Page 81 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

‘I think she said gargoyle,’ Sephy stage-whispered, positively glowing with excitement. ‘Bronte’s side gig is basically supernatural bounty hunting. She takes on the cases no one else will touch. I help out on the tricky ones… She likes backup when things might get messy.’

‘Damn straight.’ Bronte whipped out a photo and held it up.

My stomach lurched. The picture showed what was left of a red-haired man—body shredded into ribbons, blood painting the cobbles around him.

‘And this gargoyle,’ Bronte said flatly, ‘is pissed.’

‘Prepare thyself for some fucked up shit, lady, because Bronte is an asshole.’ Sephy grinned.

‘Don’t be a buzzkill, Persephone,’ Bronte deadpanned.

I shook my hands and jogged on the spot like an idiot. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she asked dryly.

‘I have no idea,’ I admitted, voice pitching higher than I intended. ‘Just… warming up in case I have to outrun one of your homicidal “projects.”’

Sephy clapped her hands, delighted, as if she were front row at a comedy show. ‘Oh gods, this is better than Netflix!’

Bronte chuckled, giving me a wink. ‘If the gargoyle comes knocking, I’ll wager her scream works better than any weapon.’

I narrowed my eyes. ‘Yeah, well, at least my screaming will give you a head start. Consider it an early warning system.’ Sephy nearly doubled over with suppressed laughter. ‘You know I hold grudges, right?’ I death glared Bronte.

‘That’s because you’re also an asshole.’

‘Touché,’ I muttered.

Bronte just smirked, clearly enjoying herself.

The ruined graveyard pressed in, heavy and watchful, shadows twitching as if they were waiting to pounce. My instincts prickled, sharp and urgent, the same ones that had kept me alive a hundred times before. I scanned the graves, the trees, every creak of the old church. ‘Alright, jokes aside… what’s the actual plan here? Because if it involves me standing still while something with wings and claws wants a snack, I’m gone.’

‘Split up?’ Sephy asked.

Bronte gave a brisk nod, already striding off as Sephy darted in the opposite direction—leaving me rooted in place like the idiot sidekick in a horror movie.

‘I seriously need new friends,’ I muttered, pulse spiking. ‘Ones who don’t abandon me as gargoyle bait.’

* * *

I ducked under a low branch, vaulted a fallen log, and tore down the path, boots hammering the damp earth as gravestones blurred past.

The air tasted of rot and rain, clouds strangling the light until everything felt like a half-lit nightmare. My lungs burned, heart battering my ribs, and I clutched my blade as if it was the only thing between me and a gruesome obituary. Which, to be fair, it probably was.

Bootsteps pounded close—Bronte, keeping pace. Gods only knew where Sephy had disappeared to.

‘Did you see it?’ Bronte shouted.

My stomach lurched. Oh, I’d seen it all right. One second, he’d been some dreamboat in human skin, all gentlemanly bow and dazzling smile; the next, his jaw cracked wide, eyes went molten red, and teeth sprouted like he was auditioning for a demonic clown nightmare.

My instincts had screamed nope, and I’d bolted. Assassin or not, I wasn’t a goddess, I wasn’t a mage—and whatever the hell this was, it was way above my pay grade.

‘Why am I even here?’ I groaned.

‘It’ll build character,’ Bronte called back without missing a step.

‘You’re lowkey psycho,’ I muttered, which only made her laugh.

‘He’s moving; coming your way!’ Sephy’s voice rang from my left, and my heart tried to launch itself out of my chest.

‘Perfect. Just bloody perfect.’ I tightened my grip on the dagger and blew out a shaky breath, bracing for impact.