Night Hunt by Isa Mikaelson
Publication date: March 13th, 2020
Synopsis (according to Goodreads):
Betrayal takes a backseat to survival.
Called back to his small town in Washington for a funeral, Ezra Zaan finds himself exactly where he doesn't want to be... in the middle of paranormal problems with the vampire ex who broke his heart. The new owner of the Book of the Dead, Ezra's tasked with defending the town against the Night's Huntsmen--a deadly group of ghostly hunters who run a magical competition that ends in death and ruin for all paranormal beings. It is set to begin, and the only way to survive is if the factions of witches, vampires, and shifters band together.
Which is easier said than done when their hatred has them at each other's throats. Investigating the breaches in the veil between their world and the other, they uncover a conspiracy that threatens to tear them apart.
It's a race against time and their own tangled past as they prepare for the battle of a lifetime.
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Setting the wards is more than a walk around the perimeter, calling out to the elements. They're keyed into the very being and require blood to take. Cutting my palm, I bring forth fire in the other hand and allow my blood to drip onto the ground.
By Fire I ward thee:
Guard this space from all ill will,
And those who wish me harm.
Heat engulfs me, blowing back the longish strands of my hair, and drawing a line of sweat onto my forehead. I'd never had manifestations like this. My shtick was with the dead. I continue on, ignoring the newly-formed desert in my mouth.
By Wind I ward thee:
Guard this space from all ill will,
And those who wish me harm.
Droplets of blood disappear into the earth as if the land itself is making a personal contract. The incense burning on the ground releases a thick puff of sage and cedarwood laden smoke. Maybe it is. A gust of wind threatens to knock me off my feet as it snags at my jacket with hungry hands. I stumble, swaying like a drunkard. The intensity fades to a gentle breeze, and I right myself.
By Earth I ward thee:
Guard this space from all ill will,
And those who wish me harm.
Rumbling from deep beneath my feet shakes the earth, pitching me back like a horse unexpectedly bucking its rider. Blinking, I find myself ass over kettle. I scramble up, and ride the undulating ground like a surfer on a longboard. Feet planted, I try to flow with the vibrations, instinctively knowing participation is required.
This is my time to prove myself worthy to inherit. Old magic such as this can be nearly sentient. Everything stops abruptly. I fall forward. A mound of dirt piles up beside me. I tense, readying to defend myself from a nocturnal rodent. A tree sapling emerges.
By Water I ward thee:
Guard this space from all ill will,
And those who wish me harm.
A streak of lightning slashes through the night angrily. A loud clap of thunder vibrates the ground, and the sky opens above me. Cool rain splatters against my clothes, soaking me to the skin. I finish the walk, completing the circuit. Heaviness slams into my chest. I hit the ground, dazed. My vision darkens, and I feel it. The house is built upon a ley line. The wards take their energy from the source in exchange for protection.
Storm clouds crowd in as rain continues to come in sideways. Thunder booms, performing a duet with the crackling lightning streaking across the night sky. I can taste the magic in the air. Mother's succession of power has begun. Sitting in the mud, I tilt my head back and open my mouth, swallowing down water to quench my thirst as I try to adjust to the drastic changes my magic has undergone. Energy races inside of me, stretching and reshaping. My skin feels too tight.
By Fire I ward thee:
Guard this space from all ill will,
And those who wish me harm.
Heat engulfs me, blowing back the longish strands of my hair, and drawing a line of sweat onto my forehead. I'd never had manifestations like this. My shtick was with the dead. I continue on, ignoring the newly-formed desert in my mouth.
By Wind I ward thee:
Guard this space from all ill will,
And those who wish me harm.
Droplets of blood disappear into the earth as if the land itself is making a personal contract. The incense burning on the ground releases a thick puff of sage and cedarwood laden smoke. Maybe it is. A gust of wind threatens to knock me off my feet as it snags at my jacket with hungry hands. I stumble, swaying like a drunkard. The intensity fades to a gentle breeze, and I right myself.
By Earth I ward thee:
Guard this space from all ill will,
And those who wish me harm.
Rumbling from deep beneath my feet shakes the earth, pitching me back like a horse unexpectedly bucking its rider. Blinking, I find myself ass over kettle. I scramble up, and ride the undulating ground like a surfer on a longboard. Feet planted, I try to flow with the vibrations, instinctively knowing participation is required.
This is my time to prove myself worthy to inherit. Old magic such as this can be nearly sentient. Everything stops abruptly. I fall forward. A mound of dirt piles up beside me. I tense, readying to defend myself from a nocturnal rodent. A tree sapling emerges.
By Water I ward thee:
Guard this space from all ill will,
And those who wish me harm.
A streak of lightning slashes through the night angrily. A loud clap of thunder vibrates the ground, and the sky opens above me. Cool rain splatters against my clothes, soaking me to the skin. I finish the walk, completing the circuit. Heaviness slams into my chest. I hit the ground, dazed. My vision darkens, and I feel it. The house is built upon a ley line. The wards take their energy from the source in exchange for protection.
Storm clouds crowd in as rain continues to come in sideways. Thunder booms, performing a duet with the crackling lightning streaking across the night sky. I can taste the magic in the air. Mother's succession of power has begun. Sitting in the mud, I tilt my head back and open my mouth, swallowing down water to quench my thirst as I try to adjust to the drastic changes my magic has undergone. Energy races inside of me, stretching and reshaping. My skin feels too tight.
Isa Mikaelson is a USA Today Bestselling author starting a new Penname for YA. She lives in Cincinnati with her two daughters and husband. She is known for her strong female leads, detailed fantastical worlds, and compelling romance infused plots. Her mind is a treasure trove of paranormal, historical, and various other random facts.
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