A young woman strikes a deal with a mischievous and alluring god to seek revenge on her aristocratic family…
We’re thrilled to preview an excerpt from House of the Beast, the dark epic fantasy debut The Legend of Korra graphic novel illustrator Michelle Wong—available August 5th from Harper Voyager.
Born out of wedlock and shunned by society, Alma learned to make her peace with solitude, so long as she had her mother by her side. When her mother becomes gravely ill, Alma discovers a clue about her estranged father and writes a message begging for help. Little does she know that she is a bastard of House Avera, one of the four noble families that serve the gods and are imbued with their powers—and her father is a vessel of the Dread Beast, the most frightening god of all, a harbinger of death.
In a desperate exchange for her mother’s medicine, Alma agrees to sacrifice her left arm to the Beast in a ceremony that will bind her forever to the House and its deity. Regardless, her mother soon passes, leaving Alma trapped inside the Avera’s grand estate, despised by her relatives and nothing but a pawn in her father’s schemes.
Now vengeance is the only thing that keeps Alma going. That, and the strange connection she has with her god—a monster who is constantly by her side, an eldritch being taking the form of a beautiful prince with starlit hair that only she can see. He tells Alma that she has been chosen to bring change upon their world, and with his help, Alma plots a perilous journey to destroy the House that stole everything from her.
A gripping coming-of-age fantasy novel marked by divine rituals, intense combat, and twisted relationships, House of the Beast is a tale of revenge, resilience, and the power of love to see us through the darkness.
Chapter 1
My father’s sword of cold black steel, the finest in all of Kugara, hovered over the tender flesh of my left elbow. A sick tempest of uncertainty churned in my stomach, threatening to send the first full meal I’d eaten in weeks all over the temple floor. I had asked for this, but I was beginning to wonder if I had made a mistake.
I mustered up the courage to croak, “Wait.”
My father, who I had met for the first time two days ago, frowned at me.
“What is it?” His voice echoed through the dark hall, low and sharp. “The Beast does not appreciate delays.”
He was a tall man with an angled face and an air of importance in the way he held himself. He was unlike any of the scruffy uncles and potbellied sailors I grew up around in the slums of Merey. Beneath the left sleeve of his tailored jacket, his hand was made of polished black metal. When he’d come to collect me, I’d watched the neighbors look at it and then step back quickly in fearful reverence.
I’d been apprehensive too, yet I couldn’t help sneaking in my own share of glances throughout the day. After all, I had never expected to see an elder god’s vessel up close. I’d spent my whole life believing these things were far beyond my station.
Now here I was, whisked away to the mountainous province of House Avera, one of the Four High Houses of Kugara, kneeling in their private temple, ready to be offered up to a god. The stone floor tiles were cold and hard against my knees. The worn clothes I’d traveled here in did little to protect me against the chilly air. I shivered like a leaf in the wind before the centerpiece of the altar: a monstrous sculpture of the Dread Beast’s head, constructed from smooth, dark metal. The sculptor had decided on a lupine form for this depiction, and the Beast’s three eyes were each inlaid with mirrors that reflected the temple braziers. If I looked closely, I could see my own eyes mirrored back at me. Inside the sculpture’s maw was a shallow basin that held water. My left arm had been placed inside of it, a cuff locking my wrist into place at the bottom. My submerged skin prickled from the cold. The water was pitch-black, like the abyss itself was lapping at my fingers.
“Is there another way?” I stammered.
My father, Lord Zander Avera, Second Hand of the Dread Beast, scoffed at me. “Lest you forget, you were the one who sought a deal with me. Or will you go back on your word and leave your mother to suffer?”
If this were a heroic sort of tale, then this would have been where I steeled myself for the sacrifice. I’d grit my teeth against his blade and honor the deal, so that my mother could have the medicine she needed. I’d been so full of bravado back in Merey, even when she begged me not to go. I’d thought I could sustain that flimsy courage through all that came next.
Instead, I began to cry.
The temple doors slammed open. In stormed a woman with dark hair coiled into an intricate bun and fury twisting her finely painted eyes and lips. Two attendants dressed in black followed at her heels. She pointed a shaking finger at my father.
“How dare you,” she growled. “You would sully House Avera’s name by bringing your mongrel to our most sacred temple? Is there no end to your ambition, Zander? Put the sword down at once!”
I wanted nothing more than for my father to obey her—to put down the sword and send me far away. “I want to go home,” I sniveled, hoping it would help my cause.
My father looked at me with an eyebrow raised. “Home?” he repeated. “This is your home now, Alma.”
He brought the blade down.
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House of the Beast
Excerpted from House of the Beast by Michelle Wong. Copyright © 2025 by Michelle Wong. Reprinted courtesy of Harper Voyager, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
