Year of the Rat

By Heather Heffner

The Dragon's Pearl has shattered in the heart of Seoul, unleashing a storm of curses great enough to drive people into a zombie rage. Sensing an opportunity to crush the Were Nation’s stronghold once and for all, Frost King Aleksandr lays siege from the north with an army out of Slavic legend. Meanwhile within the city, something more terrible still haunts the frightened civilians.

Still reeling over the shock of betrayal, Citlalli Alvarez is separated from her half-sister Raina and her family. Now trapped inside a nightmarish Seoul and unable to make contact with the outside world, Citlalli’s werewolf pack teams up with the dragon-shifter Yong twins in a desperate last stand. As Were agencies from across the globe intervene to stop the spirit world’s secret from getting out, Citlalli, Sun Bin, Ankor, and Vampyre Prince Khyber attempt to find the lost Dragon King, who may be the only one powerful enough to save Seoul.

Meanwhile, Raina gets drawn into Rafael’s crusade for revenge that takes them deep into the mountains of Japan to the Vampyre Court’s notorious Death Palace. However, a familiar face from Rafael’s past reemerges, and Raina is faced with a choice of how far she will go for vengeance.

As the war against the Vampyre Court engulfs the streets of Seoul, no one is safe and nothing is certain. Before the Red Night can end, the price of power must be paid.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Heffner
• Release date: Dec 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005036430

Heather Heffner

HEATHER HEFFNER was born in Seattle, Washington, where she grew up being dragged along on endless hikes by her well-meaning parents. Luckily, her brother was forced to come, too, and they ended up storytelling to entertain themselves. Heather's never given it up since, and now she can't think of anything better than imagining a thousand-page-long epic (and maybe even going for a hike, after).Heather is the author of the dark epic fantasy book, THE TRIBE OF ISHMAEL (Afterlife Chronicles #1), about a boy who accidentally boards a train bound to Hell, and the urban fantasy book, YEAR OF THE WOLF (Changeling Sisters #1), about a girl who faces off against supernatural evil in Seoul, South Korea. You can read all about her adventures, or more likely, misadventures, on her blog:https://heatherheffner.blogspot.com/

Book preview

Foreword

My name is Citlalli Alvarez.

I don’t have much time. There is barely any light left with which to write, but I must try. Someone must know.

They are coming.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. My pack, the Seoul werewolves, teamed up with the dragon-shifting Yong family to drive the Vampyre Court from South Korea once and for all. The youngest Yong daughter, Heesu, completed the Trials of Wisdom to become the new Celestial Dragon who would bring balance and harmony to the world. She claimed the Yeouiju, which is the Dragon’s Pearl of creative power.

However, freeing the Korean Peninsula angered an enemy we did not see coming: the Death Lords of Xibalba. These demons of pain and humiliation are the vampyres’ makers. Their hellish underworld has risen to claim the spirit world of Eve, and they don’t plan to stop there. What’s worse is that the few gods left are either in hiding or have joined the enemy. My half-sister Raina’s father, the famous fire dragon Yong Mun Mu, made the wrong deities angry in his quest to accumulate a massive trove of wealth to fund the innovative technologies of Yong Enterprises. Now one of those rivals, the vindictive wealth goddess Eobshin, has come to collect. The price she took is one we are still reeling from: Heesu.

Thanks to Eobshin destroying Heesu’s Yeouiju, Seoul has been sucked into a strange, isolated netherworld. No one in the mortal world can help us. It’s just us…and them.

One vampyre, Crown Prince Khyber, dares fight for our freedom. He acts as a spy now in the camp of his brother Aleksandr, a centuries-old Russian vampyre known as the Frost King. Aleksandr has brought an army of rusalki and snow giants to aid the Death Lords in crushing the Were Nation for good.

But it is these Death Lords we fear above all. They have the power to turn friends into foes and sanity into madness.

Welcome to the Red Night. Where the hunted must become the hunter in order to survive.

No matter the cost.

—Citlalli

KEY PLAYERS: THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UNDECIDED

Alvarez Family:

Citlalli: I was turned into a werewolf what feels like ages ago. I’ve since committed shifter taboos such as turning Triad and life-bonding with Vampyre Prince Khyber. But our pack is dwindling in numbers, so they’ll take what they can get. Eobshin took my arm in our last battle, but I burned her with my fire soul, which forced her to flee.

Raina: my younger half-sister. She is a shapeshifting water dragon who faced off with Heesu in the final Trial of Wisdom. Raina took it hard when she failed. I haven’t seen her since the Red Night fell.

Miguel: my older brother who works as a manager at our family restaurant in Itaewon. He is dating my rival-turned-Alpha: Ahn Yu Li. Go figure.

Mami: our mother. She is the proud owner of the Alvarez Family Restaurant and, I’ve discovered, keeper of many family secrets. Too bad she took a trip to México for unfinished business before she could enlighten us.

Yong Family:

Mun Mu: the former Celestial Dragon, Guardian of the East Sea, CEO of Yong Enterprises, a bad-ass fire dragon—this guy has so many titles I can’t keep track. He’s also Raina’s father. They had a falling out last time they spoke, which I bet has something to do with the fact that he kept a wealth goddess imprisoned in the body of a young Thai woman named Nyssa in order to amass a huge fortune. But, you know, he got rich. No one has seen him since the argument.

Sun Bin: Mun Mu’s eldest daughter. Sun is an air imugi who controls winds and temperature. She has taken a bit too much of a liking to her heritage as the Winter Dragon and isn’t afraid to freeze anyone who looks at her wrong. She was in love with Nyssa for many years and was as shocked as any of us over the revelation of Nyssa’s true identity.

Ankor: Sun Bin’s twin brother, an ore imugi who can sense metals in the earth. A teenage science experiment left him seriously wounded with a shard of yeouiju impaled in his ear, which made him a Triad like me. His soul fracture transformed him into an energy dragon capable of generating nuclear-level power, but at a terrible cost.

Heesu: the youngest Yong was an earth imugi who rose to become this age’s Celestial Dragon. In her short reign, she defeated a Greater Dark Spirit and won us the Battle of Jeju Island. She wielded the Yeouiju, which has unlimited power of creation. When Eobshin broke Heesu’s pearl, it unleashed a storm of destructive curses that sucked Seoul into an Eve netherworld.

Nyssa/Eobshin: a Thai refugee who served as governess to the Yong household for years. She is a werenāgi who fell in love with Sun Bin. Later she revealed herself to be the Korean goddess of wealth, Eobshin, who had been unfairly imprisoned by Mun Mu. Now none of us know if Nyssa ever existed.

