Between Sun and Moon (Between Life and Death Series Book 2), page 1
Praise for Between Sun and Moon
“There’s just something about Jaclyn Kot’s writing that speaks to me. I sank my teeth into this book and devoured every single word.“
- @books.with.shay
“Emotional roller coaster, spicy steamy sessions, lovers quarrel and the shadow daddy himself are all things found in this book. I couldn't put it down! I can't recommend this series enough, anything Jaclyn touches turns to GOLD.”
- @queenofvikings
"You know when you pick up a new book and you can instantly tell it's going to be a new all-time favourite? That is this series for me! It brings delicious tension, nail-biting action and excitement, and devastating heartache that will leave you needing the next book ASAP - what more could we ask for?"
- @promisevideo
"I didn't think I could be more obsessed with a book (or its characters), then Jaclyn went ahead and wrote BSAM. She's steamy, she's action packed, and she's a 10/10!"
- @vees.reads
“I could not put this book down!! Truly one of the best romantasy books I’ve ever read.
P.S. Von is Daddy.”
- @coralieslibrary
“This mesmerizing, fast paced fantasy romance series will easily become a new favourite. Jaclyn’s writing effortlessly transports readers into a world you’ll want to get lost in and will have you greedily turning each page.”
- @diemsbookshelf
“Between Sun and Moon is easily my favorite fantasy book of 2024. It’s that amazing. I would happily live within this book without a single complaint.”
- @thealexisnielson
”This is a story about how a woman that was pushed to her knees by her oppressor, rises again, and learns to push right back. Intense, dark, addictive, and oh so steamy…”
- @onceuponafrida
Between Sun and Moon
Jaclyn Kot
Copyright ©2024 by Jaclyn Kot
Editing by Jessica McKelden
Proofreading by New Ink Editing and Veerie Edits
Cover design by Fantasy Cover Design
Formatting by Imagine Ink Designs
All Rights Reserved.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarly to real persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Intended for Mature Audiences
This book is a dark fantasy romance that contains contents that could be triggering.
Please visit www.jaclynkotbooks.com for more information.
To those considering taking a bite of an apple,
be wary of those little, black seeds, won’t you?
Age sixteen.
Sage
Ezra sat on a wood stump across from me, sorting through the bucket of chokecherries we had picked early that morning. She was looking for any leaves, stems, or bugs that might have gotten added into the mix, separating them from the perfectly ripe fruit.
While she did that, I sat cross-legged on the grass, a piece of cedar in one hand and a knife with a fixed, thin blade in the other. The handle was curved to fit comfortably in one’s hand to prevent fatigue—perfect for whittling. Kaleb had traded five rabbit furs for the knife and gifted it to me after he caught me looking at it during one of our trips to the market. It was a steal of a deal considering the fine craftsmanship, but when he purchased it, guilt gnawed at my stomach. Kaleb could have used the rabbit furs to buy a month’s worth of food, or something for himself—something he so rarely did. When I asked him why he didn’t do just that, he bumped my shoulder playfully and said I needed to do something other than just train all the time. And so, I picked up whittling—something Ezra also did from time to time.
Carefully, I made long, sweeping cuts with the grain, working on the general shape. Apart from the delicious smell of cedar wood, the color of it was a deep red, perfect for the animal I was trying to carve—a fox. It was to be a birthday gift for my friend, Adelina.
Adelina and I first met seven summers ago when her father became deathly ill. Ezra and I had been at the market, selling tonics and salves, when Adelina’s weary-eyed mother, Mrs. Westford, came up to our table and begged Ezra to come take a look at her ailing husband. Ezra agreed. After the market closed for the day, we went over to the Westfords’ residence. While Ezra examined Mr. Westford, Adelina and I sat outside on the stairs. Adelina had been very worried about her father, so to help her get her mind off things, I struck up a conversation with her and asked, “What’s your favorite animal?” With a big, toothy smile, she said it was a fox.
I glanced down at the wood carving and frowned. Rather than a sleek fox, it looked more like two blobs with lopsided ears. I grumbled and tossed it to the ground. Despite how hard I tried, the wood never spoke to me. Not like it did with Ezra.
Ezra quirked a graying brow. “What is wrong, child?”
“It doesn’t even look remotely like a fox. It looks more like Old Man Winter’s cat,” I stated, annoyance clipping the words short.
“The one with the missing ear,” Ezra agreed with a chuckle. She leaned forward, picked up the discarded wood, and then held her empty, purple-stained hand to me, gesturing for me to give her my knife. I did. She leaned back and began to whittle, skimming off thin pieces of curling wood. “There is a thin line between success and failure. Do you know what determines either outcome?” she asked.
I pondered her question, looking at the wood and then her—I had a feeling I knew the answer behind this lesson, but with Ezra, one could never be completely sure. “Not giving up on something?” I said, more questioning than not.
