Part one of The Revelations Chronicles
Dark and mysterious, Min Yoongi is an enigma. Bad news, in other words. Exactly the kind of preternatural being that Brianna Smith knows she should steer clear of. She doesn't need to be a Seer to know that.
Bu...
Blood. Fire and death. Silver tipped wings, black like the void, swallow the sky whole. But those beautiful feathers are flecked with the blood of their prey.
It is a group of children, and their mothers. Outcasts, hiding in a small fishing village off the coast. White sand is stained with blood, human blood, and one by one, the children begin to disappear.
She'd seen it, in a vision. She'd known it would be like this, and Hoseok tried to warn her that she couldn't change it.
"Stop trying to be everyone's hero, " he'd said.
But she came anyway.
The smell of burning flesh makes her want to vomit, and anguished cries fill the air. Her heart breaks, splinters into a million tiny pieces at the sounds of mother's hearts breaking all around. She's too late.
But she recalls her vision, remembers that there is still one child that the reapers haven't found.
It is dangerous to get involved. Agathe knows this. But it doesn't matter. She's young, only nearly a hundred hears old, and her visions are still new to her. She still hasn't mastered them. But even if she dies today, even if the reapers hunt her to the ends of the earth for involving herself...
She's going to save that little boy's life.
Even if she must trade her own.
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Seokjin watches as Brianna thrashes about in her sleep, clearly plagued by a nightmare. He wishes he could take it away, a soul like Brianna's doesn't deserve such torment.
But when you're a couple thousand years old, nightmares are bound to happen. Seokjin knows this only too well. He still feels the confines of his prison, and the wurm's eager, rancid breath every time he shuts his eyes.
It's only been an hour, since Jeonguk left, but it feels as if it's been centuries.
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Meanwhile, the young werewolf is cautiously stalking his prey. He's relieved to discover that the mourning doves' nest hasn't been removed. He can hear their distinct coo, thanks in no small part to his exceptional hearing. He gazes up at the gigantic fir before him, contemplating exactly how it is that he's going to get up there and grab one of the birds before they fly away. His instincts tell him that he'll have to be quick, and he'll have to take the damned things by surprise. His ears and nose tell him that there are four of them, two adults and two hatchlings. But if threatened, he knows the adults will simply fly away, and the hatchlings will be of no use to him.