The Seoul Werewolf Pack:

Rafael: my werewolf maker and ex-boyfriend. Things got strained when I life-bonded with Vampyre Prince Khyber, whom Rafael has vowed to kill in order to avenge the deaths of his mother and sister. He was exiled from the wolfpack for planning a mutiny.

Yu Li: Alpha of the Seoul werewolves. She generously kept me on as Beta despite our history and now faces the daunting task of leading our beleaguered forces in the fight of our lives. She is mother to Young Soo and, for some reason, has a thing for my brother.

Namkyu, Moon, and Iseul: the other pack members trapped in Seoul. There are so few of us left since we lost Bae to the vampyres.

The Were Nation:

Una: the Doorkeeper, who keeps the balance between the spirit and mortal realms. She can shapeshift into the legendary Black Turtle.

The Lady of Eve: the reincarnated White Tiger. She is the leader of the Elder Life Spirits who watch over Eve.

Xu Xiang: the Red Bird. He is the leader of the Eastern International Were Council and rules the shapeshifting goshawk clan in China.

The Golden Mane: We do not know much about this American lion shapeshifter, except that the Lady of Eve warned us that his coming would bring disaster.

Taeyang: the walking-talking incarnation of Khyber’s soul. He is everything Khyber is not: friendly, human, likes sunlight—and has extraordinary healing powers.

The Vampyre Court:

Khyber: eldest son of the deceased Vampyre Queen Maya. A long time ago, he sacrificed himself in order for his sisters to escape from her. He can kill with a touch. Khyber is called the Prince of Sorrow or the Crow, referring to his shabby black wings. His quest to find true death led him to align more frequently with the Were Nation, making him a target among his brethren. He was cursed to a life bond with me after the Dark Spirits discovered his betrayal, making it impossible for him to die without taking me, too. Yikes.

Aleksandr: one of Maya’s younger sons who hails from Russia. Over the centuries, he has built an undead army out of Slavic legend in order to finally destroy the Were Nation in Seoul. He is called Frost King and Silver Tongue, and I don’t want to know why.

Donovan: Maya’s third son, who is originally from France. He has the power to incite lust and desire, which he has tried to use on my sister Raina more than once. Since the Battle of Jeju Island, he licks his wounds in disgrace somewhere in Japan.

Aaron and Santiago: the last of Maya’s royal vampyre brood still defiling this earth.

The Death Lords of Xibalba:

Patan and Xic: the Lords of Walking Death, who are known for their demonic powers to kill on the road. There are Twelve Lords of Xibalba, and they operate in pairs to spread misery and death across the world. The broken Yeouiju freed these two to stalk the streets of Seoul, where they drive civilians into zombie-level madness.

One-Death and Seven-Death: Little is known about these two mysterious gods who rule the Death Lords, except that they are responsible for the existence of vampyres. The other Death Lord pairs are the Lords of Famine, Hardened Hearts, Forgetting, Plague, and Walking Death.

Prologue

~Sixteenth Century Russia~

In the heart of the snow palace, silence ruled. Icicle chandeliers hung dreamily over lonely ballrooms, and ashes blew from fireplaces with no one to tend them. Grand mirrors that stretched from floor to ceiling kept watch. Occasionally their glass fogged with breath, although not a soul could be seen. When evening fell, the domes of each tower roared to life under the glow of the Northern Lights. Color rippled up the valley in a reflection of the dancing night sky. No one ever saw this. No one dared come close.

For this was the land of the dead.

Today, one pair did. The sons of the tsar stood in the frozen courtyard and gazed in wonder at a herd of crystalized reindeer.

It was forbidden to speak of the enchanted palace at court, but all knew the tale. When the Northern Lights lit the winter sky, it was said that the legendary Firebird was flying to the magical snow palace on the other side of Kalinov Bridge, where she would bring light to the people of the underworld. There the Firebird would remain until springtime, when she would return to bring warmth and color to the land.

Except this spring had come and gone. Winter stayed with no end in sight.

The older son was a hunter. He wore his ice-encrusted blond hair tied back to reveal a face with jagged edges and keen blue eyes. He carried a crossbow on his back and a hunting knife on his belt in case they encountered the dreaded wolf people. He was renowned for his many kills.

The wolf shifters dwelled deep within the wood and were a blight on the livestock in spring. When winter’s chill had lingered far past its time, the wolf people’s unearthly howls had grown closer to the villages with each passing night. They were starving.

It was the one good thing to come of this wretched cold, the older son decided. He hoped all of the wolf folk were dead. He had lost many a friend to those savage beasts who had human faces by day and merciless fangs by night.

He knew it was dangerous to be here. The older son was practical and despised anything he couldn’t put down with a knife. But with the curse of eternal winter facing their northern kingdom, he also knew they had no choice but to enter the palace. Just in and out. Find the legendary Firebird and go.

The younger prince carried a bow and arrow, but he was not a hunter. His skin was pale and delicate like parchment blotted with water. On the journey over, blood had flooded his eyes the way it frequently did due to his illness, and he had a large purplish bruise spreading up his leg. However, he was their reason for being here: his books of legends and adventure, and his inability to watch children loll listlessly in their parents’ arms.

Now he plopped his pack on the ground, where it promptly spilled over with manuscripts. This fanciful fool, the older brother thought, watching him search for a map. Insisting to arm himself with knowledge rather than the blade.

But for once, surrounded by the spirits of the departed, the older brother was grateful.

The younger prince looked up, and a grin spread across his weary face. We are here, Mikhail.

The older prince clapped a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t notice how his younger brother grimaced under the weight of it. You see? It is as we planned. We will restore fire to Salekhard and rule together. I couldn’t have done this without you.

The younger prince fought to keep up with his brother as they descended into the palace, but he was beaming from ear to ear.

It had taken a lot to earn their father’s blessing for this mission. The younger brother knew that they could not afford to fail—even though the mission had been whispered in his ear by the foreign rusalka.

He thought he could feel Lada’s oil-black eyes watching now, even though they had left her on the other side of Kalinov Bridge to watch the horses. It gave him the unpleasant feeling of insects crawling across his skin. His father had given her to him as a jest, an exotic present from faraway lands to a boy who spoke of the Persian Mazdak movement; of strange Utopia; of classless societies and equal distribution of wealth.

