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Back Seasons of Chaos Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Dedication
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. Epilogue
  66. Acknowledgments
  67. About the Author
  68. Books by Elle Cosimano
  69. Back Ad
  70. About the Publisher

“If you’re right and there was nothing I could have done, then maybe it was inevitable.” Kai takes careful sips of her water. Her skin is bronze and gold under her pallor, hinting at her former life as a Summer before she became a Guard. “What if Jack was meant to live and Daniel Lyon was meant to be Chronos? What if we were the ones in the wrong?”

“We were following orders.”

“What if we shouldn’t have?”

No. I refuse to accept that possibility. Because that would mean that my time as a Guard and all we fought for was a waste. That would mean we actually deserve the punishments we have coming. And I’ve worked too hard and trained too long, spent too many years proving my worthiness to Michael to become a captain of his Guard, to accept that. No, that defeat was just a ripple in our destiny.

“I said there was nothing you could have done to change the outcome of the battle. But the war isn’t over yet.”

I grip the edge of the sink, determined not to make the same mistakes I’ve made before. This time, Sommers won’t walk away with his life. Because I’ll make sure he has nothing left to live for.

4

Without a Breath of Storm

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JACK

The air’s thick with the smell of blooms in the park near our villa. Before the battle, I could have identified every one of them just by drawing a breath. Could have scented every grain of pollen that trailed in on Fleur’s skin. But since then, my talents for tracking have been limited to a Handler’s means.

Fleur’s red dot is settled on the screen on my wrist monitor, safe at her desk in Spanish class for the next forty minutes. I take my first full breath of the morning, my muscles loose as I hit my first mile marker and gradually pick up speed. The nagging ache under the scar in my thigh starts to burn with my lengthened strides, and I push through the pain. I was a decent runner before I died the first time—I held my own during gym class at school—but Fleur made me fast. As a Winter, every mile I put between us meant one more day I stayed alive. But over time, every mile meant one more day I existed in the same world with her.

I may not be a Winter anymore. I can’t conjure a blast of wind or make it sleet. But I’m still faster than Fleur. And maybe it’s foolish to feel this way, but ever since I lost my magic, running is the only thing that makes me feel like I can hold my own beside her.