Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
T here were only two reasons I would bother stepping into club Energy. One: for a double vodka and cranberry juice, light ice. And reason two, the far more common: cock.
Sometimes I would be lucky and get both, but in all honesty, I’d be happy with just the drink. But tonight, there was a third reason I passed beneath the glowing neon sign, paid the extortionate five-pound entry fee, and dealt with the usual scrutiny from the bouncer.
Witch Hunters. Three of them, who I’d been stalking since I unfortunately bumped into them at dusk. Not unfortunate for me, but for them. They wouldn’t be leaving Energy with a pulse.
‘Usual?’ The good-looking barman said, bicep curling the pully as though he was doing reps at the gym. His tone was flirtatious, almost hopeful. I barely spared him a glance when I nodded. Mainly because I couldn’t take my eyes off the Hunters as they took their seats in one of the booths at the back of the club.
It took no time for a tall glass to be passed over the sticky bar, red juice spilling over the rim.
‘Thanks, Jon,’ I muttered distractedly, transfixed by my thirst for vengeance.
‘My name is Alex,’ Not-Jon replied, as though I should know that. Which I probably should have. One more look and I realised that I’d either been fucked or had fucked him. Flipping a coin to decide which was the answer was likely an easier bet.
‘Yes, of course.’ I flashed him an award-winning smile. ‘Alex. Sorry.’
Alex blushed with what only could be second-hand embarrassment. His brown eyes traced my outfit, drinking in my skinny black jeans, baggy knitted sweater, and unpolished Doc Martins. I’d never looked so out of place. While every else around me wore bright colours, showing skin painted in glitter, I looked more ready for glass of tea in some well-to-do establishment.
‘Bodleian Library is a few streets down,’ Alex chided, his attempt at flirting almost making me embarrassed.
Usually, I could cope with sarcasm. Hell, most of the time I was the king of it. But tonight, I was as unbothered as the girl in the club’s corner currently vomiting against the wall.
I handed over payment with a wink. ‘Yeah, thanks again, Jon .’
‘It’s Alex!’
I shot him a smile, one that signalled a clear end to this rather thrilling conversation. ‘I know.’
Alex grumbled, moving on to the next patron who leaned against the bar at my side, calling an order of shots and…crisps. I mean, who the fuck eats crisps in a club?
Criminal . Then again, so was murdering three people , my inner voice added.
It was coming up on eighteen years since my parents were killed by these people, and here I was making sure the wheel of life kept turning. Karma, if you would. This had been my drive for as long as I could remember. Survive, thrive and live knowing my life would be spent avenging my parent’s death.
Witch Hunters killed us because of what we were. So, it only seemed fair that a witch could do the same to them.
Oh, how the tables had turned.
They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but I liked mine warmed, well-seasoned and fulfilling. Because that was exactly the reason I did this. Stalking prey, sliding into spaces where I wasn’t welcome, only to leave them painted red with Hunter blood.
Vengeance motivated me. If that made me a monster, I’d wear the badge proudly.
I took a long swig of my drink. My cheeks pricked from the sour bite of cranberry followed by the burning hiss of vodka to soothe my throat. It did the job of settling my stomach. Not the nerves, but the excitement.
Stale smoke billowed from machines, casting the dance floor in a thick film of stench. The bottom of my shoes practically clung onto the lino flooring, trying to trap me in place. As did the music—a low tempo with some repetitive lyrics sung by someone with a mediocre voice. It would usually take three drinks minimum for me to allow the beat to sink into my bones enough to move them. Tonight, I planned on one drink only. Maybe more, but only once I was done. Then maybe I could find some cock too. Alex was certainly giving me the eye in offer.
I needed something to celebrate.
Rule one of how to hunt a Hunter: locate their prey first.
Hunting a witch was easy if you knew the signs to look for. The tell-tale circlet of light around one’s pupil when magic was used was the most notable. But witches had spent decades being pursued, which meant at least as long spent trying to blend in. Hunters of the past would blindly label powerful women with great minds and no supernatural abilities witches, simply because they had, as I said, powerful minds. But as the generations passed, they found other ways to root us out.
