Windwitch (The Witchlands, #2)

by Susan Dennard

Trust me as if my soul were yours.

And only a fool ignored Noden’s gifts. Why do you hold a razor in one hand? “So men remember,” Merik whispered to the stones, “that I am sharp as any edge.”

Take the god’s gift. Become the Fury. It was time to become the monster Merik had been all along. No more numbed distance. No more fighting the Nihar temper. Only vicious, hungry heat. One for the sake of many; vengeance for those he’d lost. It was time to make amends. Time to bring justice to the wronged. Time to bring punishment to the wicked. Merik knew exactly where to begin.