She worked on one ear, shaping it into a point, before she moved on to the other. “You are correct, child. It takes a great deal of self-discipline to see something all the way through, from beginning to end. We are not born with self-discipline. It’s something we must choose for ourselves, something we must continuously work on.”
I thought about her words while watching as she worked.
After she was finished with the ears and they were nearly perfect twins, she handed me the knife and the carving. “Go on, give it another go,” she said.
I nodded, took the knife and the carving, and tried again.
Lungs heaving from my morning training session, I flopped down in the field of switchgrass and broken, decaying trees and looked up at the crisp, blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. I ran my fingers up a blade of vibrant green grass, stopping just below the delicate, feathery flowers which were beginning to go to seed. The color of their soft panicles hinted of autumn—a rich burgundy.
“Sage?” shouted a familiar female voice in the distance.
“Over here,” I warmly called back.
A few moments later, I saw the top of a head covered in dark-brown hair appear just over the tops of the swaying grass. Next, a big, warm smile, mirroring my own.
“There you are,” Adelina said as she stepped through the grass. A small braid crowned her head, a lilac-colored ribbon threaded throughout. She flipped her skirt, more patches than original fabric, to the side and sat down. “You aren’t in your usual training spot,” she observed, glancing around.
“I decided to give this spot a try today.” I rolled onto my side and propped my head up with my hand, my elbow digging into the ground beneath me. “There’s a lot of fallen trees here. They make for good obstacles and help with my footwork.”
“That makes sense,” she replied, her earthy brown eyes shifting to mine. “Must have been some wind to take them all out like that.”
I nodded in agreement. “It could have been a plough wind, or a tornado that briefly touched down, or—” I smirked. “It could have been someone with the Curse of Air.”
“That’s a lot of fallen trees for a Cursed to take out on their own. If magic was involved, it would have to be someone much more powerful.” She paused, pondering for a moment. “If anything,” she cracked a smile, “I’d say one of the gods did it.”
I chuckled at that. We both did.
I decided to play along. “Which god do you think it was?” I asked, feeling the gentle breeze chase the scorching caress of the sun from my skin.
“Well, there is one god well known for his ability to control the wind—more so than any other god.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, serious eyes meeting mine. “The God of Death.”
My stomach knotted, but I heeded it little mind. I whispered back, “Okay, let’s say it was him. Why would he demolish a bunch of trees?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, he’s the God of Death. Does he need a reason?”
“I feel like there’s always a reason why gods do what they do,” I said.
“Alright, I’ll bite. Then what would give the God of Death—” she whispered his name, “—reason to destroy a bunch of trees?”
I pursed my lips and swished them from side to side, thinking for a moment. A flicker of a thought invaded my mind with such potency that I blurted out, “A lover’s qu
Adelina shook her head. “No way. The God of Death was a ruthless king. According to the books I’ve read, he doesn’t possess the ability to love, because he doesn’t have a heart.”
And it was the strangest thing, because even though I knew next to nothing about the gods—especially the Old Gods—I felt tempted to argue with Adelina. But I shook it off, deciding it was pointless, since again, I knew pretty much zero about the gods and Adelina had made herself the self-proclaimed expert on the subject.
Adelina started, “It’s a pity, too, because the pictures I’ve seen of him?” She fanned herself. “He is on an entirely different level of delicious handsomeness.”
“Really?” I said, this bit of info piquing the interest of my sixteen-year-old mind.
“Oh, yes. He’s ridiculously handsome,” she exclaimed. “All I can say is if that is what waits for me on the other side, then sign me up for a one-way trip.”
I snorted out a laugh, the sound mirroring hers.
Adelina’s mother referred to us as two peas in a pod, and for the most part, she was right. There was a sisterhood between us, and it wasn’t just because we were both Cursed, although like a hammer to heated iron, that had been the main element that originally forged our friendship.
“Speaking of handsome men, how are things going with Oliver?” I asked. For a girl who used to gush daily about the things he did with his tongue in her mouth, she had been awfully quiet about him the last two times we had seen one another.
“They’re not.” She let out a sigh and waved her hand over a spot of barren ground. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated. A few seconds later, a small plant sprouted, two drooping leaves unfurling from it. She pulled her hand away, a frown on her lips as she observed her struggling creation.
“I thought everything was going well with your courtship?” I asked as I placed my hand over top and conjured my Curse. Droplets of water emitted from my palm, raining down on the plant. Before long, the leaves stiffened up.
Adelina smiled in thanks. Her hand returned beside mine as she used her Curse to help the plant grow some more, while I continued to water it. As we did this, she continued, “It was. Oliver is great. He has prospects and I think we could have a great life together. But . . .” She trailed off.
“It’s the Curse, isn’t it?” I asked, knowing the feeling all too well—it was the main reason why I never planned to get married. I wasn’t about to risk my neck, quite literally, for a husband.
