Karen Marie Moning wraps her hit Fever fantasy series with its ninth installment, Feversong, out January 17, 2017. The books follow MacKayla Lane and Jericho Barrons as they dive into an unseen realm of fairies to battle the supernatural. Feversong picks up after the preceding Feverborn, in which the immortal Fae thrusts the Earth into disarray after finally destroying the ancient wall dividing mankind from the mythical.
Below, EW presents your exclusive first look at Feversong’s cover — plus, a heart-pounding excerpt:
Excerpt from Feversong by Karen Marie Moning
My body doesn’t move as planned. It shudders, flops, and goes limp. “Stiff from being on the table so long,” I tell Jada, who watches me with narrowed eyes. I contract my abdomen, bend at the waist, stabilize my upper body, rotate my hips, shift my legs as a unit over the side of the gurney, and touch my feet to the floor.
Desire. Lust. Greed. And the path I choose to supremacy.
Master of adaptation and evolution, I slide more surely into my skin with each breath, enjoying the complex, albeit imperfect elegance of what I possess. I inhale long and slow, swelling first my abdomen then lungs with air. Breathing brings an assault of unfathomable stenches, but I will acclimate.
Every thought, every emotion MacKayla Lane experienced is filed in my meticulous mental vault, but during my incarceration in her body, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear, I couldn’t smell.
I was—as she is now—trapped in a dark, silent prison, my only connection to the world an attachment I forged to her central nervous system through supremacy of will and relentless trial and failure. My existence was a smattering of complex electrical charges, intricate patterns without substance. Although I spied on her life as much as possible, I was able to seize and use her body, hands, and eyes only once, for brief duration. All else was diluted, second-hand perception absorbed from within, but for that overcast, rainy day I killed the Gray Woman and Mick O’Leary.
The power. The glory. That was the day I knew I would win. Those clumsy, debilitating hours I rode a body for the first time.
I require time to perfect control.
I draw myself up inside, gathering the enormity, the ancientness, the hunger and storm of my being and expand into the imperfect biological vessel I’ve claimed, saturating, possessing every atom. I fill my blood, my bones, my skin.
I turn the full force of my regard upon Jada, blink once, and reveal myself. My eyes, reflected in the stainless-steel door of a commercial freezer unit behind her, fill with obsidian until no white remains.
She changes color. Fear impacts the nerves that connect brain to heart, constricting circulation. The blood vanishes from her face, leaving freckles upon snow. Her eyes widen, her pupils dilate and freeze. The scent of her body alters to one I find . . . intriguing.
I experience all of this with my own senses. It’s incomparable. My mere presence reprograms the anatomy of those around me.
I was made for it.
I would prefer to shred her flesh from bone, but several things prevent me. I smile with my new face.
“I would run if I were you,” I tell her softly.
Excerpted from Feversong by Karen Marie Moning Copyright © 2016 by Karen Marie Moning. Excerpted by permission of Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.