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Hayle Coven Inheritance

I’m an international, multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in my head. As a singer, songwriter, independent filmmaker and improv teacher and performer, my life has always been about creating and sharing what I create with others. Now that my dream to write for a living is a reality, with over a hundred titles in happy publication and no end in sight, I live in beautiful Prince Edward Island, Canada, with my giant cats, pug overlord and overlady and my Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn. The Challenge “Jagger Santos,” Coradine said, voice singsong and trying to be endearing while I gagged a little over her cutsie attempt to be coy. So gross. “This is the one I was telling you about.” He didn’t look at her, his hunger for the fight apparent. “Ethie Hayle,” he said, deep voice full of daggers. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” I could have said no. Just turned on my heel and left, walked away, got the hell out of there. Should have. It was one thing to fight my own coven for “fun” occasionally. A way to let off steam, to expend some of my pent up anger in a reasonably safe way that ensured if they didn’t like me, they at least stayed out of my way. But a witch from another territory? The Santos coven wasn’t exactly on GreatGram’s favorite list, either. This could only end badly. Ethie Hayle has spent her whole life sheltered by the coven, her powerful family and the fear that an unknown enemy could, at any moment, leap out of the veil and hurt her. Talk about smothering when all she wants is to have the freedoms her oh-so-special brother, Gabriel, seems to take for granted. But when a strange woman appears and offers her a gift, Ethie discovers the concerns her mother and great-grandmother have harbored aren’t all that ridiculous after all and that there are powers in the Universe she can’t imagine…

Patti Larsen · Fantasia
Classificações insuficientes
123 Chs

Chapter 49: The Faithful

I followed them out of the alley, Reena leading, her long, black dreads tinkling with tiny silver beads woven through them, the tight black corset she wore studded with more sparkle. I was familiar enough with Demoniconian attire to call her apparel low key and despite the fact it didn't qualify as such here on my plane, at least Hong Kong seemed about as nonjudgmental as any place could be. I'd seen enough odd and revealing attire not to bat an eye as two girls passed, dressed in cat costumes with skirts so short their tall stockings-with eyes and ears at the tops-barely covered their skin.

"Who were they?" I aimed that question at the short, slim but muscular demon in human form who strode on like she owned the city, barreling her way through the crowd who parted for her like she intimidated them. Well, she intimidated me, so fair enough.