Hyacinth - By Abigail Owen Page 0,1


And the victim’s faces were never the same.

Chapter 2

Selene searched the archives in the enormous room that was stacked to the roof with ancient, dust-covered books—a history of her people. She searched in a desperate hope of finding some answers, and she always came to this room when she was upset.

The castle had been in her family since they’d had it built in 1208 A.D. It had been over eight-hundred years since that time, and she found comfort in the history this room represented. And she could use some comfort now. She hadn’t been sleeping so well lately, and her heavy makeup barely disguised the dark circles under her eyes.

No one knew about her ability to enter dreams—no one except for Griffin and Ellie. Not even Selene’s brother, Gideon, had discovered her secret. Her people, the Vyusher, a tribe of metamorphs who shifted into wolves, had been led by her brother Gideon before his fortunate demise. They had killed off most of Griffin and Ellie’s family almost a century ago. Their tribe was called the Darane Svatura, a gypsy term referring to magic and mythology. Before the Vyusher massacred them, the Svatura had been the largest assemblage of people with extraordinary abilities in existence. Only Griffin and his twin sister Ellie had survived the attack against their clan. Selene used to visit Griffin in his dreams. But that was before he knew who she was.

Well, he knows now, she reminded herself. I’ve managed to stay away from him this past year. Nothing’s changed.

Although that wasn’t entirely true… the nightmares were new. And after the one last night, she craved the feeling of security that wrapped around her whenever she was near him, even if it were just in her mind.

“My Lady?”

Selene silently groaned at the interruption. Pushing aside her thoughts, she turned to face Oren, who stood respectfully in the doorway. Her face a perfect mask of serenity, she folded her hands primly in her lap.

“Is it time?”

“They are ready for you,” he confirmed. His gaze did not leave Selene’s face as he searched for some clue as to why she’d requested the High Council of the Vyusher to be assembled.

But Selene had long ago mastered the art of concealing her feelings. She’d had to. Her evil brother had given her no choice. Even Oren, who was like a father to her, didn’t know her true feelings most of the time.

Oren studied the young woman he’d raised. How our people look at her and see a cold, emotionless figurehead is beyond me… regardless of the detached façade she shows us all. How do they miss the fact that it’s not coldness, but fragility? Perhaps they can’t see past her beauty.

Selene was lovely, with her long silvery hair and her wide dove-grey eyes. By right of blood, she’d inherited the burden of leading the Vyusher, a people who possessed extraordinary powers. Her people were made even more incredible by the fact that they were linked by a shared ability to morph into massive timber wolves.

Selene nodded in response to Oren’s summons and rose gracefully from the ancient oak table. He led her from her room and through a series of hallways to the chamber where the Council had gathered. The Vyusher lived in an immense medieval castle currently located in an isolated region of northern Canada. This had been her people’s home for centuries, moving with them from place to place. They were lucky that one of their more talented members had the ability to move entire buildings anywhere they wanted. The castle had originally been built in Austria. Selene’s gaze took in the familiar cold, dark hallways as she followed dutifully behind her surrogate father.

As they neared a pair of massive double doors, a large male hand reached for her elbow, gently slowing her to a halt. She turned to face Desmond O’Moore, the son of a high-ranking Vyusher. About her age, he stood several inches over six feet, lean and muscled.

“Desmond,” she acknowledged.

“Princess.” He gave her a mocking little bow. He knew how much she hated people pandering to her. “So when are you going to call me Dez?”

Selene ignored the question. She always called him by his full name. Using his nickname felt too… personal. But her insistence on formality only amused him, and now he teased her every chance he got.

She kept walking. “What can I do for you?”

He offered her his arm, and she accepted. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind?” he asked, falling

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