Brielle’s Fate (Fated Ink #3)

Chapter One

The training school at the edge of the village had been her refuge for the last year, though she never quite forgot the sting of being called an orphan, the way the matrons whispered when they thought she wasn’t listening.

No family, no coin, no dowry, no future.

Except Marion had teeth. She had fists, sharp eyes, and a stubborn streak that had gotten her whipped more times than she could count.

She had nothing to lose—and that made her dangerous.

Tonight proved it.

The cobbled alley was slick with rain, shadows clinging to its narrow walls.

Marion’s pulse pounded as she pressed herself between the barrels stacked against the wall.

She’d been trailing Anne Rourke, a quiet, mousy girl from her class who hadn’t noticed that Matthew and his pack of older boys had begun circling.

Now the little thing stood frozen at the far end of the alley, her back to the wall, while Matthew—dark-eyed, sharp-toothed, cruel even at seventeen—advanced with his three friends.

“Pretty little witchling,” Matthew crooned, his voice thick with malice. “You’ll fetch a fine price in blood.” His hand brushed the hilt of the knife at his hip. “A drop here, a drop there ... enough to keep the rituals fed.”

One of the others snickered. “She’s trembling. Think she’ll scream when we taste her?”

Marion’s fury spiked hot and fast. She stepped out from the shadows, jaw set. “Back off, Matthew.”

Four heads swung her way. Matthew’s smirk widened. “Cloughson. The stray kitten. Come to hiss at me?”

“I’ll do more than hiss,” she snapped. Her fists clenched tight, knuckles white. “You don’t touch her.”

Matthew laughed, low and cruel. “And what will you do? You’re nothing. No family, no power, no place. Just a mouthy brat who doesn’t know when to shut up.”

“I know how to shut you up,” she shot back.

He lunged.

She met him head-on, ducking under the first swing of his arm and slamming her fist into his ribs.

Pain jolted up her knuckles, but the satisfaction of his grunt kept her moving.

She kicked out, catching another boy in the shin.

They snarled, circling her now, and Marion felt her pulse leap into her throat.

She was small, outnumbered, but she didn’t care.

Better to fight and bleed than to cower and surrender.

From behind, Matthew seized her by the hair, yanking her head back. “Fierce little bitch,” he hissed. “Maybe we’ll bleed you, too.”

Her initial flare of fear snapped and disappeared, replaced by something sharp and wild. The air thickened, her veins buzzing like she’d swallowed lightning. Heat gathered in her palms, a strange purple glow rising beneath her skin. She gasped, eyes wide with excitement.

With a cry, she flung her hand upward. Purple fire burst from her fingers, raw and untamed. Matthew screamed, dropping her as he stumbled back, his sleeve aflame. The other boys swore and reeled away, eyes wide with terror.

“What—what in God’s name are you? You are too young to exhibit such power,” one of them stammered.

Marion panted, heart racing, staring at her trembling hands. Fire. Her fire. For a breath she thought she might collapse under the enormity of it—but then she saw Rourke, still cowering, and straightened her spine.

“I’m a witch,” she said, her voice steady now. “And she’s under my protection.”

A voice rang out from behind her. “And she’s not alone.”

Marion spun just as three figures rushed into the alley—Saffron Walsh with her fierce eyes of different colors blazing, Ursula Addington moving with calm strength, and Libby, Ursula’s sister, whose power already sparked like starlight at her fingertips.

Together they formed a wall between her and Matthew’s cronies, power humming in the air.

Matthew swore, backing away, fury and fear twisting his features. “This isn’t over, kitten,” he spat, then turned and fled with his companions.

The silence after was deafening. Marion’s knees nearly gave out, but Libby caught her arm, steadying her. “You did it,” Libby whispered, awe bright in her face. “You found your power.”

Saffron smirked, firelight dancing in her mismatched eyes. “Told you she wasn’t just a mouthy brat.”

Ursula’s lips curved. “She’ll do.”