For his older son, the tsar had opened the doors to his most exclusive brothel. A reward for serving on the front lines against the barbaric wolf people. When Father and Mikhail walked the halls together, people saw the tall, handsome man who was the striking image of the tsar. Secure. Familiar. A man who took up arms to defend the smallfolk instead of writing about it.

Then they saw the smaller limping boy with the not-right eyes, the unshakeable cough, and the mouth full of blasphemy. And the whispers grew pitying:

"The next winter will take that one."

"Should be left to the wolves. More able-bodied people in the villages could use his share of supper."

The younger son remembered the first time he had introduced the concept of communal farming. His speech had been interrupted by Mikhail, who had returned from his first military campaign. His brother had brandished the bloodied head of a wolf chieftain on a spike. The people had flocked to the gates in droves.

Won’t Mikhail make a worthy successor, my son? the tsar had asked the younger prince.

The boy had nodded before realizing his father wasn’t looking at him. The moment the tsar beheld Mikhail’s triumphant return, he never had eyes for his younger son again.

However, all of the weapons in Mikhail’s armory had not been enough to fight the unending winter. The younger prince had turned to Lada. As distasteful as she was, the witch woman listened. She heard his ideas. And when she spoke, she knew more than he had ever dreamed. She’d told him a magical story, a wonderful story, of how he could save his kingdom and become the future tsar everyone needed.

Prince Aleksandr had smiled.

The moon had come out from behind a cloud, then. Lada had no shadow.

Spooked at the memory, the young prince caught up to Mikhail. They descended the spiral staircase into a glacial ballroom filled with dancers frozen in mid-step.

His brother made faces at the gilded mirrors adorning the walls, and the younger prince laughed. He noticed steam wafting from a manservant’s chalice. Hesitantly, he dipped a finger into the goblet and tasted it. Warm, spiced mead seeped across his tongue. Shouting, Aleksandr jumped back. He had never tasted nor seen anything like this before. He had pored over ancient manuscripts about the forbidden Ice Palace until his candles had burned low, but words simply couldn’t capture this enchantment. It was beautiful.

The older brother was having fun with the orchestra. He tugged at the aging conductor’s mustache, snuck a fondle of a robust violinist’s chest, and then discovered a birch svirel lying on a frost-encrusted table. Without hesitation, he placed the flute against his lips and blew. An oddly sweet note swelled, filling the halls of the ice palace, and then fell silent.

Beneath their feet, ice trembled.

The young men stared at each other. When nothing happened, they gave a relieved laugh.

Please, Mikhail, Aleksandr said. Let’s go. We should return with reinforcements.

Mikhail’s eyes gleamed like pale glass. We can’t go yet, Alek. Don’t you remember what lies at the heart of the palace?

His younger brother sighed his resignation. The Firebird.

The salvation of our kingdom, Mikhail stressed. You told me the Firebird can bring the light of spring to any corner of the world. Do you want to see that village seamstress who attends your town halls spend one more night in that godawful hovel of hers? No dry wood for the fireplace? No food in the larders? We cannot wait for our father. We will be the saviors of our people, little brother.

Alek pulled his cap lower, but Mikhail already knew he had won. They followed the spiral stairs deeper into the land of the dead.

The castle’s inhabitants grew increasingly unsettling. Aleksandr clapped his moleskin gloves to stay warm and drew close to Mikhail as they passed snow giants with battleaxes, snarling hounds the size of wolves, and a frozen lake dotted by fair ice maidens with pointy ears.

There, in the heart of the dark waters, was a burning bird.

Aleksandr’s voice caught, but it might have been the cold. Struggling to rub some feeling back into his numb lips, he whispered: Is that—?

The Firebird, Mikhail said, his voice hushed. He started out across the frozen lake with the kind of bravery Aleksandr could only write about. The mythical bird radiated with golden plumage and vermillion flames that cast dancing shadows across the cavern’s icicles. The witch woman had been right. Everyone knew the Firebird brought good fortune. If they could take even one feather, then they could drive back the unnatural cold cursing the kingdom with starvation. Fight magic with magic.

Drawing close, Mikhail felt heady with hunger. As a hunter, he had learned to both respect and fear the beasts of the wood. However, the ecstasy of feeling warm again after so many months spent in darkness had erased all sense of caution. He had never liked nor trusted Lada, his younger brother’s sorceress, but perhaps this time she had pointed them true. The Firebird’s flames roared, and Mikhail ceased to be aware of the world around him. Eager, he snatched a feather from the lustrous plumage.

The Firebird went dark, drowning Mikhail with unforgiving cold. He fumbled about blindly in the darkness. The subterranean lake seemed to expand on all sides without end.

Boy. What are you doing? he heard a voice, cruel and amused, say.

Mikhail spun around and beheld a queen. Except she was all wrong. Those were hard, pitiless eyes of emerald ice, the type to make others weep. Her white-blond hair carpeted her back like scales, and she had wings that rippled with rubicund flames. An icicle tiara mounted with a teardrop pearl adorned her brow, and her gown was a glittering sheet of green lace.

Mikhail held up the feather as if to ward her off. He realized with a sinking heart that it flickered like her wings: the flames of a Firebird. In the leaping firelight, he saw glowing eyes surround him. Ice maidens. They slithered out of the black waters noiselessly, their lips as blue as their eyes.

Lada had never mentioned this.

"Get back, rusalki! he cried. Come, Alek. We’re going." He reached for his brother’s hand. It was frozen solid.

Horrorstruck, Mikhail whirled to see his younger brother’s face encased in a block of ice. Tears were frozen upon his cheeks.

The ice queen laughed. Her maidens cackled with her, a low, raspy sound like gravelly rocks rolling down a stream.

He drank from my realm, the queen said. Now he can never leave.

Please, Mikhail begged, falling to his knees. "Spare him. He is my only brother. Take me instead. I am the heir to a great kingdom. What use is a sick little boy to you?"

Mikhail imagined he saw Aleksandr’s eyelid twitch behind the ice imprisoning him. The dark queen cocked her head, listening to the whispers of her maidens. Her gray lips parted in smile, revealing two gleaming fangs.

No, she said. My rusalki have wanted a child for so long. He will be theirs. But when you disturbed our slumber, you woke us to a greater danger at our doorstep. You have my gratitude. So, princeling, you may return to your kingdom—her finger pointed at his feet, and Mikhail heard the ominous crack of ice—if you can survive the swim.

Aleksandr! Mikhail cried for his lost brother, but then he was swept under the ice. The darkness was quick to clog his senses, until all he could process was the bone-chilling cold stopping his heart.

