Impostor by LiAnne Kay EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: LiAnne Kay
- Language: English
- Genre: Mythology
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Run! Even though my mind screams the word, I don’t move fast
enough. Olah is my witness. I try, though. I propel my legs, pump my
arms, and gasp for breath. But the pounding of footsteps behind me
only gets louder.
Faster.
With my heart roaring in my ears, I cut a sharp left, racing past a group
of surprised shopkeepers. Some shrink in horror, while others stare wideeyed.
A part of me wants to turn around, grind the heels of my boots into the
dusty street, and use my Bloodstone magic to curse the man who’s chasing
me, but I cannot. If I do, the darkness inside me will grow even stronger.
And then…
It could kill me.
Pain rips through my scalp when the man grabs a handful of my hair
and yanks me backward. Fury ignites inside my veins as I tighten my hand
into a fist, rotate, and connect with the man’s weathered face.
He releases me as anger sears behind his black eyes. Enough anger to
murder me if I allow it. But I won’t. I have come too far to allow some
merchant to kill me. At least, I think he’s a merchant. Perhaps I should have
chosen a different target.
The man growls at me—actually growls—and lurches even closer.
I definitely should have chosen a different target.
Desperation drove me to pickpocket him. Well, try to pickpocket him.
Clearly, I am not a proficient thief.
“Who are you?” His eyes scour me as I crouch, preparing myself for his
next attack. He glances from the hump on my back to my dirty face and
gray hair, and I wonder if he sees past my disguise. “You’re fast for an old
woman.”
When he lunges for me again, I jerk to my left, then counter with a
quick strike across his throat. His eyes bulge, and his mouth hangs open as
he gasps for breath.
I flee again—through the center of the market and past the stone
buildings lining the streets of Rock Mountain, the city near the Bloodstone
foothills. My lungs burn, and my hair whips across my face, but I don’t
stop. I cannot afford to stop.
On my fourth turn, I lose him and breathe a little easier. I raise my hand
to my chest, feeling the pounding, the proof that fear still lives inside me.
Once I reach the outer edges of the city, the air turns more putrid with
the overwhelming stench of waste and rot. I slow to walking and take in my
surroundings—the dilapidated buildings, some with boarded-up windows,
and others with partially intact roofs. The alleys littered with trash. The
people wearing worn surcoats.
My heart still thumps wildly as I enter the crumbling cottage I have
called home for the last three weeks. Three weeks with no sign of my
friend. Three weeks of struggling to survive.
I gulp in a fetid, yet desperate, breath and try to calm my racing
thoughts, but the merchant’s face refuses to fade. Instead, it joins the myriad
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