The Hierophant (Book 1 in The Arcana Series) by Madeline Claire Franklin

but a pinprick reflection in the white-hot glare of her eyes.
    And then, with a playful laugh, the demon grabs me with two massive, webbed hands, lifts every inch of me clear over her head, and throws me into the creek.

— 16 —
     
    I’m weightless for several heart-stopping moments before I hit the water. It’s not like being thrown into a pool, where you splash in and sink to the bottom, then spring back up to the surface. Instead, the second I hit the water, it grabs hold with icy fists, rolls me over, and drags me down. My body is buffeted about by currents and cross currents, knocked into rocks and roots. I scrape my hands and sprain my fingers on the creek bed as I kick and grab at anything, everything. I don’t even have the luxury of a moment to worry about the thing that threw me in here.
    I have no idea which direction is up unless I touch the bottom, at which point even full-force propulsion upwards is not going to be enough to break the surface, not unless the creek allows it. Still, I try, again and again, my body twisting and reaching, pleading with the will of the water to let me go.
    Finally, it gives in, pushes me up and over a ridge, riding on the crest of a cascade. I suck in a breath and lose it again in an involuntary scream, but even I can barely hear it over the roar of the creek. The current sucks me down again and again, huge hands grabbing at my shoulders and shoving me down, down, down, but I manage to bounce up once, twice, gathering air to my lungs around forced mouthfuls of water.
    Frantic and blind in the dark, churning water, all the strength in my body does nothing to tear my limbs from the current’s grip. It slams me into a series of rocks, rolling me through them. First my knees hit, and then my hip—pain lances through the cold to shock me as the water pushes me back—my head bounces off of something sharp and hard—everything flares bright for a moment—the current flips me over onto my back—a searing pain explodes at my ankle.
    It’s stuck, caught between two unyielding rocks, attaching me to the them like a flag caught in the wind. The water pummels me, crashes over me, around me, filling my mouth and nose, snaking down my throat. I fight and fight as hard as I can to bend forward, upward, to keep my face above the surface, but each breath I take is accompanied by a watery hand over my face, forcing me under.
    I’m going to die , I realize.
    Water hits my lungs like a vise around my chest. I sink under, slick silver arms coming up around my neck, dragging me down. The creature has found me—or has it been with me all along, dragging me and pummeling me, disguised as the current itself? I pry at its scaly arms with fingers and nails, but my body constricts, betrays, fighting for the oxygen just inches from my face. My fight against my own body fails as my world spins and darkness encroaches on my mind. I can no longer stop myself from breathing reflexively, coughing and choking after each unstoppable gasp, lungs drinking in the creek.
    The creature’s arms disappear. Her work is done.
    I wait for my life to flash before my eyes, but even in the dizzy whirl of my suffocation I can still see the moon from beneath the surface of the water, and the brightness blinds me. A shadow passes over it in the shape of a man, or a moth, or an angel, wings spread wide like the arms of a cross. The shadow drops towards me, grows bigger and bigger, until I am immersed in darkness.

— 17 —
     
    Anastasia please, don’t die, someone shouts from far away. You can’t die. I’ve only just found you...
    Something presses hard against my chest, an external heartbeat, ordering my own heart to follow. Then there are lips against my lips, warm breath blown into my lungs. It sticks like a needle, and hurts —
    I try to sit up fast, but my forehead slams into someone else’s. I don’t have time to see whose—I’m turning over and throwing up water, hacking and coughing until my already