Page 1 of Voidwalker (Beasts of the Void #1)

They told her not to be afraid. That it wouldn’t hurt.

Who’d believe that propaganda bullshit? Of course it was going to hurt. She hid her protests, bitter like ice behind every forced smile.

She left home on a sleek metal train, a long day of rattling tracks and crystal glasses clinking on tables, ensconced in a plush booth like some fake aristocrat. Beyond the windows, night sky swirled with bright green auroras—the souls of the dead, gone to the Void.

This time of year, no sun bloomed on the horizon. Frozen valleys passed as pallettes of black forest and moonlit snow. Then, twinkling lights in the distance. The mountains parted, revealing pitched roofs and glowing windows, the capital city of Thomaskweld swathing the valley like a gilded growth.

She was never alone.

Attendants with saccharine smiles sat with her on the train, led her through the glittering city and its maze of marble hallways.

They fetched whatever food she asked for: pastries from Thomaskweld’s riverside bakeries, warm candied nuts, juices of guava and pomegranate imported from the Summer Plane.

She’d always wondered what pomegranates tasted like, dreamed of what delight might be found in buttery bedsheets and down pillows.

All bribes, for her docile behavior. The theatrics were blatant. Unnecessary. She came of her own will, was too far from home to turn back now.

On her final morning, they fetched her for a bath, combed her hair and scrubbed her skin to glowing.

Lavish, wasn’t it? Almost kind , with one chilling omission: no soaps or salts scented the water.

When the attendants dressed her in a soft gray robe, they offered no perfume.

The preparations left her immaculate. Clean.

Appetizing. As befitted a proper sacrifice, an offering to slate the hunger of an immortal.

The time came too soon. In fur-lined slippers that didn’t quite fit, she trailed two attendants in gray robes more ornate than hers, their sleeves embroidered with swirls of Void-black.

One carried an energy lantern, its silver glow lighting the snowbanks as they left the road, an unmarked path into the trees.

Mortals built the city. Older creatures lived in the forest.

Fresh powder crunched beneath her feet. The towering shiverpines offered a familiar vanilla scent, a sigh of needles heavy with ice, reminders of a home far away.

Her thoughts drifted to memories of playing hide-and-seek in the forest with her younger sister—to their tear-stained parting at the train station, the pleas for her not to go.

Someone had to. Their village sent the call. She answered, so no one else would.

They reached a clearing. The stately granite pillars looked misplaced, framing a patio with no roof. Pine boughs arced over the shrine like ribs of a cathedral, and from each column, energy lanterns glowed in dusk blue. A silver mat awaited her, flanked by two sitting pillows.

The forest went silent. What she would have given for a single hooting night bird, the chuff of a squirrel—and she hated squirrels. She swallowed hard and told herself:

Don’t be afraid.

Across the pavilion, a shadow shifted. Silent, the figure stepped into the light.

Bough-stalkers , her father had whispered on long nights, a name carried by only the oldest folktales. “My Lord,” a more reverent greeting as the attendants bowed their heads.

Daeyari, the creatures called themselves.

At a glance, he could have been a young man: bone pale skin and guarded features, ink-dark hair shaved close at the sides, a lean frame in a midnight jacket and dark breeches.

The rest of him was anything but human. Sable antlers crowned his head.

Crimson irises latched onto her, framed by sclera black as night.

Black as the Void his immortal race dragged themselves back from millennia ago, refusing to succumb to the shackles of death. Never aging.

Still hungry.

The attendants departed in silence. What came next wasn’t their business.

Cowards.

She fought a shudder as the daeyari studied her, head tilted like a panther eyeing prey, a disorientating flick as a long, slender tail swayed at his ankles. Not human. Not of this Plane.

“You come willingly?” His voice was flat as ice, old as the trees.

“I come willingly, Lord Antal.” Trembling or not, these words couldn’t be minced. “My home is in need of daeyari aid, and I volunteer as payment. It’s my honor to serve the pact.”

An honor . She’d practiced that word the most on the train, until she could say it without a flinch.

Satisfied, the beast gestured to a pillow, his hand tipped not in nails, but black claws. Don’t be afraid. She sat, back straight, legs folded beneath her.

He approached on bare feet, clawed toes whispering over stone.

His midnight jacket shifted in the light, patches of iridescence patterned as aurora swirls.

She’d never seen one of them in person. An old instinct tightened her belly, a shudder at some ancestral memory of red eyes stalking her people through dark forests.

But that was a long time ago, legends of man-eaters carved on stone ruins and folktales told to frighten children.

Over the centuries, their two races had come to a more civil understanding: coexistence, in exchange for sacrifice.

The daeyari sat cross-legged on the pillow opposite her, immaculately still aside from that tail curled around him, flicking at the tip. He picked up a ceramic teapot. The politest predator she’d ever met, posture perfect as he poured, prim claws strumming the sides of the cup.

“You’re young,” he said.

“I’m old enough. Thirty-one last year.” Old enough to decide for herself. Old enough to taste the life she could have had.

The words came out a sliver too curt, for addressing her esteemed Lord Daeyari. The beast’s smoldering red eyes narrowed. Another flick of his tail.

He handed her the cup.

She clutched it, warm ceramic heating her hands, spice drifting in the steam.

Twilight sorrel. Her mother kept an ointment made from the herb, a numbing salve for skinned knees or mishaps with hunting knives.

Never something to taste. She forced a drink, shuddering as a floral heat hit her tongue.

Light at first, like starlight on snow. It built into the velvet depth of midnight, a cloying warmth that numbed her mouth and slithered down her throat.

“I come from the town of Sunip.” She’d practiced the words a hundred times, yet they stumbled as her tongue grew leaden.

“On the border of your territory. My family smiths energy weapons, but we’ve run low on conductive ore.

Two weeks ago, the daeyari from your neighboring territory claimed one of our mines is on her land, demanded payment for its use.

Please, Lord Antal. It was a simple mistake.

We can’t afford payment to two daeyari.”

He let her speak without interruption, without expression. Only the twitch of his tail.

“I’ll settle this dispute on your behalf,” he said once she’d finished. “Your town will have my protection. And your smiths will have the ore they need for their craft.”

A sickly relief bowed her shoulders. Her home would be cared for, her little sister heartbroken but safe. As her eyes drooped, numbness spread to her fingertips, turning the cup clumsily as she attempted to set it down.

The daeyari stopped her with a single claw tapped to the ceramic.

“All of it,” he ordered. Not harsh. Just firm.

She downed the remaining tea then forfeited the empty cup.

Haze wrapped her thoughts, smothering smooth and warm as a hearth. She drifted, weightless. Pleasant. She didn’t notice the daeyari move until he crouched beside her, claws gentle against her cheek. A pressure on her shoulder.

“Does this hurt?” When he leaned close, she caught the glint of long canines. A smell like pine and ozone as she slumped against his chest.

Run , her baser instinct pleaded. Don’t let this creature touch you .

“Does… what…”

He’d pulled back her robe to reveal a bare shoulder, a scalpel-sharp claw carved across her collarbone. Blood welled from the cut, stark against flushed skin. Yet no pain.

Void be damned. They hadn’t lied, after all. When words failed, she shook her head.

“Good.”

He tilted her gaze away from the wound. Merciful—as much as a carnivore could be.

Run , but the voice was fading. Flee into the forest , as his claws brushed her throat. The smell of pine reminded her of home. She saw slanted sun through needles, heard the crackle of evening bonfires on the crags.

Lost in fog, she barely felt when his teeth ripped her open.

He never asked her name.

Maybe it was easier that way.