herself.