Cresent Prophecy by Axelle Chandler (sad books to read TXT) 📗

of the waves hitting the shore lulled the transition into the vision.

Now…where had they taken me this time?

“Look!”

I glanced down to find a little girl digging in the sand with a bright yellow shovel. A red bucket had been dumped nearby, and a towel with a neon watermelon design had been half buried by her enthusiastic shoveling.

Kneeling before the sandcastle the girl had begged me to evaluate, I made a face. It wasn’t very good.

“Look!” she said again.

She must’ve been about two or three, her cheeks were chubby, and her hand-eye coordination wasn’t the best. Neither was her sentence structure.

“I am looking,” I said, making a point of staring at the ramshackle sandcastle. Where were her parents?

The little girl’s hair was dark as night, and her eyes were as green as the forests of Ireland. I smiled as she patted her little hands on the sandcastle. She was a total cutie in her pink bathers and blue denim hat. Neon orange zinc was wiped across both cheeks, as was the fashion. Man, the stuff stank, but she loved it when I drew little hearts and stars on her cheeks.

That was weird. How did I know that?

The little girl smiled and whacked the sandcastle with the plastic shovel. Sand sprayed everywhere, including down my cleavage, and she clapped, pleased with her handiwork.

“You little terror,” I declared. “You’re as bad as me when I was your age.”

I stilled, my voice sounding strange. I had an accent. An Irish accent. Holding up my hands, I cursed. I had a wedding and engagement ring sitting pretty on my finger. Man, what a big rock!

“Swear!” the little girl declared.

“Shh!” I said. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

The girl made a face and resumed her destruction, stamping on the castle and flapping her arms.

“So, who am I meant to be?” I mused. “And who are you, huh?”

“Skye!” The girl chortled. “Mum. Skye.” She jabbed her finger toward the ocean. “Daddy!”

Following her finger, I saw a tall man in a wetsuit running toward us from the water’s edge. He had a surfboard under one arm, a strap connecting it to his ankle. I recognized him instantly.

“Dad?” My mouth fell open. It had been years since he’d died. Years, but there he was.

Oh, God, that was my father. He was…young. Glancing at the little girl, I knew it was me. Man, I’d been a smart mouthed little snot.

“How are my two favorite girls doing?” he asked, his Australian accent hitting me like a ton of bricks. He set down his surfboard and knelt beside me—I mean, the little version of me—the sand sticking to his wetsuit.

“Daddy, look!” Skye pointed to the mangled sandcastle proudly.

“Did you do that?” he asked. “You little Godzilla!”

She squealed as he caught the little girl in his arms and began tickling. I watched the exchange open-mouthed and on the verge of tears. This was our life before the Nightshade Witches took my mother from us. We were happy…

“Are you okay, Aileen?” Dad asked with a frown.

A cold breeze tickled the back of my neck, and I shivered.

“I…” I didn’t know what to say.

“I think you’ve had a bit too much sun,” he said. “Where’s your hat?”

Why was the hawthorn showing me this memory? It must be important. Otherwise…

The breeze began to whip into a full-blown gale, and I scrambled to my feet, searching for my daughter—for me. Sand was flung into the air and into my mouth and eyes. The grit stuck to my teeth, and I spat.

“Skye!”

The wind eased, and they were gone. The beach was empty, and the sky was full of storm clouds. Big, blue-black giants packed full of thunder and lightning. What a metaphor.

“I’m coming,” a voice whispered.

Spinning around, I couldn’t see anyone.

“I’m coming…”

“Who are you!” I screamed, the wind tearing the words from my mouth. “What do you want?”

“Hold on…”

I was severed from the vision so abruptly it took my breath away. Stumbling back from the hawthorn, I gasped, my heart racing.

“Skye?” Boone held onto me, his familiar scent comforting. “Skye, are you all right?”

I blinked, the residual effects of the vision sending my heart into overdrive.

It couldn’t be. I’d felt the earth choking me as I tried to claw my way out of the ground. The darkness was dragging me down… There was no way anyone could get out of that. Was there?

I couldn’t deny it. It had been her voice, telling me to hold on. She was coming…

It didn’t make sense, me being here if she wasn’t gone. It didn’t work that way!

“Skye?” Boone asked again, beginning to look rather alarmed.

“Boone…” I swallowed hard, not sure what I should feel. “I think Aileen’s still alive.”

Continue the Crescent Witch Chronicles in book three, Crescent Legacy.

Keep reading for a sneak peek!

Thank you for reading Crescent Prophecy!

If you enjoyed this book please consider leaving a review.

Other Books in The Crescent Witch Chronicles

Crescent Calling

Crescent Prophecy

Crescent Legacy

Crescent Rogue

The Crescent Witch Chronicles is a series stuffed full of Irish charm, myth, and mayhem. Come on an adventure fraught with danger and romance...and the ultimate battle to save magic before it’s gone forever.

Find out more at: www.axellechandler.com

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Axelle Chandler is an Australian Urban Fantasy author. She lives in the western suburbs of Melbourne dreaming up nail biting stories featuring bad-ass witches, hunky shapeshifters and devious monsters. She likes chocolate, cat memes and video games. When she’s not writing, she likes to think of what she’s writing next.

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Crescent LegacyChapter One

The air was cold, but it wasn’t anything new. Ireland was always chilly.

I shivered as I followed Boone through the forest, gingerly stepping over fallen logs and weaving around ancient tree trunks. Mist clung to the open parts of the landscape, and I buried deeper into my leather jacket, nestling my chin into my fluffy black scarf.

My boots slipped on a patch of moss, and I yelped. My legs flew