Page 6 of Hunted Ink by Trisha Linde

The hunters lined up around the edges of the pool, heads bowed, and one by one, Pater called us forward. My lungs burned with my held breath, but when he called my name, I had no choice but to blow out a breath and refill my lungs with the cloying smoke. “Apollo, please step into the water and cleanse your body.”

The first hit of smoke was enough to make the room spin around me, and I staggered a step forward. A hand caught my arm, and I turned to see Brahm, a quiet hunter a couple years older than me. I didn’t know him well. The hunters were discouraged from spending time together outside of training, but he’d always seemed so calm from what I’d noticed, measured. He didn’t say a word as he helped me upright, but his brown eyes were kind, and he squeezed my shoulder once before letting go.

I pulled off my clothes with numb fingers and shuffled down the stairs leading below the surface. The water was blissfully cool compared to the stuffy air, but there was an astringent sting against my skin. I dunked my head under quickly, then hauled myself back up the stairs to where Elder Grant waited with a bowl of paste that smelled like earth. He dried my body roughly with a scratchy towel, then using his fingers, he painted sigils across my chest and back, then another on my forehead. I bit back a hiss as they seared my flesh.

The first time I’d gone through the ritual at 14, I’d cried out in surprise and pain, and I’d earned five lashes for questioning the gods. I’d learned the hard way to keep my mouth shut.

Once the paste had dried on my skin, I was ordered to dress. Our gear was all green-and-brown camo, with leather arm braces and sheaths for various weapons. And around our necks, we each wore a pendant that bore the symbol for the Divine Order.

When we were all properly bathed and anointed, prepared for battle, Pater had us all kneel before the fire, heads bowed in servitude. The elder acolytes stood at our backs, too old to be hunters themselves any longer. Now they served as our advisors, our trainers. And when we stepped outside the boundaries of their command, they were the ones who meted out our punishment.

Pater paced down the line before us, hands clasped behind his back, solemn and proud. “You, my trusted soldiers, were chosen by the gods. Orphaned, abandoned, lost, with nowhere to go and no one to care for you. But I found you, took you in and gave you a home, a purpose.” He paused before me and set his hand on the top of my head, but instead of bringing me comfort, I had an intense urge to shake him off—an urge I resisted. “Never doubt that we are at war, but one monster at a time, we will prevail,” he intoned, before he moved on down the line, leaving me chilled to the bone.

Something had changed over the last year. I used to see purpose in what we were doing. It was a noble quest, to protect the human race, and I appreciated everything Pater had done for me. The memories of my childhood were foggy, but I knew something awful had happened. I remembered fire and screaming, and I was running, searching for someone, but then… suddenly Pater was there, telling me I would be okay. He fed me, clothed me, put a roof over my head, and eventually, he told me about the Order and all the good they did for the world. He gave me a choice, and I’d made it easily. What little boy didn’t want to be a hero?

But as I sheathed my blades and loaded my truck with gear, I found the certainty I’d once felt was nowhere to be found. Somewhere along the line, I’d stopped believing. Now I was going through the motions, nothing more.

Members of the Order didn’t hunt as a team, not unless we were going in to clear out a nest, but that was rare. These monsters were careful to keep the locations of their lairs a secret. And some, it seemed, like the deer I’d found last night, lived separately, which made it harder to track them down. During the full moons, however, they could be found in nearly every section of forest abutting the city. It was simply a matter of putting ourselves in their path.

I climbed behind the wheel of my rusted truck, the door letting out an angry squeal. The Order’s meager budget, raised through benefactors, didn’t allow for new vehicles—or clothes or electronics or anything beyond the essentials—so we made do with what we had. I sat there for a minute, gripping the wheel as I tried to psych myself up for a hunt. Meanwhile, Seth wiggled his fingers at me in a mocking wave. “Toodle-oo,” he said, before he gunned the engine of his motorcycle and roared off down the driveway and through the trees.

“Dick,” I grumbled before I put the truck in gear and followed behind him, at a far more sedate pace. I was in no rush to get hunting.

My thoughts drifted as I drove. The seven hunters spread out to cover different sections, and we tried to switch it up, hitting different forests. It was best to remain unpredictable, so I typically let my instincts lead the way. Maybe that was why I didn’t hesitate to turn left when a whisper made the suggestion. It wasn’t until I’d driven a dozen yards down the dirt road that I realized it had been the voice guiding me. I nearly slammed on the brakes and turned around. Why was I listening to this stupid voice in my head in the first place?