Most notably, civil unrest. War between covens. If there was one way for a coven to outmatch or remove others from their territories, it was for locations, names, and even entire families to be sold off. It was risky, but not uncommon.
With all that, it meant a Hunter was also susceptible to, well, being hunted. To know their movements, the way they worked and ticked, was to know how to catch them out at their own game. Which led me to one question—what were they doing here?
An answer that was soon discovered simply by watching the dark corners of the club were a woman had caught their attention. A witch. I couldn’t tell of which type, unless she used her power, and around so many mortals she wouldn’t dare. Not like me. She was likely a solitary witch, given that those she was with had no taint of the paranormal. They were students from one of Oxford’s colleges, evident from their attire.
Rich coming from me, I know. I had come into Energy dressed like someone more used to pumpkin spice lattes and perusing old book shops—both of which I had done earlier today.
Details, Hector. Focus.
Back to the witch. I would place her in her late twenties. From the dark bags under her eyes and the wistful smile, likely a student in post-grad? She had masses of brown curls, some as light as honey and others as dark as chestnut. Rich black skin and a disarming smile. I admired how carefree she was, laughing and dancing with friends, no clue about the danger that lurked just behind her. But I didn’t envy her. If anything, it was pity that came to mind.
Yet more proof that for people like us, even our safe places were not actually safe at all.
I swung my attention back to the Hunters as I navigated the shadows of the club’s layout. There were three of them—two female, one male. Likely late twenties, early thirties. They, unlike me, were dressed for the occasion. All black leathers, metal-studded belts and boots that looked military grade. The man had something bulging beneath the belt of his trousers, and the cause was not the usual thing I came to Energy to get.
It was an athame blade. Sacrificial, most likely. A similar design to the one that was driven into my mother’s body twenty-seven times. Except this one was clean and ready to taste the blood of a witch.
Thud. Thud. Thud. I took another sip from my drink, washing away the memory.
Shame his athame would go hungry tonight, whereas my appetite for vengeance would be sated—at least temporarily. The beast deep within would have a feast tonight.
It didn’t take long for them to make their move. First, the male Hunter proceeded to test the witch’s boundaries. He slipped in, sober as a judge, and swayed in sync with her. Her obvious discomfort had little to do with him being her enemy—something she had not worked out yet—but everything to do with him being, well, a man.
First mistake. Energy was a club catering to queer people. So up next was one of the women. She had full, wild red curls and wide blue eyes. On paper, beautiful. Shame her soul was soiled. As expected, the witch was more open to dancing with a female, turning and giving her an interested look.
As much as I wished to strut across the spirit-sticky dance floor and flay the Hunter open now, I had to wait. Patience was a virtue I was forced to learn many years ago.
My attention was solely pinned to the two dancing women, such that I didn’t notice the other two Hunters slip away from their booth. I scanned the bustling crowd, searching for them, scolding myself for taking my eye off the ball.
Fuck .
The final Hunter and her unsuspecting witch were moving too. My breath hitched in my throat, excitement and panic blending in harmony with one another. I downed my drink, stopping only when the chunk of ice hit my lips. A rush of the alcohol was exactly what I needed, as much as I also required the glass itself. Tipping the ice out onto the floor, to the dismay of a couple gyrating beside me, I grasped the empty glass and followed my prey.
They were heading outside, where a sacrifice would not spoil the night of the club’s patrons. How very kind of them.
‘I really shouldn’t leave my friends for long.’ I caught the voice of the witch as the Hunter part-dragged and part-encouraged her towards the club’s fire exit. Her words were slurred slightly, her footsteps fumbling. Had they slipped something into her drink? Thistlebane extract to subdue her gift, or something far more sinister? The thought alone turned my blood to rivers of raging flame.
‘Believe me,’ the Hunter drawled, voice thick with forced lust. She leaned in, tongue licking the witch’s cheek. ‘I’ll have my way with you and finish you off before they even notice you’ve disappeared.’
