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    The Annual
    The Annual
    The Annual
    Ebook111 pages1 hour

    The Annual

    By April Klasen

    ()

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    About this ebook

    “A good little page turning thriller.”
    Christine
    The Annual Wild Hunt. Nine fey hunters. One mortal prey.
    From midnight on Halloween, they hunt one chosen mortal. They do this every year. Grace Logan has been chosen to participate in the Wild Hunt; as the prey.
    “You chose me for a reason, not because you thought I was pretty. You knew I had a chance because I’m like them—the fey.”
    She is protected for the next twenty-four hours from dying. She can still be hurt, running into a door will still bruise. But not a car crash, gunshot or an overdose will kill.
    The only way Grace can die is by fey.
    Can Grace, a mere mortal, be able to outrun the fey? Or will midnight be too late for her?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherApril Klasen
    Release dateMay 23, 2016
    ISBN9780992475239
    The Annual
    Author

    April Klasen

    Indie author. BL and fanfic whore. Artist. April Klasen lives in regional Australia. You find more of her work at www.aprilklasenbooks.weebly.com or on social media as @defiantdame

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      Book preview

      The Annual - April Klasen

      The Annual

      April Klasen

      Independently Published

      2014

      Copyright © 2014 by April Klasen

      All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      First Printing: 2014

      ISBN 9780992475239

      April Klasen

      www.aprilklasenauthor.com

      aprilklasenauthor@hotmail.com

      Hello,

      I’m an indie author.

      Please leave an honest review over at Goodreads.

      If you would like to see more head to www.aprilklasenauthor.com

      And for exclusive deals, please subscribe here.

      Enjoy reading,

      April 

      April Klasen is an independently published author, a blogger, and an expert on finding new hiding places to read uninterrupted. For more stories by April visit www.aprilklasenauthor.com

      Also by April Klasen

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      Acknowledgement

      Thank you to the 2013 economic downturn because it meant (unbeknownst to my supervisor) that I was for the first and last time being paid to write. The majority of the story was researched, plotted and written between seven and four each weekday at my desk while I waited for something to file.

      Thanks to: Mum and Dad, friends and the editor J.

      Dedicated to every girl who fails but keeps trying.

      Chapter 1: Le Feast Sans Merci

      1st October

      What would you like this time, Sire? Etienne whispered from behind the King’s seat, half hidden in the shadows.

      Without turning, the King murmured, Something interesting. Give us something unexpected. The firelight glinting from his bull horns atop his scalp.

      Preferences?

      I like girls but they die too quickly.

      Rolling his eyes, Etienne sighed. If it was anyone else, the King would’ve struck them down for disrespect. Instead, he chuckled.

      Humans in general die too quickly.

      The King ignored the comment. Etienne slipped unnoticed from the feast by everyone but his King. The King trusted his advisor. He would choose well.

      ~

      The feast room wasn’t built of four walls. It had grown in a circle of trees, the branches reaching out and grasping each other to create a ceiling. Stars floated freely near the top, trapped from the night sky. Bumping into each other, they would cause an explosion of light. The one peculiar thing about this circle of trees was the buried iron that wound around the room in a continuous loop and emitted an odourless but deadly poison to the fey. Slowly, the feasters were making themselves ill, at a high concentration the iron could kill. Only the strongest could withstand it. Those like the King could thrive on the pain, the hot flushes, light headaches, and the need to scrape every inch of skin off the body.

      The Queen ignored the pain the poisonous iron caused. She had an image to uphold as the Queen of Elysium.

      In the great hearth in the centre of the room, a fire burned. It leapt unexpectedly and burned brightly, matching the mood of the King. He brought forth the darker emotions of creatures… lust, gluttony, and anger. His very presence turned the crowd boisterous. Loud laughter, screeches of pain and ecstasy, and the sloppy sounds of mouths opening and food being shoved in filled her ears.

      Spit shot from the King’s engorged mouth and slapped her face as he cackled. If it were any other fey, she would have enjoyed watching him choke on his tongue. Unfortunately, this particular fey needed his tongue.

      I summon then, the daring volunteers to step forward and challenge all others. Even though he swayed slightly on his feet, he still held their undivided attention, respect from his court, and fear and loathing from hers. The King stood tall in his tight leather pants and bare thickly muscled chest, a top his head sprouted a pair of bull horns. He turned a lop-sided grin to her, his Queen. She looked beautiful wrapped in a silk kimono and hair pulled back from her full moon features.

      She didn’t return the smile. Matching the Queen’s sullen mood, a fine mist filled the room and dampened his lungs.

      The King turned back to the feast. Only a handful had risen from their chairs and stepped forward. Five. He frowned.

      Everything in the room shifted, darkness pulsed, and the stench of anger filled it. The King tightened his jaw. This will not do. Who else is there? Who? he thundered, the words echoing throughout the hushed feasting hall.

      Right away, another three stood. They were good fey, strong, but not the prospects he’d hoped for.

      The King’s eyes searched along the tables. Nial.

      Nial turned his eyes towards his monarch. The King observed him as he shook his head, with a bored roll of the eyes. I have no desire to participate, especially after the last time, Nial answered.

      The feasters fell silent.

      The King strode down the aisle, emotions dragging along those he passed. Moans, groans and mutterings of utter joy or pure contempt. He stopped at Nial.

      Nial felt the waves hit. Anger sizzled inside, his adrenaline peaked but still he fought. No, your Highness.

      The Queen watched on silently, shifting in her seat. This needed to end quickly. Being near the King of the Dark Court was not most unpleasant. The pleasurable and uncontrollable emotions he withdrew from her... well she would soon have to leave. There was no way she would end up like her predecessor.

      The King bent down and brushed his lips against Nial’s cheek.

      Nial sighed in defeat and turned his head into the kiss. Contact, gulping fast at their shared, greedy, gasps of enjoyment.

      He hated it. After all the centuries at the King’s command, he was still not strong enough to resist. He always returned to his monarch. The King broke away from the kiss.

      Nial stood and forced the King to straighten up.

      He strode back to the head table. Nine. His voice boomed. Nine volunteers for this year’s Wild Hunt.

      The Queen rose. She looked at each volunteer, smiling fondly at Bellatrix and refused to be frightened by Drust’s steady gaze. She held it as long as she had the others. He was unwillingly the King’s own, and completely psychotic.

      Too dark for even the Dark court.

      Maedoc.

      Donahue.

      Areil.

      Kerrin.

      Dorcey.

      Malak.

      Four were from her court, the best of her hunters and the strongest.

      Finally, she looked at Nial. He was different…an anomaly. Unlike the animals of the Dark court, he had a strange restraint. Nial was older than her, but he was never ambitious…a peculiar trait for a fey.

      She lifted her hand to her hair and withdrew a long thin hair pin. Her hair tumbled down over her shoulders. The pin didn’t stay in her hands for long. She threw it at Nial.

      As soon as the pin appeared, Drust hurled himself at Malak aiming for his throat with clawed like fingers.

      Everyone inside the room fought. The volunteers brawled with each other, testing strength and ability. If they survived this, they would have the

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