Why not? the voice responded softly in challenge.

It was quieter than usual, and I found my hand drifting up to my forehead, tracing a finger over the rune painted there, dry and flaky enough that I could pick it off if I wanted to. The skin beneath was itchy and tight, but I forced myself to lower my hand. If it was suppressing the voice in my head, it was a good thing. Right?

The voice had no answer for that.

There was a deep section of forest here that I’d never explored, but it called to me in a way that was impossible to ignore. Perhaps it was the gods speaking to me after all, leading me in their quest. So when I found a pullout at the crest of a hill, I decided to explore. I geared up and headed into the trees with a light step.

The canopy closed overhead, guarding me from the wind as it began to pick up. There was a storm coming, I could feel it. A tingling sensation crawled down my spine, and I peeked up through the branches to see the last of the moonlight before it was devoured by clouds. Out of sight, but I could still feel it there, pressing down on me.

Even as darkness descended, I had no trouble seeing my path through the woods. The ground was soft underfoot, and I reached out to brush my hand over silver ferns. I paused at the delicate fronds’ touch. It felt familiar, as if I’d been here before, performed this exact action.

Déjà vu, I told myself, focusing instead on the bow in my hand, on listening to the woods for movement.

I could hear water moving off to my left, and I followed the river. I stopped suddenly, transfixed by a strange pattern on a tree. My eyes traced what looked like a wolf that had been carved into the trunk. My heart’s rhythm stuttered in my chest, and I gritted my teeth so hard that my gums were aching.

The storm’s getting to me, that’s all. But this felt like more than the storm. I felt… pulled deeper into the forest. Even before I saw it, I knew there was a clearing up ahead. While I knew I should move slow and silent, my feet moved faster, almost jogging ahead to prove to myself that I was wrong. Because how could I possibly know there would be a clearing? Not unless… I’d been here before.

I came up short at the edge of the clearing. Fuck. I stared at the burned remains of what had been a small cabin. Flames flickered to life in my memories, and I had to choke back a gasp at the imagined scent of smoke that curled around me. No. It was a coincidence, nothing more. Synapses looking for connections where there were none. I shook away the stray memory, determined to get back to my task.

Before I could turn away, though, a flash of movement caught my attention. There, on the other side of the clearing, a shaggy gray wolf stepped out from the trees. No, not a wolf. A monster. Just like that, I had my bow raised, an arrow nocked. A predator, I told myself. No excuses to let it live this time. I would put it down quickly, an arrow through the eye, a blade into its heart. Clean, precise. I would fulfill my purpose and make Pater proud. Maybe I could get home before the storm hit.

But as I drew the bowstring taut, the wolf sat back on its haunches and tilted its head to the sky, and the most haunting howl pierced the air. It was so… sad. I wasn’t sure how I knew the wolf was in mourning, but I did. My eyes pricked with tears, though I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried. And when the clouds parted, letting a moonbeam shine down and gilding the wolf in silver, a single tear dripped down my cheek.

Loose the arrow, I commanded myself. Shoot it! But my body wouldn’t listen. My muscles trembled from the effort of holding the bowstring, my fingers cramping, but still, I held on.

With my gaze locked on the wolf, I barely noticed when the sky opened up, a deluge of rain pouring down on me, hiding my tears. It was such a heavy downpour that it almost made it hard to catch my breath. Within seconds, my hair was plastered to my forehead, my shirt clinging to me like a second skin. It brought such relief. I felt the moment the runes were washed from my skin, soothing the constant itch that had plagued me since they were painted on.

In the sudden reprieve, I lowered the bow, and my eyes slid shut. Gasping, I turned my face toward the heavens. For one precious second, I felt a level of peace I wasn’t sure I’d ever experienced before. But then a twig snapped, and my eyes flew open. I was startled to find myself face to face, not with a wolf, but with a naked man. He had green hair, tattoos, and more piercings than I’d ever seen, and he was… beautiful.

As if the rain had washed away any interference, the voice in my head suddenly came through loud and clear. Mate!

Just like that, everything changed.