My eyes rolled. Of course, the witch didn’t know the true meaning behind the Hunter’s comment, but I did. To her, it was just flirting. A promise of a quickie in the back alley, something to laugh about with her friends over cheesy chips at the end of the night. When in fact, the Hunter was alluding to her death.
The click of the fire door opening was so loud, jarring me. I allowed them both to slip out, knowing the other two Hunters waited outside. I paused for the second before the door shut, then unleashed my gift. Power coursed out from my outstretched hand, casting out a blockade of pure, undiluted energy. Invisible fingers wedged between the door, stopping it from clicking shut. I reached for it physically, relaxing my power a second later, and followed them outside.
Crisp autumn air brushed against my face, dispelling the craggy essence left from the club’s innards. Oxford wasn’t a city known for its clean air, but a lungful was certainly more pleasing than the smoky hellscape that was the Energy club’s dance floor.
I flung my power behind me, ensuring the door closed shut quietly. No sense in alerting the two distant figures that I was following. At least, not yet.
‘I was beginning to regret letting you go in alone ,’ a dark voice infiltrated my mind.
‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ I whispered my reply, knowing the presence would hear me clear as day. ‘Three Hunters, Caym. This is big.’
A black shape cut through the sky above. I followed it, welcoming the comfort of seeing the crow. Caym, my familiar. He swooped through the dark sky, perching on a bin just opposite me. The crow flapped his wings three times at me, which was his way of telling me to leave. ‘ Stay away from this, Hector.’
‘Sorry, no can do,’ I answered as I continued my chase.
If it were possible for crows to roll their eyes, Caym would have in that moment. Then my familiar was airborne in seconds, knowing this wasn’t a fight he could win. He swooped upwards, blending seamlessly into the shadows, waiting for the command that would soon come.
‘Please don’t?—’
A sharp slap silenced the distant plea, flesh on flesh. I rounded the corner to see the witch’s head snap sideways, her hand pressed to her cheek. Even in the dark I could see the bruised stain blossom beneath her splayed fingers and the tear rolling down her cheek.
‘Demon whore.’ The Hunter who slapped her hissed, practically doubled over to get close enough to the witch’s face.
‘Please. Please.’ The man mocked as he dug his hand into his belt, withdrawing the sacrificial blade. ‘Why do you witches always say please? I mean, at least put up a little bit of a fight. Makes the effort of the stalk more rewarding.’
‘And you’d think you would have had more time to contemplate a better line, you prick,’ I whispered to myself, cautiously sticking to the shadows as I drew closer.
Caym cawed in the back of my mind. ‘If this goes wrong, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
I looked up, seeing the beady-black eyes flash from the shadows. He, like me, was also thirsty for the very thing the Hunter has asked for. Except he tried to hide it, playing the dutiful guardian. I knew, deep down, he longed to pluck Hunter eyes from skulls.
It was a desire we shared.
And I did live to please.
Time to play . Purposefully, I dropped the empty glass I had brought with me, shattering it in pieces across the cobbled back alley. The noise alerted the Hunters, drawing each of their attention up towards me as I stepped into the ominous glow of a shop’s sign.
‘Well, this is awkward.’ I said, sauntering into view, delighting in the confusion crossing each of the Hunter’s faces. The witch glanced up at me too, wincing as if I was the fourth member of their group. But then her expression waned as a circlet of silver encased my pupils. ‘Have I interrupted something?’
No one replied. In fact, one of the Hunters seemed to growl at me instead. Fucking growled, as if he was some pre-teen werewolf obsession.
I thumbed behind me, nonchalant about the gleaming athame one of the Hunters held firm. But it was the witch I spoke to next, not them. ‘Your friends are seconds away from coming out looking for you. You might want to get back inside.’
The witch scrambled to her feet, barely sparing a glance backwards as she ran in my direction. I expected her to continue past me, using my presence as the distraction she needed to escape. But instead, she surprised me and stopped at my side.
‘Didn’t you get the hint,’ I hissed out the corner of my mouth. ‘Get out of here, quick.’
‘Actually, I think I’ll stay and help,’ she replied, lips curling with ire, brown eyes flashing with a ring of gold. ‘Even the odds.’