And the sight, no matter how dim, of the feather transforming into something resplendent and magical, a bird made of fire, who gripped his wrist and dragged him deep into the depths of the lake.

Part 1: Mice

Chapter 1: Goddess Reawakened

~Eobshin~

I held each of the Yong children in my arms on the day they were born and wondered which one I would have to kill.

I watched them grow up in a palace lit by the magic of science. The Yongs played with robots, spilled chemical concoctions on paintings, and looked through telescopes while listening to stories of how the stars were made. They no longer knew me. Once they began to grow, their father put me in the body of a young refugee girl who had nowhere else to go.

The Yong children had their own magic as well. They were shapeshifting dragons; the twins were an air and ore imugi respectively, and their little sister was an earth imugi. I knew one day they would follow in their fire father’s footsteps and dominate the serpent folk. Except one of them would be worse. One of them would catch the Yeouiju and have the power to bend creation to their will.

Only a god should have that type of power.

The Dragon King Mun Mu believed me to be broken. I caught him staring across the dinner table at me with narrowed red eyes while the twins quarreled and threw food at one another and his mate tried to feed Heesu kimchi. Each time, I humbled myself deeper into the ground. I didn’t know how much further I could sink, but there was always another level. Eventually, he couldn’t find me anymore inside that mortal girl’s eyes. The Dragon King believed me gone. Defeated. Little more than a good luck charm now to contribute toward his growing prosperity.

But even a god can change. I vowed that I would make Yong Mun Mu rue the day he imprisoned the goddess of wealth within a young Thai woman’s body and called her servant.

I would take his wealth. I would take his children.

The twins and their baby sister, Heesu, never saw me. They had been raised in a world without gods. They were never taught to revere us.

However, his mate knew. The eldest twin, Sun Bin, was a terror when she was little. Mun Mu never channeled her aggression properly. One day at the dojang, the impudent girl tried to use her ice powers on me. Mun Mu’s mate, Sun Young, saw me resist. At the time, she did not know what it meant, but I knew it troubled her.

Another day, I was cleaning Sun Young’s bedroom. Sun Young awoke in the present. The Dreaming Dragon was powerful. She bore three sights and did not live in one time, but many. However, this gift carried a terrible toll. Sun Young often did not know if she was in the past, present, or future, because to her, time did not exist. I envied her this freedom. It was a god’s freedom.

I remembered when Sun Young seized my arm. She looked at me, and I knew that she saw me, clearly, for what I was.

Previously, her future eyes had been open. Undoubtedly, they had shown her something terrible, for now the chrome dragon gripped my arm and gasped: You!

What she would have said, I will never know. The past claimed her, and Sun Young slumped back against the pillow in a listless state.

That was toward the end of her days, then. The Yong children were anxious and looked for a mother in any person they could find one. I did not expect them to choose me. It would make what was to come all the harder.

And yet, the fourth dragon did not appear. Mun Mu vanished into his office to pace and fume. He believed Sun Young had passed before his final child could be born. The seasonal cycle would not renew this age. There would be no Trials of Wisdom. No Celestial Dragon to catch the Dragon’s Pearl of omnipotent power. Seeing a ray of light in the dragons’ tyranny, I allowed myself to grow too close to the Yong children. One of them, I even came to love.

When the child of the affair appeared years later, I mentally prepared myself to kill my love. I believed it would be her. Sun Bin was the strongest and most cunning of the four. Even though I had fallen in love with the softer moments she never let anyone see, I knew at heart that Sun Bin was her father’s daughter. I had tried to show her a different way of seeing the serpent folk, but she only saw them as subjects to be ruled with an iron fist.

Her twin brother, Ankor, was just as bad. He had become a dangerous Triad by attempting to create mechanical wings for the serpent folk. He viewed us as wingless inferiors who should become more like the dragons. It never occurred to him that maybe we did not want to fly. Him, I told myself, I could kill as well.

The child of the affair was a timid thing that no one wanted for the right reasons. She knew nothing of the dragons. Sometimes I wondered if it would be best for an ignorant creature such as she to claim the Yeouiju. Yet during the Trials of Wisdom, Raina Mejía-Alvarez proved that she was too easily manipulated.

I remembered now sitting at an empty table with a blank-faced Sun Young on one side and baby Heesu on the other. The earth dragon toddler didn’t seem to notice something was wrong with her mother. She giggled and threw the kimchi that Sun Young had been trying so hard for her to eat.

I picked the spicy cabbage leaves off the ground one by one. Heesu sensed my ominous mood. She gave a frightened hiccup, emitting a spark of lightning.

I smiled and extended the bulgogi plate. Heesu screamed in delight and proceeded to devour the entire thing. I found myself stroking her silky black hair and enjoying a few pieces of the succulent beef myself. When I had been free to roam as the goddess of wealth, a hearty meal and a warm hearth had brought the most smiles to people’s faces.

You are right, dragon princess, I told her happily munching face. A reptile should have no interest in vegetables.

She fell asleep in my lap that night while I was combing her hair.

Fourteen years later, I snapped her neck.

***

Fourteen years later, there is no longer simple satisfaction over a good meal or a warm place to spend the night. The only prosperity is individualized material wealth. It is a thing few have, and the rest pretend they do. These days, children are taught that anyone can become a god.

They forgot to tell them that even gods fail.

The chattering jungle ahead is dark, lit only by slender blades of moonlight. However, there is no light where the vampyre prince and I are going, into the heart of the Maya underworld.

At my side, Santiago hesitates. Great Serpent Goddess, he says, inclining his head with clipped military precision. His pointed teeth glint in the moonlight. Forgive your servant his curiosity. Yet I must ask: the Yong twins and that werebitch Citlalli Alvarez were blindsided by your reveal. They were grieving over the Celestial Dragon Heesu’s death. Why did you not kill them all when you had the chance?

I demand to know if he is questioning the ways of a goddess. The vampyre backtracks. I ask him if he thinks the Death Lords of Xibalba will find the Korean goddess of wealth or a vampyre worthier for their cause. He apologizes profusely. Maya trained him well. Santiago is once more an obedient soldier…for now.

They forgot to tell them that even gods have times when they do not know.

Chapter 2: Blackout

~Miguel~

The labyrinthine subway network beneath Seoul was impressive. Subway trains hurtled like screaming silver bullets down dark tunnels, ruthlessly intent on reaching their destination. They were the reason I’d reluctantly stopped driving my jeep. Two hands were necessary when trying to herd my girlfriend’s son Young Soo to his taekwondo class. However, not even a subway ride was fast enough to outrun a Young Soo tantrum.

