Chapter 8 The Hunt Begins

The storm that had been brewing over Veyruhn for days finally broke as Elian stood at the narrow window of Raelith's castle, her fingers curled against the cold stone sill. The rain fell in silver sheets, obscuring the ruins of the town below, but she could still see them-torches moving through the streets in precise formations, their flames burning an unnatural blue against the darkness.

Hunters.

The word slithered into her mind, not her own thought but his. Raelith's presence lingered at the edges of her consciousness like a shadow she couldn't shake, his cold awareness pressing against her thoughts.

"They've come for you."

Elian's fingers tightened on the sill. The pendant fused to her chest pulsed in time with her heartbeat, its silver tendrils burning where they burrowed beneath her skin. She could still feel the ghost of Raelith's hands on her throat, the way he had pressed her against the catacomb wall and forced Seraphina's memories into her mind. The way he had called her queen.

A knock sounded at the door-too sharp, too impatient to be Raelith. Before she could answer, it swung open.

Jason stood in the threshold, his clothes torn and streaked with dirt, his face pale beneath the grime. A dark bruise bloomed across his cheekbone from where Raelith had thrown him into the wall, and his left arm hung at an awkward angle, clearly dislocated. His eyes, wide and bloodshot, locked onto hers.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice hoarse. "Now."

The castle corridors stretched before them like the veins of some ancient beast, their stone walls slick with condensation from the storm. Jason moved with stiff, angry strides, his injured arm cradled against his chest. Elian followed silently, her bare feet making no sound against the worn stone.

The air smelled of damp wool and something metallic-blood, Elian realized, noticing the dark stains on Jason's sleeve.

"What happened to you?" she asked again, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jason didn't slow his pace. "What do you think happened?" he spat. "We barely made it out of those tunnels alive. The whole damn catacomb collapsed behind us."

Elian's stomach twisted. "Mira-"

"Is in the great hall," Jason cut her off. "Alive. For now." He finally stopped walking and turned to face her, his back pressing against the damp wall as if he needed its support. His breath came in short, uneven bursts. "Do you have any idea what it was like? Watching you disappear into that thing's arms while the world was literally falling apart around us?"

Elian opened her mouth, but Jason wasn't finished.

"You've been different since we got to this godforsaken town," he continued, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The way you stared at that painting in the cathedral like you recognized it. The way you couldn't keep your hands off that damned statue." His gaze dropped to the pendant fused to her chest, his expression twisting in disgust. "And now this. It's inside you now, isn't it? Whatever that thing is, it's part of you."

Elian recoiled as if struck. The pendant pulsed in response, its heat spreading through her ribs like liquid fire. She wanted to deny it, to tell Jason he was wrong-but the words caught in her throat.

Because hadn't she felt it too? That strange pull from the moment they'd arrived in Veyruhn? The way the town had seemed to recognize her, the dreams that felt more like memories?

Before she could respond, a scream echoed through the corridors-high-pitched and terrified.

Mira.

Jason's face went pale. He turned and ran, his injured arm forgotten as he sprinted toward the sound. Elian followed, her heart pounding in her throat.

The great hall was cavernous, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. Torches flickered in their sconces, their flames casting erratic light across the stone floor. Mira stood backed against the massive hearth, her knife clutched in shaking hands.

Before her stood three figures clad in long, tattered coats-hunters, their faces hidden beneath wide-brimmed hats. The leader, a woman with silver-streaked hair, turned as Jason and Elian burst into the hall.

"Ah," she said, her voice like rustling parchment. "The bloodline and her pet."

Jason didn't hesitate. He lunged, his good fist aimed at the hunter's face-

She caught his wrist without looking, her grip like iron. "Brave," she mused. "But foolish." With a twist of her hand, Jason crumpled with a cry, his already injured arm bending further at an unnatural angle.

Elian's vision went red.

Power surged through her-hot and bright and terrifying. The runes on her skin ignited with crimson light, their glow pulsing in time with her racing heart. The air itself seemed to tremble as she raised her hand-

And the hunter flew backward, crashing into the far wall with enough force to crack stone.

Silence.

Then laughter.

The hunter picked herself up, her neck lolling for a moment before righting itself with a sickening crack. "Oh, little vessel," she crooned. "You have no idea what you're playing with."

Behind her, the other hunters shed their coats-revealing skin carved with the same runes that now marked Elian's flesh.

A voice cut through the hall like a blade:

"Enough."

Raelith stood at the top of the grand staircase, his coat billowing around him like wings. The torches guttered, their flames turning blue in his presence.

The hunters went still.

Then, as one, they knelt.

Raelith descended the stairs slowly, his boots making no sound on the stone. His gaze never left the hunters, his expression unreadable in the flickering light.

"You were told to wait," he said softly.

The silver-haired hunter bowed her head. "The ritual must be completed before the blood moon, my lord. The Ancient Ones grow restless."

Elian's breath caught. Blood moon. The term echoed in her memory-something from the cathedral's archives, something about sacrifice and rebirth.

Raelith's fingers twitched. "Leave us."

The hunters hesitated. Then, with a final glance at Elian, they slipped into the shadows, vanishing as if they had never been.

Mira sagged against the hearth, her knife clattering to the floor. Jason cradled his broken arm, his face pale with pain and shock.

Elian turned to Raelith. "What did they mean? What ritual?"

His gaze met hers, and for the first time, she saw something like regret in his eyes.

"The one that will decide if you live," he said, "or if you become just another portrait on the wall."