Excerpt: Prince of Nightmares

Perhaps it was merely my imagination, heightened by a meeting I could barely believe was going to happen, but it was easy to pretend that all of nature was mourning with me. The sky was clouded, the stars obscured by grey swirls of dark clouds. Even the moon was hidden, making the forest path darker than normal. I carried a lantern, but it cast eerie shadows made by trees dancing in a moaning wind. The air was chill despite the warm season. I shuddered. “I can’t do this.” I mumbled to myself, but I knew I had no other choice.
Who was I to go against a demon? I was too weak, too cowardly, too feminine. Run. The trees whispered.
I paused for only a moment and allowed the image of freedom, escape from my dull existence and my new fate, to tempt my will. No. Running wasn’t the answer. Even if I did get away—the idea was preposterous at best—my father was still in trouble. I couldn’t leave him to the demon. I bit my lip as I saw the fruitless apple trees silhouetted by the faint light of the moon from around a thick cloud. I pressed onward, my feet feeling like rocks. I reached the top of the small hill on the outskirts of the grove. My stomach dropped and I felt like retching. I can never remember a time I had been so scared in all my life. My body shook in earnest now. My steps were slow and dragging. The grove seemed to close in around me like a cage as I neared the center of it. There in the center was a well. The small, exposed circle among the trees was bare and quite thankfully empty. Perhaps it had all been a dream. Maybe something else had burned father’s hand. Something inside told me I was being foolish. It was all real. A tear slipped down my face and I brushed the back of my hand against it. Several more tears followed. I brushed those away with the other hand. I was beginning to cry now, trying to still my tears with fierce fingers. Suddenly the ground shook. All my tears stopped and I clasped my wet hands together even as my heart temporarily stopped beating.
A tall cloaked traveler with blood red eyes stepped into the center of the grove and took in my trembling form. “Are you the blacksmith’s daughter?” he asked in a surprisingly normal, mildly hoarse, deep voice.
I nodded wordlessly.
The traveler took a step forward and reached out to grab my arm, but the moment his hand made contact with it, a sizzling and popping sound was heard. With a harsh curse, the demon pulled his hand away from me. “Did you cry?” he spat angrily, clutching his burned hand.
“Yes.” I managed.
“Fen!” the demon bellowed.
Immediately a silver wolf appeared by the cloaked fiend’s side. “Bite off her hands.” The demon ordered.
Before my brain could register the demon’s command, the wolf leapt on me. I fell backwards even as razor-sharp fangs tore ligaments and bone to separate my hands from my wrists. Blindingly intense pain rocketed my body sending me into convulsions. I sobbed, I screamed, and I finally passed out from shock and pain.