Beyond the Hunt (Evermere #1)

Prologue

Serafina “Seri” Bell

The forest was alive with the kind of quiet that only happens when the world is holding its breath. The trees stood tall, their red and orange leaves rustling in a soft whisper, while the October sun threw dapples everywhere.

I walked along the narrow dirt path with my hand wrapped around one of Rasputin’s horns. The goat, pitch black with eyes like yellow marbles, trotted beside me, his ears twitching every so often as if listening to some secret only he could hear.

“Come on, you naughty thing.” I gently tugged him along, and he bleated in response, his deep voice gruff.

Rasputin knew he was in trouble, but he also knew he was loved. Our nearest neighbor, Ralph Gillespie, had called earlier, his voice a blend of laughter and exasperation, to say our infamous goat was at it again, this time munching through his prized strawberry patch.

Rasputin had a knack for finding the most inconvenient places to graze, and yet, every time he escaped, I couldn’t bring myself to be mad at him. There was just something about his expressions that made me laugh, even when I should be scolding him.

“You’re lucky Mama was so fond of you.” He tilted his head, as if he understood me, and I could swear he smirked. “If it weren’t for her, you’d probably be on your way to who-knows-where by now. And I suppose it helps that you’re useful. We need you to keep the weeds down, don’t we, Rassy?”

I scratched the top of his head with my free hand, his fur as prickly as the trouble he always seemed to find.

Thinking of my mother brought a familiar ache to my chest, a hollowed-out space that never quite filled.

I hadn’t let myself think about her in a while.

It was easier that way. But now, with only Rasputin and the quiet of the forest around me, memories began to surface, and I closed my eyes for a moment to indulge in them.

Mama had loved Rasputin almost as much as she loved Papa and me. She’d named him after a man she’d read about in one of her Russian history books. She’d said he just had a mysterious air about him. At six years old, I’d had no idea what that meant.

I still didn’t, to be honest. There was nothing mysterious about him!

“Troublesome, though, you’ve got that mastered,” I teased the old goat.

Mama had been a wolf shifter, and there was something wild and beautiful about her, something that made me feel safe and loved.

I didn’t have too many memories of her, but one was crystal clear.

In the winters, when the farm was quiet and snow blanketed the fields, Mama and Papa would take me to the beach.

It was our own little tradition, just the three of us.

I loved the way the waves crashed against the shore, the salty spray on my face, and how Mama would shift and let her wolf, Feather, run along the water’s edge, all sleek power and speed.

Papa and I would chase after her, laughing.

I opened my eyes, the memories fading like mist in the sun. Mama had been gone for more than twelve years now, taken by a breathing sickness. Papa and I had been devastated, but the two of us had helped each other keep the farm running and our hearts from breaking.

Then Papa went to a witch’s conference one summer and came home with Arabesque Harrow and her daughters in tow. Papa thought Amabel and Eluned and I would become good friends since the twins were only a year younger.

If only he knew.

Even at thirteen, I’d realized that something was wrong.

Arabesque’s eyes and words were almost hypnotic, her motions captivating, and Papa—gentle, humble Papa—had been completely caught in her spell.

Soon after her arrival, he’d turned distant and withdrawn, a shadow of the man he used to be, and I rarely had alone time with him.

Arabesque controlled his every move, scheduled each minute, and I quickly learned I needed permission to talk to my own father.

It was a hard change for a girl used to running to her papa for everything from needing a scraped knee kissed to sharing a colorful beetle.

And now, life was about to change again.

At dinner last night, Arabesque announced she was pregnant.

I sat at the table, my hands clenched in my lap, as she smiled sweetly and placed a hand on her still-flat belly.

Papa wasn’t even there. He hadn’t left the suite of rooms he shared with Arabesque in months, but I knew he was still alive.

Had to be, if Arabesque was carrying his child.

I sighed, my fingers tightening around Rasputin’s horn as I guided him through the trees.

I didn’t know what to feel about a baby other than worry.

Arabesque and her daughters weren’t kind people.

They were cold, calculating, and they’d made my life a living hell.

I couldn’t bear the thought of them raising another child, especially not one who carried a piece of Papa’s heart.

I had learned to tread lightly around them, careful not to draw attention to my feelings or opinions. Questioning Arabesque was like stepping into a lion’s den armed with nothing but a toothpick. Even worse were her twin snakes, Eluned and Amabel, who rarely gave me a moment’s peace.

