The Witch Of Stonecliff. Dawn BrownЧитать онлайн книгу.
Shadowy forces gather an unholy harvest
Malicious whispers have long swirled around Stonecliff, Eleri James’s family estate—especially the eerie bog called The Devil’s Eye. But the bodies recently discovered on the property are no rumor. Twelve men pulled from the ooze, their throats slit, their flesh corrupted. Suspicion has perched on Eleri’s shoulder with the croak of a single syllable: witch. Now her only hope of evading prison is a man who could destroy her, body and soul.
Kyle Peirs is a survivor. Two years ago, he awoke in the inky night on the shore of The Devil’s Eye, bleeding from his throat and barely alive. He’s returned to Stonecliff to learn the truth about his ordeal and lay his own demons to rest. He never expected to find an ally—and a lover—in the woman he branded a killer.
Unless Kyle and Eleri can penetrate the evil surrounding The Devil’s Eye, they, too, will fall to the reaping….
The Witch of Stonecliff
MILLS & BOON
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For Mom and Dad. Thank you for everything.
Table of Contents
Red agony burned across his throat—his first coherent thought as he emerged from unconsciousness.
And someone was touching his hand.
Fear spiked inside him. Memories, fuzzy and terrifying, played out behind his closed eyes.
Fingers tangled in his hair.
Blade pressed to his neck.
Hot blood dribbling down his bare chest.
They’d come for him, to finish what they’d started, and he was too weak to fight.
He tried to shift back, to disentangle his fingers from the big hand holding on to him. The grip tightened. A groan crept up his torn throat, but no sound came and a fresh wave of heat burned across his neck.
The hand grasping his fingers squeezed. “It’s alright, son. You’re safe.”
His father’s rough voice penetrated the mind-numbing panic. He opened his eyes, meeting his father’s light blue gaze. Relief rolled over him and warm moisture sprang to his eyes.
He never thought he’d see his father again.
He blinked away the tears and shifted his gaze while he struggled for control. He was in a hospital room, the walls pale yellow, bits of furniture cheap and utilitarian. Through the window, the sky was dark. How much time had passed since he’d woken next to the bog? Hours? Days? Weeks?
He met his father’s worried gaze and opened his mouth to speak, but the sound lodged in his burning throat. He squeezed his eyes closed, willing the agony to ease.
“Jack?” Fear laced his dad’s voice. “I’ll have a nurse bring you something for the pain.”
Sweat soaked his skin and he forced his eyes open. He wanted to nod his thanks, but he was afraid even the slightest movement would worsen the fire engulfing his neck.
“Bloody hell,” his father muttered, pressing the call button next to his bed repeatedly. “It’ll be faster if I fetch someone.”
Slippery fear swelled inside him, and he tightened his grasp on his father’s hand. He didn’t want to be alone. Not now. Maybe not ever. What if they were waiting?
Nodding, his father slowly lowered himself back into the chair next to the bed. “I’m here, Jack. Not going anywhere.”
His father spoke in the same even tones he used for the animals that came to him injured, frightened