By Lizzy Ford
A college for Witchlings...
The final selection among mild and Dark...
Where the cost of a mistake...is your soul.
Sixteen-year-old summer time doesn’t count on her new boarding college to be any diversified than the remaining: a short lived remain, till her uncontrollable magic will get her thrown out back. In her brain, there’s no aspect in getting too pleasant with someone. that's, till she notices Decker, the boy who turns into the grasp of evening and hearth on his eighteenth birthday.
When she learns that this certain institution has attracted others with magic of their blood, she is hopeful that this time round, issues can be varied. along with, she can’t deny her curiosity in Decker, and while he rescues her one evening from the darkish forests of the Rocky Mountains, their connection is instant.
Yet a courting with Decker might turn out to be Summer’s downfall, forcing her to choose from mild and darkish, existence and dying, love – and their souls.
One selection. One soul. One expense.
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Extra info for Dark Summer (The Witchling, Book 1)
My eyes went around the room one last time, from the computer to the tournament trophies on my shelves to the black-belt certificate framed on my wall to the movie poster of The Lord of the Rings. Finally, I looked at the back of my hand. There was a number written on it in black marker. That made me smile to myself. Then I snapped the light off. I said a quick goodnight prayer. In sixty seconds, I was sound asleep. CHAPTER THREE “Kill Him” Then, all at once, I woke up. There, in that bare, terrible room.
I fell to the earth with a downward finishing strike—a punch spiraling straight to the floor as my body dropped down behind it to give it extra force. ”—expelling every ounce of tension in my body, letting the tension explode into the punch as my knuckles scraped the surface of the polished wood. Then I was upright again, spinning again, lashing out with a hook kick that brought my foot snapping around behind me and the rest of my body snapping around after it. Under the sound of my movements, I could hear the silence of the audience, I could feel their attention on me, feel them caught up in the violent grace of the form.
The strap was strong and secure. The metal of the chair was smooth. Same with my right wrist. My hand extended over the arm of the chair. I could open and close it into a fist. But there was nothing within reach, nothing I could get hold of. What about my ankles? I had to lean forward in the chair as far as I could to get a look at the front of them, then lean over to the side to get another angle. On the left, it was the same as with my wrists. Nothing to see, nothing to use. A strap, a metal chair leg, a bolt holding the chair securely to the floor.
Dark Summer (The Witchling, Book 1) by Lizzy Ford