“Just breathe,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t ask questions; don’t provoke them.”

I recalled the last time I’d dared to inquire about my father. Arabesque’s slap had come so fast, so unexpected, and I’d felt the sting long after the bruise had faded from my cheek.

Rasputin chose that moment to let out another bleat, as if demanding his cozy paddock, and I smiled a little. He never changed. Forever escaping, yet always in a hurry to get home.

“You contrary old goat,” I murmured.

As I led him home, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was waiting just beyond the edge of the forest, something that would change everything again.

And I was right.

After settling Rasputin back in his pen, I headed toward the house and turned the corner of the barn only to see an ambulance with flashing lights, its back doors open, and paramedics pushing a stretcher.

A stretcher holding a figure shrouded in a sheet.

And I knew.

Somehow, I knew it wasn’t Arabesque, Amabel, or Eluned under that sheet.

“Wait!” I shouted.

Even though I was running, my feet felt leaden and my legs heavy. One of the paramedics, a man with soft eyes, met me halfway.

“Miss, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “He didn’t make it. A heart attack.”

Each syllable was a dagger to my soul.

“Papa?” I cried, raw and desperate, as I laid my hands on his cloth-covered chest, shocked to feel how warm his body was.

Suddenly, I crumpled, my knees hitting the earth with a jolt. Sobs wracked me, each one tearing out like a scream. My father, my dear papa, was gone.

Time lost all meaning as I sat there, the sounds of the ambulance and the distant voices of the paramedics fading into a blur.

The same paramedic helped me up as the other one slammed the ambulance doors closed, hiding Papa’s body from my sight.

Trembling from head to toe, I thanked him, then quietly made my way inside, each step a battle.

What would I do now?

The house was in chaos. Men dressed in overalls scuttled about under Arabesque’s icy watch, her pale green eyes glinting with something suspiciously like satisfaction.

She commanded them like a conductor orchestrating a symphony, ordering them to haul our furniture out to a van parked on the other side of the ambulance.

How did they get here so fast? I wasn’t gone longer than half an hour to fetch Rassy!

In the living room, Amabel and Eluned stood around a pile of clothing, Papa’s clothing, and cackled as they added items to it.

“Like anyone would want to keep this!” Eluned smashed Papa’s favorite mug on the side of the coffee table, the ceramic shattering.

“Stop!” I begged as she tossed the handle on the pile.

“Or this?” Amabel sneered, dropping his model steam train to the floor and stomping it to pieces.

“Don’t! You can’t!” I gasped, grief morphing into a surge of anger. “He’s… He’s still warm! You can’t just… He’s still warm!”

Then Eluned held up his fishing pole.

“No! Not that!” I reached for it, but she was quicker.

With her free hand, she yanked a fistful of my curls and dragged me to my knees.

“Know your place, worthless,” she hissed. “On your belly before us.”

“Ow! Let go!” I whimpered, trying to wriggle free, but she only pulled harder.

Amabel rolled her eyes, like I was a bothersome fly buzzing around her ear. Grabbing the fishing rod from Eluned, she snapped it in half, then again and again until it was nothing but splinters and tossed the handle with the reel onto the pile.

“There. Done. You can leave her now, El.” Her tone dripped with insincerity as she dusted off her hands. “She’ll want to cry over the pieces, I’m sure.”

Eluned laughed, but released my hair and stepped back.

I fell forward onto the floor, eyes blind with tears, as the reality of my situation crashed down. I was alone with these vipers.

“So exciting, isn’t it?” Arabesque purred, gliding into the room with a smirk. “Removing the old to make room for the new.”

“Worthless here doesn’t think so,” Eluned snorted and kicked me in the side, making my breath hiss out.

“Really, Serafina, no need for such theatrics. Jonathan’s death was inevitable. His heart was weak, just like his will.” Arabesque patted her upper abdomen. “Hopefully, his final child will be stronger.”

Her words cut deep into my heart, but there was something in her tone that convinced me. Whatever else she’d been doing to Papa, I was certain now that he hadn’t had a heart attack.

But how? And why? Did she wait until she was sure she was pregnant? What was the point of that? My chest tightened at the thought of my unborn sibling, innocent and unaware of the kind of life he or she was going to come into.