Page 5 of Hunted Ink by Trisha Linde

I nodded, even though it was a lie. There was blood. I’d never bled before.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he said, holding my hand steady as he plucked out the thorn.

It caused another sharp stab of pain, and I tried to stop my lower lip from quivering as I rubbed my tears off my cheeks on the back of my other hand. Dad would tell me to buck up, but Papa said it was okay to cry, as long as it was for the right reason. I wasn’t sure if getting hurt was a good enough reason.

“When we were running, why didn’t you catch me?” I asked with a sniff.

Conroy shrugged, but his cheeks turned rosy, like he was too hot all of a sudden. “Because if I caught you, the game would be over and it would be time to go home. Besides, you’re my best friend. I would rather run beside you.” He used the cuff of his sleeve to wipe the blood away. “See? It’s already healing. Want me to carry you back?”

Warmth bloomed in my chest. I didn’t know if he was strong enough to carry me, but it meant the world that he’d offered. “I’d rather walk beside you.”

His smile was so bright that I swore it made the pain hurt less. “Okay.” He stood up and held his hand out to me. Even though we were both covered in mud, I put my hand in his, warm and steady, and let him pull me up. And he didn’t let go of my hand the whole walk home.

I became aware of my wolf’s change in pace and drifted back to the surface to look through his eyes. His easy lope had stuttered as he caught a glimpse of the slow-moving water through the trees, and even in the dark, I could perfectly recall the color of the water, made rusty from the muddy river bottom. He might not have walked this land himself before, but he lived in my mind, surrounded by my memories. He knew where we were.

Home, he said carefully. A sharp stab of panic hit me as I thought of all we’d lost here. I almost told him to stop, to turn around and go back to the car, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t!

He padded slowly through the trees, and for one brief moment, I caught a glimmer of what once was, images of past and present overlapping. The row of cabins set back from the river, the sound of laughter. But my memory simply wasn’t strong enough to withstand reality, and too soon, I had to face the wreckage of what had been my home. The cabins were little more than charred beams left to rot, the clearing merging with the encroaching forest and choked with weeds.

My wolf’s apology wrapped around me in comfort. He hadn’t meant to hurt me by coming here, but it was good that we did. It was an important step toward moving on—for both of us.

I felt Conroy’s absence now more than ever. When the hunters raided our camp just days after that run through the woods, they’d killed everyone and burned our homes to the ground. Sierra’s parents told her to run, so she did, and it was nothing more than chance that had put Ricky, Oliver, and me in her path. She’d grabbed us on the way by, and no matter how much we argued to go back, she’d hidden us inside the hollow tree. The four of us had been forced to listen as our families and friends were slaughtered, as everything we’d ever known was torn away from us. Conroy, that beautiful green-eyed boy with a heart of gold, was nothing more than a sweet memory.

So much time had passed since that night that the bad memories had nearly erased the good. I couldn’t remember my papa’s voice beyond his scream. When I tried to recall my dad’s face, there was only blood.

Conroy, though… For some reason, my mind had protected him just for me.

Even now, standing here on the edge of our camp with the memories still fresh in my mind, I swore I could perfectly recall his scent, as clearly as if it were yesterday. Like lemon verbena and rosemary. I used to tease him that he smelled like he’d run through my papa’s herb garden, and to this day, it was the main reason I grew those same herbs myself in my little rooftop garden.

A flash of lightning slashed through the night, searing an afterimage of the ruins onto our retinas, almost immediately followed by a clap of thunder, loud enough to rumble through our chest. My wolf tipped our head back and let out a long, mournful howl that echoed through the valley. It was a farewell, an apology, a eulogy for everything we lost that day.

But then the clouds parted for a moment, revealing the moon, full with promise and power, and the sight was enough to startle us both to stillness. The moon… did it look…?

Your tattoo, my wolf said, putting words to what I was thinking.

I’d spent so much time staring at the enchanted tattoo that spanned my ribs that I knew every detail by heart. I’d been searching for a clue to find my mate, but I’d never found any hint that might even lead me in the right direction. There was a full moon every month, after all. But this moon… it was exactly the same! Did that mean… my mate was here? Had fate finally guided me to the right time and place?

My heart soared as my wolf set his nose to the wind. Was my wait finally over?

Chapter 4

Apollo

“Come, hunters. It’s time to ready yourselves for battle,” Elder Robert said with his usual dramatic tone, before he turned and left the dining hall. The room settled into the kind of silence that lived and breathed. The kind that grew teeth.

Wincing, I dropped my spoon back into my bowl, my food barely touched. The stew was tasty enough, but it sat heavy in my stomach on the night of a full moon. I glanced over at Seth, his lips widening into an eager grin. He lived for this. Me? Well, my lack of excitement over the hunt was half the problem, wasn’t it.

I waited for the voice in my head to beg me not to go, but it remained strangely silent. I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. I’d started relying on its opinions to keep me centered, even as I told myself it was a dangerous position to be in. Hunters were trained to obey their orders without question, and the doubt that had begun to seep into my foundations was treason. And treason… meant death.

The handful of younger trainees, ranging in age from eight to 13, began cleaning up after the evening meal, chatting excitedly about what it would be like when they were old enough to join us. For now, their duties included dishes, laundry, and tending to the garden, but the oldest, Alastor, would be initiated soon, earning his Order tattoo. He led the others into the kitchen, but I caught sight of young Loki hanging back, sneakily loosening the lid on the sugar jar with a giggle. The young troublemaker came by his name honestly, and I knew Elder Gabriel would get caught by that prank when he came back in for his evening coffee.

I ruffled Loki’s hair on the way by with a wink, saying nothing. Who was I to begrudge a child his fun?

The seven of us who had graduated as hunters filed from the main building. The sun had set, and there was an electric tension suspended in the air. A storm was coming. I trudged across the lawn with the others to the narrow stone building on the back of the property. More than 150 years ago, it had been a barn for the abandoned farmstead we’d taken over, but now, it served as our shrine where we prepared our minds and bodies for the trial ahead.

Stepping through the door, I was immediately enveloped in suffocating heat and the fragrant smoke that billowed from the brazier in the corner, and instinctively, I held my breath. There was no point, of course. I would need to breathe eventually, but I hated the way the herbs muddied my thoughts and made me feel weak and shaky, and I would put it off as long as possible. If you asked me, it seemed counterintuitive to weaken us before a hunt for supernatural creatures with super strength and speed, but Pater insisted, saying that purification was part of the trial, and if it was the gods’ will, we would prevail.

Preparing for battle meant asking the gods for their blessings, and that meant grounding ourselves in the four elements. Pater stood before the large basin sunk into the middle of the floor, sacred herbs floating on the surface. He was dressed in his ceremonial robe, the navy-blue fabric draped heavily over his frame, still broad and sturdy even though he was in his 70s now. “Come,” he said, gesturing us closer with a touch of impatience.