Sneak Peek Wednesday: Dark Sun Rising by K.M. Martinez

“You know, Mel,” Gabe said. He was six beers in and on his way to being sloppy drunk. Mel shoved his water toward him. She was pulling the plug. “Once, just once, I wish you would consider competing in Decerto. I’d love it if you’d put Cori O’Shea on her ass. Can you imagine, brotha?” He looked toward Victor. “All of Clan Ferus would go to bed weeping into their pillows.”

Mel rolled her eyes. There might’ve been a time when she and Cori O’Shea could’ve been friends—maybe even more than friends—but now they were at odds. Or rather, Cori was at odds with Mel for refusing to compete in the games.

“I’m sure Cori would love for me to compete,” she said, “but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I do anything for her benefit.”

“She insults you all the time,” Gabe said. “Don’t you want to shut her face?”

“Nope,” Mel said. But she did. She really did.

“You should just kiss her already,” said Victor. “It’ll cut the tension.”

Mel turned her whole body toward her older brother. Unlike Gabe, he had stopped drinking awhile back, and was sucking water out of a straw. “Shut up and drink your water,” she said angrily. “And mind your business.”

Her brothers snorted and laughed. They sounded like donkeys.

When they finally piled into Victor’s new truck—a birthday present he’d bought for himself—it was after midnight. They quickly decided they would sleep at Mel’s. Victor said he had his luggage in the back of the truck with everything he needed for the next two weeks, which pretty much confirmed to Mel that he and his wife had a major fight. Mel and Gabe again exchanged a look, but they refrained from asking questions.

The ride home was quiet. Gabe passed out in the back seat, and Mel and Victor felt no need to speak. Mel leaned back on the headrest, letting the drive lull her into a light doze. Before she knew it, Victor was pulling into her driveway.

Mel’s house was a simple three-bedroom on the west side, just outside of town. The neighborhood was quiet and dark; no one kept their porch light on.

But as soon as Mel opened the front door, she knew something was off. It was too dark, too quiet, like when the electricity cuts off at night. She felt, rather than heard, movement from behind the door, and she threw herself on the ground. There was yelling, and a scuffle.

“Someone get the goddamn lights!” Gabe yelled.

Mel jumped to her feet and slapped her hand on the switch.

Gabe had a man subdued against the wall; Victor was standing in front of the two of them. A dagger with an intricate handle lay at their feet, and Victor knelt beside it.

Mel felt heat explode through her body with a rush that had her sucking for air. Adrenaline, but mostly white rage, coursed through her. It pushed up against the thin wall of her control, pumping with each heartbeat. Not again.

The familiar heat spread through her chest and into her limbs, all the way to her fingertips and toes. For one terrible second, she felt like she was going to tear into the man and rip his skin clear off his bones.

She tried to tamp it down. Come on, get a grip. She placed her hand to her chest, feeling her pendant dig into her skin, and took a few calming breaths. Breathe.

She had recovered enough to reach for her phone to call the police, when she felt an uncomfortable wetness on her neck. She reached back, brought her hand to her face, and saw blood. Just like that, her insides were burning again.

When Victor saw the blood on her fingers, his eyes turned to brown stone. He leapt to his feet. “You picked the wrong house tonight, bitch,” he said, jerking the man from the wall.

Then all Mel could hear was the savage crunch of Victor’s fist on cartilage.

She wished she had been the one to cause it.