By Melanie Wells
Peter Terry Returns A knock at her door. A bloody awl. A homicide weapon in her personal front room. The elusive white guy with the shrink on his again is out looking back, chasing souls. Peter Terry is haunting minds, invading goals, and wrecking lives. As Dylan Foster searches for solutions, she stumbles upon a gloomy cult of angel worship. paying homage to the times of Noah, it really is now blinding and intoxicating adolescents, best them to their deaths. during this conflict for souls, everything's up for grabs, leaving Dylan greedy for power because the conflict rages round her. while eventually she discovers the reality, it really is faraway from the reality she anticipated.
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Extra info for The Soul Hunter (Dylan Foster Series #2)
But my mind, attracted by some sort of morbid magnetic field, would not cooperate. I could see it happening in front of me, playing out in vivid, full-blown, Fujifilm detail. I felt the most profound sadness for her. “You must be exhausted,” David was saying. ” He lived about an hour south of town. “Hide from the posse and get a little rest? I could make you tomato soup and Cheetos. Served up with a cold Dr Pepper. Cold milk and Oreos for dessert. ” A nap on David’s couch and a babysitter lunch sounded absurdly luxurious to me.
Faithfulness to the task, for those of us who find ourselves in the crossfire, is utterly necessary. God has designed it that way. But I did not look forward to the wounds I knew I was about to receive. My contribution to the war effort would be small. Miniscule. But I intended to gear up and show up anyway. I would never, ever go down without a fight. Peter Terry should know that about me by now. As the sun rose that morning, bringing with it the hope of a new day, my bones hurt, I was so cold.
I dried my hair and got myself ready for the day, throwing on my oldest pair of jeans and my warmest sweater. I clicked the lock behind me as I stepped into the shivery chill of my garage. More cold air rushed into the garage as I pushed the button to raise the door. My truck started, to my great relief. I made it halfway down my street before I realized what day it was. Happy birthday to me. 4 I don’t know where I was planning on going at 7:45 in the morning. I’d really just wanted to get out of the house.