EW can exclusively reveal the cover and an excerpt from the upcoming book, the first in a planned duology.

It's time for a witch hunt — but sometimes the lines between hunter and hunted become blurred.

In Night of the Witch, the first book in a planned duology from fantasy authors Sara Raash (Snow Like Ashes) and Beth Revis (Across the Universe), a witch joins forces with one of the witch hunters who wiped out her coven in order to exact revenge against those responsible for killing both their loved ones.

"A witch and a hunter. Vengeance is their mission. Love is their destiny," begins the blurb for Night of the Witch. "Fritzi is a witch. A survivor of a brutal attack on her coven, she's determined to find her only surviving family member and bring the hexenjägers — zealot witch hunters — to justice for the lives they ended. To do this, she will need to take down their leader — Kommandant Dieter Kirch. Otto is a hexenjäger and a captain, the second in command to Dieter Kirch — but that's just his cover. Years ago, the hexenjägers burned his innocent mother alive and since then, he has been planning a move against the witch hunters that tore his family apart. And now the time has come for them to pay for what they've done."

Sara Raasch and Beth Revis
Sara Raasch and Beth Revis
| Credit: Sourcebooks (2)

As Fritzi and Otto are unexpectedly thrown together, "neither is sure they can trust the other, despite their common enemy. But all they have is one another, and they both crave revenge. As truths come to light and trust shifts, Fritzi and Otto uncover a far more horrifying plot at the center of the hexenjäger attacks… but their own growing feelings for each other may be the most powerful magic of all."

EW can exclusively reveal the cover for Night of the Witch below, as well as an excerpt. Read on for more.

'Night of the Witch,' by Sara Raasch and Beth Revis
'Night of the Witch,' by Sara Raasch and Beth Revis
| Credit: Sourcebooks

Excerpt from Night of the Witch, by Sara Raasch and Beth Revis

He holds out something to me. The bowl of stew. The sheepskin.

"You're hungry," he says.

I'm so tempted to tell him to piss off again, but I bite my lip and shake my manacled hands in response.

"And you'll only feed me if I tell you where your sister is?" I ask. "Because that is definitely the behavior of someone who is not a brute—"

He sets the sheepskin down and lifts the spoon out of the bowl.

He's not really going to—

He is.

The kapitän holds the spoon to my lips.

I stare at him, stunned.

"Don't let stubbornness make you stupid," he tells me. "Eat."

"It would be mighty inconvenient if your prisoner passed out from hunger before you could properly torture her, wouldn't it?"

His jaw bulges. He bumps the spoon against my lips. "Eat," he repeats, his tone ofc ommand so second nature that it sounds well-worn.

The stew is something crude and easy, road rations mixed with melted snow, but the scent drives my stomach to rumbling. I've only eaten bits and pieces while traveling from Birresborn, and if I'm going to make any progress tonight, I'll need my strength.

I part my lips and take the proffered bite.

"There," he says. "Is that so hard?"

Oh, I will kick him the moment I've had my fill.

I still can't see his face in the dark, the fire at his back. He drops into silence as he feeds me, just dips the spoon back into the bowl and lifts bite after bite, nothing in his movements saying he's impatient that I'm eating slowly or that he's offended having to feed me at all. It's so in contrast with the bitter, angry man he's been that I can't help shrinking from him, my eyes dropping, each bite I take now feeling like he's won something, like I've conceded to him.

"You're wrong," he whispers to the dark.

I don't answer.

"I have never burned someone alive."

I can't help myself—my snort of derision is more like a snarl. He would lie about the thing he must be proudest of? There's a trick here.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, but then seems to decide it's pointless. He turns topick up the sheepskin and offers it to me.

I tip my head back and beer slides into my throat. It's hoppy and rich and immediately warms my whole body, which is a problem—exhaustion creeps up over me again. My ever-present companion. But I blink furiously and sit up straighter, willingly myself to alertness.

The kapitän pushes the cork back into the sheepskin. "You can sleep. I told you, no one will touch you."

I laugh. It's bitter and sharp. "Forgive me for not thinking your word has any bearing whatsoever, jäger."

He holds a beat. "You're not going to escape either."

I refuse to look at him, glowering at my lap. "Just leave me alone."

His nearness is disorienting. Is that why he fed me? So I'd be full and too tired to run? My arms shake, and I do look up now, only to scowl.

Maid, Mother, and Crone, I've never hated someone as much as I hate this one man.

"Leave me alone," I say when he lingers.

He stands. I think he's going to walk away, but he just tosses the now empty sheepskin and bowl toward the fire. Then he pulls a length of rope from a satchel at his waist and knots one end to my wrist.

"The manacles aren't enough?" I snap.

Silently—the Three save me, this man barely speaks—he unwinds the rope and loops the other end to his wrist.

We're connected now.

Any move I make in the night, he'll feel. Unless I can somehow saw through this rope without waking him. How heavy a sleeper is he? Maybe—

"I'm a very light sleeper," he says at the look on my face. "And until you tell me what I need to know, you're under my command."

I can't stand it anymore; I rear back and thrash out to kick him, but he sidesteps it easily, and when he does, his face catches in the firelight.

He isn't smiling. Not laughing at my feeble act of rebellion.

He looks…in pain.

The kapitän drops to the ground next to me—out of kicking distance—and positions his back against a tree. He folds his arms over his chest, pulling taut the rope between us, and closes his eyes.

I yank on the rope, hoping to make him tip over, but it barely fazes him.

The Three help me, I want to scream. I want to attack him. I need to expel this fury, because if I don't, I'll realize it isn't fury at all.

It's fear.

I won't escape tonight.

Which means tomorrow, I'll be taken into Trier as a prisoner, and any chance I had at freeing Liesel will be lost.

The fire sizzles down to embers, casting the area in a hazy orange glow. It's that softness that pushes tears down my cheeks. I can't stop them; I can't even wipe them away, helplessness urging more, careening my grief out of control.

My mother died yesterday.

I haven't let myself feel it. Not truly. And I grind my teeth against it now, begging myself not to think about it, not yet; I'll mourn, but not yet

I sob there in the darkness, fighting to keep my gasps quiet.

Maid, Mother, and Crone, the prayer comes unbidden, and it aches now knowing they won't hear me. That I'm well and truly alone.

Are you, though?

Go away, I push at the voice. Not now. Please. Just leave me alone.

I've come this far and not given into wild magic. What makes the voice think I ever will, if I haven't by now?

There is no response.

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