She was a fire-witch. One of the four main elements we were each born into. A person didn’t need to be magically or supernaturally blessed to be slotted into elements. Like these Hunters. They too, depending on their birthday date or star-sign—if that is something they followed—would be privy to an element. Mine was air. Gemini. And if the Hunters knew star-sign lore, then they’d understand that one thing more frightening than a witch, was a Gemini witch with a grudge.
‘I prefer to do this alone,’ I added, aware the nameless fire-witch was no longer slurring. In fact, she stood with the grace of someone who hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol. Certainly not the same person I had watched being shepherded out of the club.
‘There’s two of you, and three of us,’ the Hunter shouted. I deemed that she must’ve been the leader of this little flock. ‘The odds don’t seem to be in your favour.’
I glanced between her and the athame and smirked. ‘Pretty little knife. Looks virgin. Has it seen blood before?
The man laughed. ‘Oh come on, handsome. We only want a little fun.’
‘Perfect. As do I.’ My hand rested on my hip. ‘But there are actually three of us. So, I’d say our odds are even.’
Heads snapped around, searching shadows for the third I mentioned. But I never said a witch.
Caym dove down from the shadow, talons extended for the unsuspecting Hunter who had slapped the witch at my side. I was running then, adrenaline fuelling my muscles, as the symphony of torn flesh and pain-ridden screams echoed down the alleyway.
My familiar latched himself onto the Hunter’s face. She attempted to pull him free, blinded by feathers, panic, and pain. Two swift pecks and Caym plucked her eyes of her skull. Where he planted his claws into her face, she was left with jagged chunks of torn flesh. There was so much blood it looked like a scene from a horror film. Caym released her, flying skyward with his bounty. Then the Hunter tipped over onto the floor, clutching at the empty sockets as she screamed bloody murder.
One down. Two more to go.
The fire-witch was forgotten as the remaining two Hunters met me head on.
I ducked beneath the swing of the athame, moving beneath the Hunter’s arm with ease. Before he caught his balance I flicked my hand, casting a burst of energy to continue the Hunter’s momentum. The force sent him flying, landing on the street with the wind knocked out of him.
Caym, no longer interested in gouging deeper grooves into the first Hunter, flew into pace with me. We moved with practiced synchronicity, something that had come from being companions for eighteen years. I knew how he moved, as he did with me.
There was no need to focus. No need to plan and think. This was no different than dancing a routine I had perfected, over and over, until I could move without the need for music.
Granted, the Hunters put up a good fight. I could have ended it long ago, but there was something about the burn of my muscles and the way my lungs constricted for air that thrilled me.
But the dance found a new partner as the fire-witch called out, distracting me. One moment of confusion was all it took for me to miss a beat.
Crack .
Something hard was thrust into my nose. ‘Fuck!’ Bone shattered, blood bursting out, flooding over and into my mouth. I spat it out, right into the face of the Hunter, blinding her for a second.
‘Oops,’ the fire-witch called, cringing audibly. ‘Sorry.’
All my frustration was pinned to the Hunter. My words came out as a growl, which I silently warned Caym to never bring up. ‘You really shouldn’t have done that.’
Anger inspired me. Reaching out with my power, I lifted each and every shard of shattered glass from the ground where I had left them. Although I couldn’t see them, I could certainly feel them. All sharp edges, large and small. One thought, one guiding motion from my hand, and they speared forwards.
I wondered, as the shards of glass penetrated the Hunter, if more than twenty-seven puncture wounds were made. It was almost poetic, killing this one the same way the Hunter had murdered my mother.
Hell . I didn’t know who had done the most damage, me or Caym. I was vaguely aware of my stomach turning, bile rising in my throat, the taste bitter to swallow.
Yes, I'd killed Hunters. I’d brought many of them to their end. But death was as ugly and uncaring as it had been when it had come for my parents.
The Hunter’s skin was flayed apart, bathing her open mouth and wide eyes in blood. In the faint glow of nearby lights, I caught the glittering effect the embedded glass left across her face. It was like she had decorated herself for some grubby festival, when in fact it was a mask of torture and death.
