Read Online Fugitive by Kate Avery Ellison - Free Book Online
Authors: Kate Avery Ellison
Tags: Science-Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Family, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Steampunk, Siblings, Teen & Young Adult, Dystopian, Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages), Social & Family Issues
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people for throwing them out of the Frost,” he said. His face was pale and drawn, and that was when I saw the blood dripping from his shoulder onto the snow.
“Korr!”
“It’s nothing.” He winced as he moved his arm. “It was a clean hit, I think. We’ll find a doctor before we reach Astralux.”
“You’ll bleed out—”
“I know how to tend to it,” he said firmly. “It’s just a scratch. Don’t worry, brother.”
His gaze found mine and held it. We didn’t speak, but something passed between us anyway. He stared at me, and for the first time in my life, I considered him family.
Together, we looked toward Aeralis, and home.
The story continues with AERALIS , book #5 in The Frost Chronicles!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kate Avery Ellison lives with her husband and two cats in Atlanta, Georgia. She loves dark chocolate and zombies. She can be found on Facebook and Twitter. Learn more on her blog at http://thesouthernscrawl.blogspot.com/ or at her Amazon author page at http://www.amazon.com/Kate-Avery-Ellison/e/B005166V8S.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Scott, for encouraging me, listening to me, and loving me. I love you.
My family, for supporting and believing in me, for reading all my books, and for trying to talk every person they meet into reading them, too.
Dani, for being accommodating and flexible regarding my crazy schedule. You’re the best editor.
Charles, for proofing and giving good feedback. You are such a great friend.
Natalie Cleary, for being a fan of the Frost.
All my readers, for enthusiastically loving this series and the characters in it. The Frost exists in your imaginations. Thank you for giving “life” to my stories!
Read the first chapter of The Curse Girl , available now in paperback and ebook format!
ONE
My father drove me through the woods in his truck, the wheels shuddering over the dirt road while the air hummed with all the unspoken words between us. The tears wriggled down his wrinkled cheeks only to get lost in his beard. The mark on his wrist burned at the edge of my peripheral vision, as if it were glowing.
I sat silent and immobile, a statue, a paper doll, a frozen thing of stone.
When we reached the gate I drew one shuddering breath and let it out, and my father put his hand on my shoulder. His fingers dug into my skin.
“He promised he wouldn’t hurt you, Bee. He promised .”
I shifted. His hand fell limply on the seat between us. He didn’t try to touch me again.
Dad turned off the engine and we sat wrapped in the silence. I heard him swallow hard. I slid my fingers up and down the strap of my backpack. My mouth tasted like dust. The car smelled like old leather and fresh terror.
Nobody knew if the legends were lies, myth, or truth. But they all talked about the Beast that lived in the house. Some said he ate human children, some said he turned into a vicious creature in the night, some said he looked like a demon, with flames for eyes.
A trickle of sweat slipped down my spine.
“You don’t—” My father started to say, but he hesitated. Maybe he’d been hoping I would cut him off, but I didn’t. I just sat, holding my backpack, feeling the crush of responsibility slip over my shoulders and twine around my neck like a noose.
Through the gate I could see the house, watching us with windows like dead eyes. Trees pressed close to the bone-white walls like huddled hags with flowing green hair, and everything was covered with a mist of grayish moss. I’d heard the stories my whole life—we all had—but I’d never been close enough to see the cracks in the windowsills, the dead vines clinging to the roof.
Magic hung in the air like the lingering traces of a memory. I could almost taste it. Voices whispered faintly in the wind, or was that just the trees? The knot in my stomach stirred in response.
My father tried again, and this time he got the whole sentence out. “You don’t have to do this.”
Of course I
“Korr!”
“It’s nothing.” He winced as he moved his arm. “It was a clean hit, I think. We’ll find a doctor before we reach Astralux.”
“You’ll bleed out—”
“I know how to tend to it,” he said firmly. “It’s just a scratch. Don’t worry, brother.”
His gaze found mine and held it. We didn’t speak, but something passed between us anyway. He stared at me, and for the first time in my life, I considered him family.
Together, we looked toward Aeralis, and home.
The story continues with AERALIS , book #5 in The Frost Chronicles!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kate Avery Ellison lives with her husband and two cats in Atlanta, Georgia. She loves dark chocolate and zombies. She can be found on Facebook and Twitter. Learn more on her blog at http://thesouthernscrawl.blogspot.com/ or at her Amazon author page at http://www.amazon.com/Kate-Avery-Ellison/e/B005166V8S.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Scott, for encouraging me, listening to me, and loving me. I love you.
My family, for supporting and believing in me, for reading all my books, and for trying to talk every person they meet into reading them, too.
Dani, for being accommodating and flexible regarding my crazy schedule. You’re the best editor.
Charles, for proofing and giving good feedback. You are such a great friend.
Natalie Cleary, for being a fan of the Frost.
All my readers, for enthusiastically loving this series and the characters in it. The Frost exists in your imaginations. Thank you for giving “life” to my stories!
Read the first chapter of The Curse Girl , available now in paperback and ebook format!
ONE
My father drove me through the woods in his truck, the wheels shuddering over the dirt road while the air hummed with all the unspoken words between us. The tears wriggled down his wrinkled cheeks only to get lost in his beard. The mark on his wrist burned at the edge of my peripheral vision, as if it were glowing.
I sat silent and immobile, a statue, a paper doll, a frozen thing of stone.
When we reached the gate I drew one shuddering breath and let it out, and my father put his hand on my shoulder. His fingers dug into my skin.
“He promised he wouldn’t hurt you, Bee. He promised .”
I shifted. His hand fell limply on the seat between us. He didn’t try to touch me again.
Dad turned off the engine and we sat wrapped in the silence. I heard him swallow hard. I slid my fingers up and down the strap of my backpack. My mouth tasted like dust. The car smelled like old leather and fresh terror.
Nobody knew if the legends were lies, myth, or truth. But they all talked about the Beast that lived in the house. Some said he ate human children, some said he turned into a vicious creature in the night, some said he looked like a demon, with flames for eyes.
A trickle of sweat slipped down my spine.
“You don’t—” My father started to say, but he hesitated. Maybe he’d been hoping I would cut him off, but I didn’t. I just sat, holding my backpack, feeling the crush of responsibility slip over my shoulders and twine around my neck like a noose.
Through the gate I could see the house, watching us with windows like dead eyes. Trees pressed close to the bone-white walls like huddled hags with flowing green hair, and everything was covered with a mist of grayish moss. I’d heard the stories my whole life—we all had—but I’d never been close enough to see the cracks in the windowsills, the dead vines clinging to the roof.
Magic hung in the air like the lingering traces of a memory. I could almost taste it. Voices whispered faintly in the wind, or was that just the trees? The knot in my stomach stirred in response.
My father tried again, and this time he got the whole sentence out. “You don’t have to do this.”
Of course I
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