"Jeonhwa," he insisted for the umpteenth time, pulling my sleeve.

"Yah," I growled, trying to sound as stern as Yu Li when the little brat refused to finish his kimchi. "You ate injeolmi. I held up his hands where they gleamed with powdery sweetness from the rice cake. There is no way in hell you are touching my phone."

"Jeonhwa juseyo!" Young Soo cried and had the nerve to dive for my pocket.

I pinched his bony fingers and was about to teach the punk first grader the meaning of a right angle, when I saw a nearby ajumma glare at me. Yes. Foreigner abuses cute schoolboy on train would make a catchy headline.

I settled for giving Young Soo a friendly headlock until he twisted out of it and huffed, staring off at the blurred stream of neon-lit advertisements. I sighed and scrolled through my messages, trying to remember what my parents had done with five hyper-charged Alvarez kids before the invention of smartphones.

Yu Li was calling. I slid the bar to answer, but all I heard was static. Then the call dropped. No bars. We must be farther underground than I thought.

Young Soo’s hand crept toward my pocket again and tugged. Wishing I could transform right then into a demon wolf like my sister, Citlalli, or hell, a lightning-breathing dragon like my half-sister, Raina, I whirled around, preparing to unless Miguel Madness.

Until I caught a glimpse of his pale face staring dead ahead. Slowly, I looked up.

The cheery commercials advertising Sugar-Free Aloe Vera Juice had vanished. In their place were disconcerting black screens, which were somehow darker than the subway tunnel. All at once, every channel up and down the train turned to static.

I leaned closer to the TV. Something moved behind the gray fuzziness. Abruptly, all of the screens went blank, and then a stream of characters ran across:

Welcome to the Red Night.

The screens dissolved into static once more. Yet the thing behind them moved closer.

Shouts of alarm began to ring up and down the subway. I turned and saw one businessman get to his feet, pointing at thin air.

Another message:

Scurry, scurry, little mice.

My hand closed around Young Soo’s. Vamonos, I whispered, so rattled that I switched back to my first language. Young Soo got the drift. We inched, slowly and cautiously, toward the emergency door release ring. I heard a faint screech that sounded like braking. I realized we were slowing down.

More screams. A group of women recoiled from a window at the far end of our car, crying about a ghost, and the dread in my heart deepened. My hand closed around the cord.

A final message:

Wait too long and the Lords of Walking Death shall find you.

The curtain of static parted. I covered Young Soo’s eyes and averted my own gaze.

Staring at the window reflection, I watched passengers rise like a great tide to pound on the doors. There was an odd ring of space around the businessman in the center. On his back was a strange creature. It was a naked, emaciated thing, wrapped around the man’s chest like bandages. Black hair, as thick as a horse’s mane, concealed its face. It bent over the man’s shoulders, squeezing him tighter.

I whirled around. There was no one on the businessman’s back, and yet, he had begun to gasp for breath. Passengers milled around him in fear. Suddenly, the man fell to his knees, clutching his throat. The train lurched, and people stumbled, blocking my view. However, the man’s wheezes still echoed in my head as he fought for air that had unexplainably vanished from his lungs.

Time to go. I pulled the release ring. The subway screeched to a halt, leaving us facing a concrete wall. Young Soo’s eyes were wide, and we exchanged a glance. Looking at the slender gap we had to inch along, I knew we both regretted eating that tray of rice cakes.

Another wave of screams started. A chill ran down my spine as beneath it, I heard a deep, animalistic roar. Then from amidst the crowd, three full-grown adults went flying. Something was coming, clawing its way through passengers as if they were cushions.

Go, Young Soo, I hissed.

Thankfully, the boy was thinner than a pair of chopsticks. He split his knee when he landed, but he didn’t complain. Sucking in our bellies, we slid our way along the subway car with the wall inches from our faces.

We were halfway to the subway platform when the electricity went out. A deep shudder reverberated through the city’s foundations. Young Soo gripped my hand so hard that he almost cut off my circulation.

"Tereoriseuteu?" he whispered. Terrorist?

"Ani," I told him no as the subway car behind us shook. Something large and heavy crashed into the window above us.

Young Soo understood. Vampyre. He spoke it in English.

I closed my eyes. Those bloodsuckers and their court were nasty, but I had never seen anything like this before.

But then I remembered Jeju Island. I’d been out at sea, but as we’d approached the island, I’d heard the deep, powerful laughter of something rising from beneath the earth.

Worse, I replied. I’m not a fan of sugar-coating things.

Worse, Young Soo agreed. We crouched below the platform as the subway doors above were busted open—by someone’s head. An avalanche of passengers tumbled out, struggling to flee. Suddenly, a hand far too large to be a normal human’s shot down. It grabbed Young Soo and yanked him up quicker than I could blink.

Kid! Only fear for that devious miscreant could make me leave the safety of the rails—fear of what Yu Li would do to me if I lost her son. The thing holding Young Soo was six feet and counting with bones bursting free from its skin, and its clothes were in tatters as if it had grown too fast. Its skin was bleached so white that it almost glowed in the dark. Strange crimson lashes carpeted its body, and its eyes were puckered rings of flesh.

A lady’s bracelet glinted among the strings of skin in its teeth. The thing threw Young Soo to the ground, and I charged from behind. My switchblade clicked open, and I stabbed it three, four, five times in the side. My knife slid in and out of its bloodless skin like cutting through butter. So I leaped on its back like I’d seen that weird creature do. I wrapped an elbow around its throat and forced its jaw closed.

Young Soo scrambled away. But the monster freaked out; its arms turned inside out and clawed at my face like the blades of a windmill. Desperate, I stabbed it through the top of the head, but its cranium was solid. I twisted my blade free and leaped off.

The thing’s bones clicked as it stitched itself back together. It grew even taller, if that was possible. And its appetite grew with it.

Panting, I rolled up next to Young Soo and hoisted him onto my shoulders. Put this on, I whispered, holding out the Dokkaebi invisibility cap. Young Soo jammed the bowler’s hat down over his ears, and we ran.

The flood of people intensified on either side as we sprinted for the exit. We were somewhere near Dongdaemun judging from the number of abandoned shop stalls in the underground marketplace, their contents strewn. More tunnels funneled into ours. More bodies. I realized we were racing a hoard of rats ascending from the depths. Above the shouts of panicked civilians, I heard the roar of more undead monsters on our heels.

