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Let's take a sneak peak at what you'll find in book two about Feena.


          “We haven’t seen a Venator in so long,” Feena said. “It would be a shame to kill it so quickly.”

          Grey searched for the voice. The fae queen stood down and to the left. She was both striking and terrifying. Dark veins ran beneath translucent skin. Her hair was molten silver. But it was her eyes that were the most jarring. Jet black, lacking pupils, and three times the size of his own.

          “Did you hear enough?” she asked, turning her head to the side. When he didn’t respond, she laughed. “Turrin—” Feena looked around the room, searching for something, then pointed. “By my throne, I think.”

         Turrin swung Grey toward the far wall. He tensed for impact, but at the last moment, Turrin raised him up, gathering more speed, and flung him straight down. Grey slammed into the ground, his hip and shoulder taking the brunt of the force. Then his neck whiplashed, and his head cracked against the floor.

          Turrin’s tentacles unwound, and Grey struggled to his feet, fighting pain and vertigo. No sooner was he upright than the silver vines that ran up the wall wiggled toward him. They didn’t wrap around his arms but sunk into them. The pain was excruciating. Grey screamed.

          Finding an opening, a root darted inside his mouth, spreading out tiny offshoots immediately. They buried into his cheeks and throat. His eyes watered, and he gagged. But Grey couldn’t cry out. He’d been rendered completely mute by the web of plant material.

          The thicker vines jerked him backward and sucked his body tight to the wall. To ensure the work was finished, they twisted and writhed over his chest and thighs, pinning him in place. Rendered immobile, he watched helplessly as yet more vines weaved through the air toward him. Functioning like fingers, they snaked around and pushed his head to the side, forcing him to stare at the queen. With horror, he understood what he’d seen in the hall. All those legs, dead and alive, belonged to people in this very position.

          Feena smiled. Her teeth were pointed. “Let’s see what you’re made of, shall we?” She snapped her fingers, and Grey arched in pain.

          This was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Ripping sensations shocked his body as what could only be his soul was shredded and then pulled, bit by shimmering bit, through his pores. The vines sucked up the thin trails of liquid. Next to his face, a silver bud appeared. It swelled and then burst into a brilliant white bloom, glittering as if covered in a delicate layer of frost.

          The queen breathed in sharply. She came closer and reached out to brush the flower’s velvety surface. “She said it couldn’t be found,” Feena whispered. “Yet here you are.”

          Her bottomless eyes roamed over him. “The colors of my flowers speak to the nature of their sustenance. You have a pure heart, Venator, which is curious.” The corners of her lips twitched with amusement. “You could do great good in this world. But instead, you will be here, doing a great good for me.”


Feena is Fae and a vicious one at that. As cold and dead on the inside as the rest of her species, Feena has developed a very specific set of talents. Her twisted garden subsists on the blood and souls of living sacrifices. 

Strengths: Magic, cunning.

Weakness: No understanding of emotional tactics, susceptible to normal weapons and injuries. 

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