THIRD OF THE WINTERSET COVEN
(Winterset Coven, Book 3)
By T. S. JOYCE
Third of the Winterset Coven
Copyright © 2020 by T. S. Joyce
Copyright © 2020, T. S. Joyce
First electronic publication: October 2020
T. S. Joyce
www.tsjoyce.com
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Published in the United States of America.
Other Books in this Series
King of the Asheville Coven (Book 1)
Second of the Winterset Coven (Book 2)
Contents
Copyright
Other Books in this Series
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Up Next from T. S. Joyce
Newsletter Sign-Up
More Series by this Author
For More from this Author
About this Author
Prologue
The hallway to Nicole Rider’s apartment felt different. A heaviness hung in the air, and the fluorescent light above her flickered. Her landlady, Tanya, changed out the bulbs regularly, so this was the first time she’d ever seen a bulb stutter in the last four years she’d lived here.
Hesitating near her neighbor’s door, she turned and looked back at the elevator she’d ridden up. There was this little voice inside of her that said she was being watched, but she was definitely alone here.
The light flickered again and made a buzzing sound, and she couldn’t for the life of her get rid of the chills that were zinging up and down her spine. Best to get into her apartment where she would feel safe once she locked the door behind her.
She was probably just overly on edge because of the gruesome murders. There had been three in the last few weeks in her small hometown of Winterset, Iowa. Everyone knew it was the vamps on a killing spree, but the local coven swore it wasn’t them. Yeah, right. Supes were liars—all of them. The whole town was on alert. She shook her head at how jumpy she’d become by the stories and made her way down the hall toward her door, her keys at the ready in her hand. Vamps couldn’t come inside a building without being invited, and none of the murders had occurred indoors. They were all out in the woods, miles outside of town. Campers. And that was the number one reason she didn’t do camping. Number two was mosquitos. Vamps and mosquitos—she had a thing against bloodsuckers.
Work had been long today, and the clacking of her heels on the wooden floor taunted her. She was fifteen steps from being able to kick her shoes off and enjoy that orgasmic moment of relief when her feet were freed from harsh edges and odd angles.
The light flickered again just as she reached her door. When she lifted her key to unlock it, she froze. The door was wide open.
Ding, the elevator sounded softly down the hall, but she couldn’t take her eyes from the man who sat on her kitchen counter, facing the door.
His greeting smile didn’t reach his dead, black, soulless eyes. All the devil’s smile served to do was expose a terrifying set of fangs. He had platinum blond hair and hollow features. His skin was as pale as snow, but his hands had dried blood on them, which contrasted against the long-sleeved white cotton shirt he wore.
Nicole’s purse hit the ground. “Y-you can’t come in.”
“I’m already in,” he said, his words echoing with an evil hissing sound.
Move. Run.
She could hear footsteps, and with a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, she could see her landlady, Tanya, reaching her own apartment door down the hall.
Where the monster couldn’t see, on the outer edge of the doorframe, Nicole held up her shaking hand and hoped to God Tanya saw it.
“A therapist,” the creature murmured, the words echoing through her mind, though his lips hadn’t moved. He scanned the folders he’d taken from her filing cabinet. “So many disasters. Their stories are very entertaining. I can see why you would want to do such a job.” He looked up at her, and the emptiness in his eyes was replaced by something even more terrifying—hunger.
“I like when they run, and I like when they scream,” he told her.
Tears burned her eyes, and her body froze into place like ice, her hand hovering in the air. Move. Run. He stacked the folders neatly and stood. Why couldn’t she move?
“The others didn’t run. The others didn’t scream, but I’m learning as I go. I’m growing. I’m figuring out what sates me. Blood isn’t enough, Nicole Leanne Rider. Blood was never enough.”
Why couldn’t she move? She didn’t understand!
Move. Run.
Tanya? Was she there? Help me!
“Tonight will be different,” he said, stalking closer with graceful, predatory strides. “Tonight, you will run. Tonight, you will scream. And tonight, you will taste better to me. Can you do that? Can you be better than the others?”
She was panting in short bursts, desperate to put space in between her and that vile thing, but she couldn’t do anything,