Finally, a breath of fresh air washed across our faces. I heard car horns and squealing tires. We were close to freedom.

A police whistle shrieked. As our frenzied mob charged toward the surface, I saw boots hustle toward a manual crank. I heard a distinctive groan, like that of a gate being lowered.

"Yah!" a hoarse-voiced ajumma screamed in my ear. They’re locking us in!

The crowd dissolved into a vicious mosh pit, and I smacked against a wall. Young Soo grabbed at my nose; my eyes—anywhere he could find a handhold. I swung about deliriously. There was a white dog watching beneath the street lamp with knowing blue eyes. No. That was no dog.

"Umma!" Young Soo tore off the invisibility cap. Umma, we’re here!

Yu Li attacked the policeman cranking the gate with no mercy. The squad stumbled back in shock. One pulled a gun, and then he realized he was aiming it at a beautiful young woman pulling on a shawl. A red scar ran down her face.

"Choesonghamnida," he apologized.

Yu Li regarded him coolly and then dashed to help us roll under the gate just in time. I heard a resounding boom as its metal jaws crashed down. A wall of wails hit it; in a single moment, hundreds of passengers had been trapped underground.

What the fuck is going on? I gasped, falling back against a spray-painted wall. My shoulder came away red and sticky, and I realized it wasn’t paint. High above me loomed eerily dark skyscrapers. Bodies scurried back and forth like ants behind their drawn windows, illuminated briefly by the sweeping helicopter lights.

The Yeouiju is broken. Red Night has come to Seoul. Yong Heesu, the Celestial Dragon, is dead by treachery, and her father, the Dragon King, is missing. This will be a war against the undead like none we have ever seen. Yu Li ignored my slack-jawed look and took our hands. Come. We must get to Namsan Tower. Your sister is there.

A figure emerged from the car fire smoke. I grabbed my switchblade, but Yu Li stopped me.

Namkyu. Report.

The brawny werewolf spared a contemptuous glance at my blade. He raised his two-way radio and bowed shortly. Alpha. US troop withdraw to sea. News say bad plague here. World want no part. Our government say no one enter until problem contained.

Can you get us into Yongsan Garrison? Yu Li demanded.

Namkyu hesitated, glancing at Young Soo and me. Yes. But we will not be only ones going there. Less is better.

Whatever is fastest, Yu Li said. We need to secure those weapons before…

Her voice trailed off, and we knew it was because none of us knew what we were up against.

Namsan Tower is on way, Namkyu said. We get Weres and go. Half stay in Yong Enterprises. Half with me to get weapons.

How well do you know Yongsan Garrison? I asked.

Namkyu regarded me again. Well, he said curtly. All Korean men serve military two years.

Thank the bloody saints for that, I swore, and Yu Li raised an eyebrow. I held up the switchblade. Yu Li, there were freakin’ zombies in the subway. We’re going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than this.

A sudden rumble shook the earth. We dashed to hold onto something as the concrete bucked like a beast’s backbone. A burning subway car shot from the tunnel like a bat out of hell and plowed into the sea of honking cars. I spun around to hide, but was caught, transfixed, when I saw It.

The ghost’s back was turned with Its black hair blowing in the wind over Its vest of bandages. It stood quite calmly as bombs replaced shooting stars and the towering skyscrapers that never slept became tombs. A white insect fluttered by Its head, and then It turned.

It had no face.

I heard Yu Li scream my name. Then a wall of squealing metal hit me and the world went dark.

Chapter 3: Hole in the Heart of the World

~The Were Directorate~

The hour was late. Moonlight poured through the dome of the building, illuminating the Were Nation Directorate as they scurried around like blind and frightened mice. Screens lit the night, replaying the same footage on an endless loop: Seoul. The explosion. The audible tremor of all power being cut. Then, the screams.

Five minutes into the reel, all who watched felt their blood turn cold. For the screams began to change. They became deeper, distorted. Animalistic. Then every single recording dissolved into static.

Only one man stood calmly amongst the frantic Were Nation members struggling to make contact with Seoul. He wore dark gray cashmere, a violet vest, golden rings that clinked on his fingers, and shades to hide his disconcerting amber eyes. His gaze was fixed on the news channels. Hundreds of stations around the globe reported in every language from English to French to Japanese. Their voices created a Tower of Babel as images repeatedly flashed of the black hole that had appeared in the Korean peninsula.

Oh, Mun Mu, the man murmured. How the mighty have fallen.

An International Were Defense Agency hyena with her hair in disarray elbowed her way through her fellow IWDA officers and planted both hands on the dashboard. Any update from our sources? she demanded. The Golden Mane is waiting.

The presiding wereeagle saluted with military precision, first to the amber-eyed man, and then to the hyena. Defense Minister Carver; Deputy Minister Dema. The coverage continues to report that a deadly plague has broken out in South Korea. No one goes in or out. Speculation is that this is the beginning of biological warfare between North and South.

Everyone spared a glance toward the image of a shadowy North Korea. The werebats who had been able to get close had picked up sonar images of the only thing that could have made the situation worse: an army of the undead. The ghostly dots multiplied on the edges of the screen like cancer cells. Maya’s Russian son, Vampyre Prince Aleksandr, had entered the fray from the north.

Sir, how do you wish to proceed?

The amber-eyed man could smell his deputy minister’s fear from here. Any moment now, she would wet herself. He placed a cigarette between his lips and reclined, aware of all eyes upon him.

Same as we always have, he spoke softly. Our purpose is containment. The Children of Death are angry that their territory was taken from them. Yong Mun Mu and the Eastern Life Spirits overstepped their bounds, and now Seoul is trapped in a netherworld of Eve that we cannot enter. We need to keep the Korean and US militaries out of it.

The Vampyre Court doesn’t mean to take back their territory, a werelemur officer spoke up timidly. They mean to obliterate it. Shapeshifters and human folk alike.

Carver slammed down a letter on the table, and everyone cringed. Ugly black characters breathed and fluttered on the paper in the shape of a six-fingered monkey hand. They all knew what it said.

The Death Gods will be appeased, Carver stressed, as long as the Were Directorate does not interfere. We all heard the report from the werewolf Alpha Ahn before she lost contact. Two of the Twelve have broken through.

A hushed silence fell. The static intensified until it became unbearable.

The wereeagle looked up from his post. Sir. The head of the International Were Council has arrived.

Carver waved a finger, and the screens illuminated the sharpened curve of his cat claw. "The Eastern IWC, Commander. Is the Rift so distant in your mind? Dema, with me."