She nodded. “It is. I know my Earth Curse isn’t very strong, but it’s still a part of me. I can’t imagine hiding it from my spouse for the rest of my life. That would be like hiding my true self.” She nibbled on her bottom lip, her voice growing softer. “I’ve been debating telling him—”
“No!” I shouted. My voice was stern to the point that I reminded myself of Kaleb. “Adelina, you can’t tell him.”
“But what if he’s not like the others?”
“But what if he is?” I shook my head. “If you want to tell him, then tell him when you are old and gray, and you’ve lived a full life, but do not tell him now, when you have an entire life to live. It is not worth the risk.” My eyes flickered between hers, pleading with her not to do such a foolish thing.
Her knitted brows softened. “I understand your concern. Truly, I do. I’m well aware of the risk.”
“So then say you won’t tell him,” I urged her.
“I won’t promise you that, Sage. It would be a lie. And I’m tired of the lies,” she said as she stood, her hands dusting off the back of her skirt.
I leapt up. “Adelina—”
She cut me off. “I’ll see you at my birthday tomorrow, yes? Mom’s going to make a whole chicken. You know it’s my favorite and we don’t get it very often, especially not since Mrs. Chesterfield raised our rent.” Adelina sighed. “That bitter old woman is something else. She’s always barging in, unexpected.”
“Yes, of course I’ll be there,” I said quickly, eager to get back to what we had been discussing, regardless of her attempt to change the topic. “Just wait. We need to talk about this.”
“We did talk about it,” she replied softly, not a hint of anger in her voice.
Mine didn’t fare so well. “Not really. You more or less told me that you are debating telling Oliver about your Curse, something no good can possibly come from. If you tell him, you won’t be wearing some pretty white gown. You’ll be wearing a cheap piece of cloth and an iron collar around your neck as they drag you to the pyre, not the fucking altar,” I spouted like a teapot hitting its boiling point.
“Then I guess I’ll get that one-way trip to the Spirit Realm that much faster,” she replied sarcastically before she turned and stomped away.
I huffed at her, too stubborn to go after her.
I regretted our fight that happened yesterday, regretted not going after her and making things right. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so abrasive, she would have given me a chance to talk things out with her. But instead, I’d jumped on the don’t-do-it-wagon, and it made her shut down.
I glanced down at the red cedar fox, collared with a large red ribbon tied in a bow. The carving wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t half bad either, and in some small way, I was proud of it. I’d paid for the piece with sweat and blood—the multitude of cuts on my fingers attesting to the latter.
Hopefully, the gift, accompanied by my apology, would be enough to earn her forgiveness.
My knuckles rasped against the plank door. The bottom was broken and cracked to the extent that I could fit my shoe underneath it in some places.
The door swung open.
An elderly woman—Mrs. Chesterfield, the owner of the property—peered up at me like a vulture sizing up a chunk of meat. I had seen her before, but usually she was on the other side of the door—nearly beating it down as she demanded the Westfords pay their monthly rent. She’d kicked the door a few times, which certainly didn’t help its poor, dilapidated state. In fact, that might be the very reason it was in such poor condition.
“What do you want?” she grouched at me—sprigs of gray hair shooting out from underneath her bonnet.
“Is Adelina here?” I asked, eyes shifting beyond her, into the house. I didn’t see Adelina, nor her mother or her three siblings. And when I took a deep breath, all I smelled was the summer air—not a whiff of savory, cooked chicken.
“Who?” she asked, turning her ear towards me.
“Adelina Westford,” I said, much louder, remembering that she was hard of hearing.
The woman’s eyes flared wide and then she spat on the ground. “How dare you mention that Cursed trash. She’ll get what she deserves if she hasn’t already.”
“What?” I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”
“Yesterday, I found the witch trying to grow magical plants in the backyard, so I reported her. Not too long ago, the soldiers dragged her out and took her to the pyre to be Cleansed. Filthy, vile creature that girl. And living under my roof. Would you imagine that.” She spat on the ground again. “I’ll be kicking the rest of her disgusting family out when they return from the Cleansing. One can never be too sure how many more of them might be Cur—”
I didn’t hear another word as I took off towards the village square, my heart leaping into my ears. I had to hope that I could make it to the pyre before they did. That I could save my friend.
But when I arrived, all that I found was the king’s blood-colored banners flickering under the gaze of the sun and a small mound of smoldering ash.
Sage
Von was alive.
Those three words were my unraveling.
Like a string pulled from a constrictive corset, my lungs suddenly filled with air. My first real breath in weeks—in months. I breathed again, fearful that this newfound capacity might escape me. Fearful that I had found myself in another dream, waiting for it to turn into a nightmare where everyone I loved was ripped away from me. Because that was where I had been these past few weeks—caught in a nightmare.
Except that nightmare was my reality.
“But I saw him take his final breath,” I whispered to Kaleb, who was kneeling in front of me—returned to me from the Spirit Realm. “I felt him . . .” I looked down at my hands, the memory of him disintegrating into ash replaying in my mind. The phantom corset returned, and the air fled from my lungs. “I felt him fade from existence,” I choked out.
