Genre: YA Historical Fantasy
Word Count: 97,000
Boston, 1777— The British left because something worse arrived.
By day, seventeen-year-old Amity Somerset is an obedient daughter. She perfects her needlework, learns French, practices the minuet, and just like her parents, studiously ignores all that has gone wrong in their world— such as the deaths of her three siblings at the claws of gargoyles. By night, as part of a society called the Nighters, she rallies against the bloodthirsty creatures that hunt Boston’s citizens as their favorite prey.
When her parents announce her arranged marriage, a frustrated Amity breaks the Nighter's number one rule: Never go on shift alone. She nearly meets her demise by spiked gargoyle tail until an outsider named Patrick saves her life. Desirous of becoming a Nighter, he's quickly inducted into their ranks. But Patrick has his own reasons besides vengeance for joining up— reasons that have the potential to change the future of the newly formed United States of America.
Because as Amity soon discovers, not all gargoyles are mindless predators...or fully grown.
A gargoyle hunkers in the window, watching me.
I stop breathing— I am in so much trouble.
It holds onto the frame with long, double-jointed fingers, its other hand draped across its knees. Claws twitching, the gargoyle’s mouth opens in a soundless snarl, saliva stringing between splintered teeth as it scents the air.
And I probably smell delicious.
It leaps at the same time I fire, the bright red spark at the end of the barrel illuminating the needle-sharp maw headed for my throat.
The floorboards shudder beneath my feet. Finding myself still standing, I lower my pistol. The gargoyle has landed just short of me. Black liquid pools around its head. Somehow, my reflexive, panicked shot had hit true—straight through the eye, the only vulnerable spot gargoyles possess.
I draw in air to the relief of my starved lungs as I stare down at the stretched out body in confusion: It had leapt for me, more than willing to enter the confined space of the bedroom. To risk being unable to spread its wings. Had I really smelled that delicious?
Still puzzling over the strange behavior, I turn on my heel and— pain bursts like a firework against the side of my head.
I stagger. Stinging red heat obscures my vision. I wipe hard at my eyes, smearing blood and tears. My last loaded pistol in hand I swing to face the bedroom’s second window. Braced in the frame is another gargoyle, its tail slicing through the shadows.
Coming for me.