What could have taken Xu Xiang so long? Dema whispered, hurrying alongside him down the corridor with her arms burdened by intelligence briefings. We’ve been summoning him since the blackout.

Carver smiled grimly. Pride.

Xiang’s hawkish yellow eyes burned in the corner of the dark Annex. Within the confines of the scrunched oval chamber, the Elder Life Spirit looked haggard, frail—nothing like the fierce phoenix who could rain fire down on the wailing undead. Of course, these Elder Life Spirits were made up of other things. They were shaped by forces beyond their control even with their former masters, the gods, gone.

Samson Carver would be damned before he ever became one.

Have you been waiting in the dark all this time? He tsked and flicked on the light. "Forgive me. The Directorate still has electricity, unlike a certain part of the world."

Xibalba rises to swallow Eve, and you dare make jokes? Xiang’s enflamed yellow eyes rose to meet his. So the words Mun Mu spoke about the Golden Mane are true: a petty, greedy man wrapped up in grudges runs the International Were Defense Agency. You should feel ashamed, Samson Carver. The eyes of the world are upon you.

Samson nodded for Dema to depart. Pouring himself a cognac, the Golden Mane watched the amber liquid swirl around at the bottom. Ah, see, but that is where you are wrong, he said, tipping the glass toward Xiang but not offering him one. The world doesn’t see me, nor the Weres, nor the dark, scary things that stalk them at night. That, my feathered friend, means I am doing my job. My purpose is to keep the spirit world’s secret. Samson drained his glass and then slammed it down on the table. And your insurrectionist Eastern bloc just fucked that up.

Xiang’s lips thinned. Do not insult me, cat. You know why Yong Mun Mu broke our International Council away from the Were Directorate. He was the only one unafraid to stand up to you and your naked ambitions for Yong Enterprises. I know what your interest was in allying with the East. We will not apologize for anything.

Samson raised his hands in mock surrender. Far be it for me to presume a great and wise Elder Life Spirit would see the benefit of apologizing to a lowly shifter…even if the Were Directorate voted unanimously that his agency be in charge of handling the crisis.

Xiang scowled, and a deep purr rumbled through Samson’s chest. The bird had recognized he was crippled and couldn’t fly.

Fine, the Golden Mane said, stalking slowly toward his prey. Let us pretend that we are above the politics of our nations and the bickering humans. However, I am afraid I am not a noble Life Spirit who helps because it is the right thing to do. So, that leaves only one thing. He smirked, extending Xiang a cognac. A deal.

Xiang’s leathery hand enfolded his. For a moment, Samson felt the pinch of talons promising retribution. Of course, Samson Carver, Xiang said, giving him a mock toast. What is that American saying of yours? There is no better opportunity for business than war.

Chapter 4: The Red Night

~Citlalli, Months Later~

Since the Red Night fell, there are three things I haven’t seen in months: a full belly, laughter, and the sun.

Today someone laughed.

It was a lieutenant in Vampyre Prince Aleksandr’s army. He stumbled out of a former restaurant in Itaewon that had once been a lively hub of music, dancing, and drinks.

The lonely sign creaked in the wind. Beneath all of the claw marks, it read: Alvarez Family Restaurant.

The lieutenant and his two companions threw the backwash of their drinks at it. It hurt less because the sign looked how I felt: Battered. Weary. And numb, because if I stopped to think about where my family was, then I would just—snap.

Miguel’s blank face drifted across my mind before I could stop it. Trance-like. Elsewhere. Yu Li tried to keep his eyes closed to protect him, but most nights I would wake and find them open, staring sightlessly ahead at the horror he’d seen in the subway station…

Stop it, Citlalli. Stop it. I clutched my head and rocked back and forth until the image went away. But the queer feeling remained that everything and everyone I loved was slipping out of my grip.

I could smell the foul spirits and decomposing food from here. The entryway was peppered with smashed glass from patrons panicking back when the Red Night had fallen. Spray-painted across the wall were the haunting words that had shown up on countless buildings across Seoul:

Scurry, scurry, little mice.

The vampyre trio strolled brazenly down the main street of Itaewon back toward Yongsan Garrison. I could hear more mocking laughter in that direction.

It had been a hard loss when Aleksandr’s undead forces had arrived in this strange netherworld, claiming northern Seoul down to the Han River. We were at a standstill, now. The Frost King was in the north, solidifying the Vampyre Court’s rule over a city of the dead. Across the river in Gangnam, the Were Nation was holed up in Yong Enterprises with what weapons we’d secured from Yongsan Garrison.

The vampyres didn’t bother to search for us. They had the virus to drive us out.

A woman suddenly lunged pathetically from the shadows. Her bony fingers scraped the lieutenant’s boots. She was in the final stages of Walking Death. Her skin was the faded gray of the sidewalk, two peaks of massive scar tissue arose from where her eyes used to be, and she had lost all of her hair. Dried blood stained her chin, and she continuously coughed up a strange, silver substance.

Her bones had long ago broken through her skin when she had begun the initial rage transformation. The supernatural growth had left her legs useless, but she still crawled hungrily toward the lieutenant using her elbows.

The lieutenant placed a boot against her forehead. He watched in amusement as she clawed at him. Then he flashed a fanged smile.

Something in the deteriorated woman awoke to recognize the danger. She tried to scramble away, but the lieutenant swooped in and plunged his fangs into her withered neck. Her breath evaporated with a sigh, and the other two vampyres joined in, sucking the silvery plasma free from her body: her soul.

The lieutenant threw back his head to laugh.

To the Lords of Walking Death! he toasted. Queen Maya kept this gift of soul-stealing all to herself. The Death Gods want to share this feast with us.

The soul tastes better than blood, his comrade agreed.

I will eat a dozen nasty-tasting shapeshifters in service to the Red Night, the other soldier salivated. Think of the millions that will be ours once the last of the Were Nation falls.

His companion sniggered. If there are even a dozen left.

The lieutenant lazed back, still drunk on spirits and soul blood. We will find out how many scared little werebunnies are left in their hidey-hole soon enough, lads. I have received the coordinates for our next attack.

His hand rested on his dueling saber, but my eye narrowed on the thumb caressing his left pocket.

The lieutenant’s underlings failed to look impressed, and he scowled. What?

"Leytenant," the serviceman said, pointing over his shoulder.