Something warm and fierce surged in Marion’s chest. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t just fighting alone. She had sisters. A coven. A place to belong.

She grinned through the ache in her body, through the blood trickling down her temple. “Guess I’m one of you now.”

“You always were,” Saffron said softly. “You just hadn’t found us yet.”

As they walked back toward the school together, Marion felt lighter than she ever had. Her knuckles throbbed, her ribs ached, but her heart soared. She had power. She had sisters. And the future, for once, felt like something to run toward instead of away from.

For the first time in her life, Marion Cloughson was not afraid.

****

2001

Hunter was five years old the day his world fell apart, though he wouldn’t understand that until much later.

The daycare smelled of finger paint and animal crackers, the hum of cartoons drifting from a little TV in the corner.

Hunter sat cross-legged on the rug, clutching the toy truck his brother Lennox kept trying to steal.

Lennox was only four, and as far as Hunter was concerned, still a baby.

He tugged the truck back with a glare. “Get your own.”

Lennox’s lip jutted out. “You always get the red one.”

“Because I’m bigger.” Hunter held it tight, triumphant, though a tiny part of him enjoyed the argument. If he was busy keeping Lennox in line, he didn’t have to notice the weird tension buzzing through the room.

They were supposed to be picked up hours ago.

Their mom had promised hamburgers for dinner—Hunter remembered her smile that morning as she kissed his cheek, her perfume sweet and warm.

His dad had ruffled his hair, saying, “Be good today, champ.” But now the sun was dipping, long shadows stretching across the playroom floor, and Hunter’s belly ached with hunger and something he didn’t have a name for yet.

The adults whispered near the window, faces pale.

One teacher kept wringing her hands. Another darted back and forth to the office phone, closing the door behind her, but they could see her sobbing, and upset, every time she answered it.

Parents had come and gone all afternoon, some rushing in with tears, grabbing their kids and clutching them close like they’d never let go again.

More than once, Hunter saw grown-ups crying, and it made his chest squeeze tight with unease.

Lennox leaned against him, voice small. “Where’s Mommy?”

Hunter scowled, not at him but at the question. “They’re coming. They promised.”

But his words sounded funny, even to himself.

He tried to distract them both, pushing the truck back and forth, but his ears caught every whisper. Words like attack and towers and planes. He didn’t understand. He only knew that something had gone wrong in the world, something too big for his five-year-old mind to hold.

Then the door creaked open, and he looked up with a rush of hope. It wasn’t his mom or dad. It was Aunt Jenny.

Her face was pale as chalk, her eyes red and swollen.

Tears streamed unchecked as she stumbled across the room.

“Oh, boys,” she whispered, and then she was down on her knees, arms pulling them both in.

Hunter stiffened at first, because he wanted his parents, not her, but the shaking in her body told him something terrible was real.

Lennox’s small voice wobbled. “Where’s Mommy and Daddy?”

Jenny’s breath hitched, and her tears wet Hunter’s hair. “They’re ... they’re gone, sweethearts. Taken from us in an act of violence that had nothing to do with them.”

Hunter froze. Gone. His parents were gone?

The word didn’t fit. His parents were strong, solid, unshakable.

They were supposed to walk through that door, smiling, any minute.

He pulled back enough to look into her face, trying to make sense of it.

“But—they said we were having hamburgers for dinner tonight.”

Jenny sobbed harder, squeezing him and Lennox tighter. “I’m so sorry, Hunter, baby.”

Hunter’s chest felt like it was cracking open. He looked at Lennox, whose eyes were wide and wet, terror written across his little face. And in that moment, something changed in Hunter. He couldn’t stop the world from ending, couldn’t bring their parents back—but he could do one thing.

He could protect Lennox.

He curled his arm tighter around his brother, glaring at the room full of whispering adults like they were the enemy. No one would hurt Lennox. Not ever. Not while Hunter was alive.

Outside, sirens wailed in the distance as they had all day. Inside, two little boys clung to each other while the world collapsed, and Hunter thought—at five years old—that nothing would ever be the same again.