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***This book is a continuation of The Seer's Daughter and CAN'T be read as a stand alone.***
Genre: Paranormal Romance
A town with a dark secret.
A detective digging for the truth.
A discovery that leads to an unthinkable sacrifice…
For one hundred years, a demon has been watching, waiting, plotting...
White witch Sage Matthews has inherited a gift that makes her both integral to an ancient prophecy and a target for a demon-possessed serial killer. Assigned to catch the killer, Detective Sergeant Ethan Blade falls wildly, and inconveniently, in love with the one woman he doesn’t know how to protect.
Together Sage and Ethan delve into the prophecy, and the more they learn, the more deadly their situation becomes. At midnight on the night of the blood moon, an ancient doorway will open, and a master demon and his horde will pour through and unleash hell on earth. Only Sage can stop their onslaught—but not if the demon kills her first.
With the blood moon looming, Sage discovers she can join forces with “the alchemist’s son” to destroy the demon. But who is the alchemist’s son? And will he be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice required to end this struggle between light and dark forever?
The Alchemist’s Son is the much-anticipated conclusion to Sage and Ethan’s journey of supernatural suspense and romance, which began in The Seer’s Daughter
The digital display on the bedside clock clicked over to three a.m. A series of footsteps sounded overhead, and she lifted her head to listen.
There was something on the roof. No, the attic. Not something. Someone.
The footsteps were too heavy to be those of an animal. Her chest tightened and she listened, barely breathing.
She then remembered that Ethan had intended to open up the attic today. With everything that had happened during the day, Sage had forgotten to ask.
Clearly, he hadn’t found Lucky or another individual. She would have heard about that for sure. Most likely, he’d discovered an empty room. Visually empty anyway.
The past is bleeding into the present, the present into the past.
Pia had said the times were overlapping. Lance Keyton had kept his victims alive in the attic, before taking them to the basement.
Just what horrors was Sage listening to? What was he doing to them?
For a while there was nothing but a long drawn-out silence.
Then, the creak of a large heavy door being opened sent her pulse racing. It was so loud, she at first glanced at her bedroom door, but it had come from overhead. More sounds: something being dragged, a bump, something being dropped, then a sound that chilled her blood.
A muffled, disembodied scream.
If Sage had believed even for a second that it was someone who needed help, she would have woken Ethan in an instant. But the noises were coming from the attic, the unused attic. They were not from this time, but echoes from the past.
Her chest ached. She’d felt what Virgil’s victims had felt, trapped and waiting for the serial killer to return. Imagining what would happen when he did.
Sage struggled to breathe.
They are not from our time. Sage repeated the words to herself, over and over, but kept her eyes squeezed shut.
A dog howled somewhere in the distance, and the noises overhead grew louder.
She pulled the quilt up to cover her ears, buried her head in the pillow, and tried hard not to think about what was happening in the attic. What the dragging noises and the screams meant. Desperately tried to blank out the images Liquorice had projected into her mind.
Pia had warned her she couldn’t stay here. But if it was simply time overlapping, an imprint, as she called it, it couldn’t hurt her. Could it?
And then, something changed.
A different sensation came over her. Something that triggered panic deep inside her, and had her gasping for breath. Someone wasn’t just in the attic.
Someone was in the room.
Even beneath the quilt, she felt its menacing presence.
Go away, she silently screamed. Go away. Go away! Go away!
But still, the sensation of being watched remained.
Blood thrashed past her ears. She couldn’t breathe, and she was trembling uncontrollably.
She didn’t want to look. Couldn’t bring herself to do it.
But she had to.
Slowly, she inched the blanket down. And froze.
There, at the foot of the bed, stood a tall dark figure in a black coat. She squeezed her eyes shut, but when she opened them, he was still there. She shivered and let out a whimper.
Her limbs refused to move. She couldn’t alert Ethan. She was paralyzed, unable to do anything but stare. And will it not to move. Not to come closer.
Who are you? she demanded silently. What do you want?
You. Slowly, he raised an arm. Reached for her.
She hissed with pain as though he’d touched her. He couldn’t have reached her from that distance, but still her chest burned.
And then he was gone.
Outside the window, the night wind brought with it howling, agonizing cries and screams of pain. They were pleading. But not with him.
Help us! they demanded. The wail of many tortured souls, calling, begging for release. Pulling at her with fingers rigid with death.
She closed her eyes. But still they came.
Their hands, their fingernails, were sharp claws of desperation that pierced her flesh. Their cries all the time becoming stronger. Louder. Until they were a deafening roar in her ears.
She could not help them. And she could not stop them.
She pressed her hands to the sides of her head and inwardly screamed.
Leave. Me. Alone!
Ethan stirred restlessly.
And then abruptly there was silence.
Outside the window, the souls receded, disappearing back into the earth. The attic turned silent. The night was again black as pitch and silent as death.
And she knew.
She didn’t have until the blood moon.
The dance with the Devil had already begun.