I stood alone in the alley, unruffled by the winds whispering with broken Yeouiju curses and lost souls. My single eye gleamed gold as I scented my prey’s fear. Over the other I wore an eye patch, having lost my prosthetic in a shipwreck earlier that year.

The lieutenant looked me up and down and chuckled. "Ah. So one shapeshifter has survived. The Fire Wolf—no, excuse me—the Lame Wolf. He leaned forward in mock-pout. Why don’t you shift and show us how a dog runs on three legs?"

I glanced at my right arm, over which I wore a glove. Then I yanked it off. A bionic arm extended down from my shoulder to end in five wickedly hooked wolf claws. Yet most dangerous of all was the cylinder barrel in my metallic palm that had the capability to shoot fire.

The servicemen drew their sabers and charged. I blocked the first one’s blade with my robotic arm and then punched him in the mouth, shattering his fangs. My prosthetic wolf claws sunk into his wrist, and I twisted him in front of me to block the other soldier. The second vampyre struck so fast that his comrade stared in shock at the saber thrust through his gut.

I may have lost my old arm against Eobshin, the vengeful Korean goddess of wealth. However, thanks to the ingenuity of a certain nerdy dragon prince, I now had a new one that wouldn’t break under vampyre fangs.

I grinned at the serviceman over his injured comrade’s shoulder. Then my wolf claws twisted the blade away from the wounded vampyre and finished the job, beheading him in one clean swipe. I prowled toward the second soldier. He continued to execute his swift strikes. I tossed the saber to my left hand and parried with my bionic arm until sparks flew. Then I saw an opening. I snapped into the lean, monstrous Wolf in a cloud of black smoke and landed on top of him. Pinning his sword arm down, I tore out his jugular.

The lieutenant cursed, Demon wolf! I heard the click of a revolver. Quickly, I scrambled into the nearest alley just as the first shot echoed.

I fled deeper into the maze of upper Itaewon. Just as I’d hoped, the lieutenant chased me. I leaped past a couple writhing in anguish from Walking Death, but they were too weak to do anything other than swipe at me. They weren’t what I needed. Panting, I skidded around a corner and charged up the ill-fated Hooker Hill.

The Frost King’s vampyres thought they had won this city. They didn’t know the first thing about surviving in it.

The alley ahead was lined with strings of dilapidated bars and brothels. The neon lights were cold and dark, and the numerous dead telephone lines crisscrossing them looked like barbed wire. But in the shadows, I could see bloodless hands gripping doors. Waiting.

I closed my eye and went in.

A cold, uncanny feeling settled over me, as if I had unexpectedly plunged into a bath of ice cubes. I felt a hand linger above my head. Panic began to rise, but I sank deeper into Wolf. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t anything.

Then an enraged cry rang out. The cold presence swept away. I crouched behind a wormy sack of rice and dared open my eye.

There they were. The dalgyal gwishin: terrifying faceless ghosts. If you made the mistake of looking at the place where their face should be, then they would haunt you to death.

There were two Lords of Walking Death loose, so there were two paths their virus could take. It was said that those who died angry and hateful arose as the revenants, who ate the living and burned out quick. The second kind of zombie was someone who died in fear, so terrified that they would scratch off their own face so they couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t speak. They lingered longer, starving shadows who hid together in groups to protect their dwindling souls. We called them fearlings for short. I estimated this alley held fifty alone.

The fearlings made short work of the vampyre lieutenant and then drifted away, listless. I closed my eye and ventured out. When my nose nudged the lieutenant’s body, I felt about in his left pocket.

A booklet. I picked it up in my teeth and froze. The fragrance of pear blossoms filled the air. A fearling was here. I felt her brush my cheek tenderly, urging me to open my eye. The pull became strong.

Wolf snarled. The fearling snatched her hand back, and I fled, my heart pounding in my chest. Only when I sensed that the curtain of despair had lifted did I dare open my eye. Shifting back to my human form, I rummaged through the wares of an abandoned market stall to dress my shivering body.

Chancing one more glance back at Fearling Alley, I scuttled from the shop—only to realize that I had walked straight into a royal cohort of the Vampyre Court.

Prince Khyber turned from where he stood within a ring of riflemen. Our gazes locked for an instant before a second vampyre prince brushed forward. He wore a plain, unassuming uniform and walked with hands folded behind his back in faultless posture. His face was set in an amused smile beneath his closely shaved white-blond hair, as if he knew something funny he was keeping to himself, and his imperial blue eyes were permanently bloodshot. Yet most alarming of all were the wings of fire that arched from his back. They flickered in ribbons of blue, orange, and red.

Immediately, I knew who this was: Aleksandr the Frost King, sixth in line for the Vampyre Court throne.

The last time I had seen Aleksandr had been almost two years ago, when he and Santiago had attacked Khyber atop Seorak San. Amidst the blizzard, he had danced with his shashka as if planning to dice through every snowflake.

A dozen guards spilled out on either side, aiming their rifles at me. However, their guns were nothing next to Khyber’s glare. Beneath the icy flash of his gray-blue eyes, I froze to death twice over.

The Frost King folded his hands behind his back and smiled. Well, well. Citlalli Alvarez, the infamous Fire Wolf. Come to surrender?

Chapter 5: The Frost King

~Citlalli~

For a moment, I imagined ending it all. Aleksandr the Frost King, General of the Children of Death, was mere steps away. If I ran fast enough, if I called on Demon—

Wolf broiled up in protest, begging me to not go down that path. It would shatter all of us into the Myriad state. My soul had already been split into three entities: my human form, smoky Wolf, and fiery Demon. If I used Demon’s fire powers any further, then the link between us would snap irreversibly.

I waited for Demon to add a snide comment, but She was silent. She had disintegrated into wisps of smoke since I had used Her power to fight off the Korean goddess of wealth.

Eobshin was the vindictive goddess who had been possessing Nyssa without any of us, even Sun Bin, realizing. And the goddess’s vengeful agenda had ended up destroying an earth dragon of immeasurable kindness and uncanny wisdom…

Pain rippled across the fraying fabric of my mind. Too much blood. It hurt to think about. But so much worse was the betrayal.

The memories threatened to shatter my void of numbness completely, and I shook myself out of it—only to realize that Aleksandr and Khyber had blurred to appear right in front of me. Khyber’s wings were unfurled in warning.

She is mine.

Aleksandr matched Khyber’s stare, a small smile on his gray lips. Dear elder brother, you think word hasn’t reached my ears? I merely wanted to shake your new life partner’s hand. A sudden gleam sharpened his eyes to steel. "I expect her touch is warmer than