Page 2

Chapter

Two

EIRA

My sword hums, indicating danger. I can feel it more than hear it, as if standing too close to lightning just before it strikes.

The etchings along the blade’s edge glow softly, pale and threading through the grooves like veins of starlight.

Ancient runes pulse with each beat of my heart, whispering secrets in a language older than memory.

Interestingly, my palm isn’t glowing. Apparently, there aren’t any evil fae nearby. But something’s awry, or my sword wouldn’t be acting up.

I tighten my grip until my knuckles go white. My palm is slick with sweat despite the bitter cold, and I can feel the weapon’s power thrumming against my skin like a second pulse. The blade seems hungry, eager. It wants blood.

I scan the tree line, every shadow a potential threat.

The forest is still, quieter than it should be at dawn.

No birds sing their morning songs. No wind rustles the branches.

Even the insects aren’t making a sound. The silence is so complete it feels like a held breath, like a threat is hiding somewhere. Something unnatural.

The air smells like snow and copper—old blood, spilled magic, and the sickly-sweet stench of decay.

My breath ghosts in front of me as I kneel, knees protesting the frozen ground, and press two fingers to the dirt.

The earth should be frost-hard. Instead, it’s warm.

The heat pulses against my fingertips like a fever, and when I pull my hand away, my fingertips come back stained with something that might be mud but looks like blood.

Something was here. Whatever it was left the ground itself scarred.

I follow the sword’s pull through a thicket of frostbitten brambles, each step careful.

The thorns catch at my pants, tiny claws trying to hold me back.

My newly discovered wolf side prowls restlessly beneath my skin, wanting to run on four legs instead of two, yearning to fight with fangs and claws instead of steel.

The change burns just beneath the surface—an ache in my bones, a fire in my blood—but I keep it leashed for now.

This isn’t the place for that. It’s too new, too unpredictable.

This place calls for precision. For careful, deadly calm where I’m at the top of my game.

When I break through the trees, I freeze at the sight but quickly recover and raise my weapon.

A clearing scorched into the ground, a perfect circle with the topsoil blackened and cracked like a desert floor.

At the center stands a vile totem. My stomach lurches with recognition and revulsion—a twisted sculpture of bone and blackened antler, tied together with what can only be sinew.

Carved symbols writhe and shift when I’m not looking directly at them.

Red sap pools at the bottom like blood, thick and viscous, seeping either from the earth or the idol.

The metallic tang grows stronger. My mouth waters with the wolf’s hunger for the hunt, and I step closer.

My sword’s glow intensifies, its light reflecting off the twisted bones like fireflies trapped in amber.

The weapon grows heavier, and the mesmerizing magic thrums louder now, with a low harmony that resonates in my chest and sets my senses on fire.

“What are you?” I whisper to both the totem and the malevolent presence that seeps from every shadow.

The metal of my blade vibrates, perhaps in response. Its runes flare brighter, and for only a moment, I can almost understand them. Almost hear the words they’re trying to speak.

A twig snaps behind me. The sound cuts through the unnatural silence like a knife.

My heart hammers. Every muscle tightens. I whip around, sword at the ready. The blade’s light cuts through the gloom, revealing?—

Him.

My father steps from the shadows between the trees, silent and stealthy.

His dark dreadlocks are streaked with silver, and new lines bracket his mouth, carved by months of watching me walk toward my destruction.

His face is calm, unreadable as a rock, but I recognize tension in the set of his shoulders, the careful distance he maintains, the way his hand rests near the hilt of his own hunter’s sword.

When our gazes lock, he moves his hand from his weapon.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His voice carries the weight of every one of his hundred and fifty years of life.

I don’t lower my sword. Can’t. The wolf in me recognizes a threat, and right now, everything remains a threat, even with his presence.

“They’re hunting you now,” he adds.

Something in his tone makes my blood run cold. He doesn’t mean the casual hunters who’ve always stalked our family in search of glory and gold. He refers to something else. Something worse.

“Rumors of the first huntress have spread far and wide. Fae and human alike are terrified by this new shift. The Circle has issued the death warrant. Every hunter from here to the coast will be coming for you. And this time...” His voice catches, just barely, just enough to reveal the father beneath the hunter. “This time, they mean to finish it.”

His words settle like a boulder in my chest. This is what I’ve been preparing for, and he’s confirmed my fears. It’s good I’m used to being the odd one out—more than that. Different. Hated.

I thought I’d have more time to get ready.

The sword pulses in my grip, responding to my resolve, and its light flares bright enough to banish every shadow in the clearing. My words come out steady despite the fear clawing at my throat. “Let them try.”

My father’s eyes reflect that light, dark and sad and proud all at once. “We’ll do this together. They’ll have to go through me before getting to you.”

But the unspoken words that settle between us are far more terrifying than what we’ve actually voiced.

We’re under the hunter’s curse. Destined to kill or be killed. There can only be one mature hunter at a time.

Regardless of what we want, one of us will ultimately be forced to send the other to the grave. He’s been training these months knowing the skills he’s giving me could be exactly what ends him.

However, I’m determined to find a loophole. I don’t care that every other hunter has killed his father—including Einar.

The curse of my bloodline ends with me.

One way or another.