War of the Seasons, Book 3: The Hunter

The temperature dropped, and, shivering, Story stood and turned slowly around. 

A massive polar bear towered over her, his mouth twisted into an animalistic grin. 

“You’re sick, Geamhradann.” 

“I’m so glad you remember me.” The Winter King sat down on his haunches and licked one of his dinner plate sized paws clean of drying silver blood. “And I’m feeling quite well, thank you very much.”

Story rubbed her hands over her arms against the freezing wind. She couldn’t feel her feet any longer, and though her head told her to run, she knew it was no good. Geamhradann would catch her as soon as she moved. She looked around for a weapon, a rock, a chunk of ice, anything to throw at him to force him to break his concentration and therefore loosen his hold on her in the dreamscape, so she could wake up. 

“You should know better, half-blood. You can’t hurt me here.”


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Story must face an evil greater than any she's encountered before. As darkness looms over Ailionora, Story, her companions, and all of the races of Ailionora band together to fight for their very survival.