House of Rayne

Prologue

Rayne

Winter’s Coming

T he deer hadn’t been dead for long; rigor mortis had yet to set in. Fresh crimson blood glistened on exposed organs and clotted on shattered bone.

The creature hadn’t been eaten. It had been shredded.

Hooking my pliers back onto my belt, I gripped the handle of my knife, surveying the wide open field. The wind howled through the crisp grass, a sharp chill in the air. The distant trees swayed.

Winter’s first cold snap came early this year. The crops that hadn’t yet been harvested had been frostbitten through the night, and reports said temperatures would continue to drop. Dark clouds churned in the distance. The ocean was as gray as the sky, as chilling as the fog.

A fly buzzed incessantly in my ear, and a cloud of them went up as I stepped closer to the corpse. Glassy, sunken eyes stared up at me. What had they seen in their last moments? Perhaps they’d never even known death was coming.

But I knew. I always knew. It had dogged my steps since I was a child.

Swatting away the flies, I trudged across the field toward my ATV. The fence was repaired; it would keep the Frontage family’s sheep from wandering and getting picked off by coyotes... or worse.

The snap of a twig jerked my head like a puppeteer’s strings. The pale colors of late evening blended into one another; grass, trees, fog, and shadow created a flat and eerie landscape.

Was it a pale, eyeless face I saw beneath the trees? Or only the tendrils of fog caressing the air?

Blinking rapidly and rubbing my eyes didn’t make the strange visage disappear, and I took an unsteady step backwards.

It was a trick of the light. My eyes were tired.

I jogged, then sprinted. The wind had calmed but I swore I could hear movement in the grass behind me—something moving with speed, with purpose. Adrenaline shot through my veins and the flies were still buzzing, buzzing, buzzing—

I leapt atop the ATV, and the engine squealed as I cranked it to life. Blood rushed in my ears, but the field was empty. So were the trees. My fingers gripped the handlebars so tightly my knuckles were white, my palms sweaty.

Pull it together, Rayne. It’s too early in the year. It couldn’t be awake. It couldn’t.

I knew better than to give myself too many assurances. Nothing was promised, and the rules by which I survived could change day by day. Death could adapt to any scenario.

“Hey! Hello?”

I froze, and I killed the engine. For several long moments, I waited. Listening.

“Hello? Who are you?”

A chill went up my back. The voice was behind me. It was high-pitched, like a young woman, but oddly flat. Devoid of emotion and inflection.

Barely turning my head, I searched for the source. The mist was messing with my sight, making it seem as if figures were sprinting between the trees.

“Who are you? Hello? Hello?”

Same words. Same tone. But louder. Faster.

Hungrier.

I cranked the throttle. Dirt plumed from the wheels as I accelerated, speeding down the hillside. There was no trail here; I had to navigate between trees, over rocks. All the while, that voice called behind me.

“Hello? Hey!”

Faster, faster. The fog grew thicker until I could barely see where I was going.

Water soaked my pant legs as I drove through a shallow creek, constantly shooting glances over my shoulder.

But that was my mistake. I looked away for a split second too long, and my wheel wedged between two large rocks.

The shock wrenched the handlebars from my grasp, launching me from the seat as the vehicle flipped.

I barely managed to roll out of the way before it landed on top of me, coming to rest on its side against a massive fallen tree. Groaning, I lay on my back and gasped for breath, staring up at the swaying pines.

Get up. I needed to get up, now .

My chest hurt. My lungs were hollow. I rolled onto my side and shoved myself upright, holding myself there on shaking arms as I surveyed my surroundings. The fog churned, the illusion of constant movement making my aching head even dizzier.

“Who are you.”

That voice drove a rod straight down my spine. The tone was cold. Empty. A mockery of human words.

I didn’t dare turn around. Stiffly, I rose to my feet and started walking. Calm and steady...

“Who are you.”

There was rustling. Scrape, scritch. Clawed hands dragging through dirt, clicking over a tree’s rough bark.

“Hey.”

A different voice. No less cold. Keep walking. Don’t look, don’t look.

“Hey!”

It wasn’t even a word anymore. It was a snarl.

I stumbled out of the trees and onto a cobblestone road. Whipping my knife from its sheath, I whirled around and raised my weapon.

But nothing was there. The empty trees swayed in a soft breeze, the fog dissipating around my feet. But I could still feel eyes on me...

Mrs. Frontage stared at me from her yard, chickens squawking around her feet. “Are you alright there? Is that you, Miss Balfour?”

“Hi, yeah, it’s me, I’m—fine.” I barely hid a grimace as I returned my knife to its sheath, then brought my hand to my injured shoulder. I popped the limb back into its socket and her eyes went as round as marbles. “If you have an ibuprofen, that would be great.”