The Taste of Fire
Madeline
My thighs burned, every step a brutal demand for more—more speed, more strength, more of whatever force could push me through the rain-slicked streets. But escape was impossible.
It wasn’t just the demonic forces that had been unleashed at the museum that hunted me. The city itself had turned against me. The storm had rolled in, swallowing the city whole the moment I tore through that broken glass door. The sky had split open in a violent fury of pelting water and high winds that threatened to take my feet out from under me if I gave it half a chance.
Rain lashed against my skin, sharp as needles, and cold enough to bite through the thin barrier of my robes. My teeth chattered as a chill seeped deep in my bones. My drenched hair clung to my face, blinding me