I saw a flash of gold-rimmed eyes framed by a mane of brown curls. Then the fire-witch screamed at me again. ‘Get down!’
Not allowing the distraction, I did as she commanded. I dropped to the blood-soaked floor a second before a whistling passed my ear. The athame missed me by inches, smashing into the ground with such a force that it scarred the stone. Swinging my leg out, I turned quickly, my ankle smacking into the legs of the final Hunter, the one I had sent flying moments ago. This time, I didn’t knock him over. He reared back, bringing the blade with him, then dragged it down. Pain lanced across my upper arm as the metal sliced through knitted wool, then my flesh. It wasn’t enough to tell me the wound was deep, but the pain was blinding nevertheless.
This was why I worked alone.
Desperate, I flung out my uninjured arm, casting my power out, knocking him back a step. Right into the fire-witch’s waiting clutches.
Her hair moved with flair, curls obscuring her face whilst she reached for the Hunter between us. But nothing could conceal the flash of gold around her iris, or the snarl of a woman scorned by those who’d tried to trick her.
Caym tangled himself in the Hunter’s hands, distracting the swing of the athame, allowing time for the witch to clamp her hands on either side of the Hunter’s face. He stopped struggling instantly upon her touch, completely immobilised. His mouth drooped in a widening gasp before the most guttural scream I’d ever heard escaped him.
Before my eyes, I watched as his face…melted. Not because of heat or fire, but because of this witch whose magic rolled off her in undulating waves. Her power made his skin peel, dripping like liquid, running over her fingers until I saw muscles, sinew, and bone. And yet she didn’t not stop. Not until his face—if you could call it that—was unrecognisable. A mess of mush.
Disgust creased her face in lines. It was as if she realised what she’d just accomplished and quickly pushed the corpse forwards. He smashed into the ground with a rather pleasing thump.
‘Urgh, fucking skin juice.’ She flicked her hands at her sides, trying to rid herself of the gunk stuck to her fingers.
I gawped at her, stomach churning as my adrenaline quickly faded. She looked up, catching my stare, making me overly aware of the disgust rippling from my expression. I didn’t even bother to squash it.
‘Are you staring at me because you’re expecting me to thank you?’ the fire-witch asked, smearing the back of her gore-coated hand across her forehead. She didn’t realise, but it left a streak of skin and blood. Perhaps she did, and simply didn’t care.
I pushed up from the floor, Caym coming to perch on my shoulder. My nose was broken and the wound on my arm was deeper than I first thought. Although I usually came away from nights like this with a few bumps and scrapes, I blamed the witch and the distraction she’d caused for the severity of damage.
‘I wasn’t planning on it,’ I said, wincing as the lack of adrenaline made me realise just how much my face hurt.
‘You don’t look too good,’ she said, eyeing me up.
I could sense Caym’s presence within me, begging me to leave. But I feared if I moved too quickly, I’d fall. ‘I don’t feel too good either. I’ve got you to thank for that.’
‘Yes, you should really get that seen to.’ Her smile was genuine, as was her concern. There was no denying the kindness in her face as her smile reached her warm brown eyes, making them gleam. She took in the scene, the three bodies, the hint of decay lingering in the already toxic city air. ‘This is not how I was planning to spend my evening.’
‘I would say you should go back to your friends, but’ The shift of my eyes to her ruined outfit suggested what I was going to say. Halloween was still over a month away—walking into the club covered in blood tonight would certainly raise suspicions.
‘Never mind that.’ Her hand snaked out, extended in introduction. ‘Romy.’
‘Pardon?’
Caym chirped on my shoulder, blood-wet beak clicking, but that didn’t deter her hand.
‘My name,’ she giggled, as if it was all some big joke. ‘I know we kind of skipped the traditional introductions but since we’ve both saved each other’s asses tonight, I think swapping names is at least the next step.’
‘No offence.’ I folded my arms behind my back, causing more pain in the split flesh of my arm. But that was better than having my skin melted by the witch’s touch. ‘But your hand is still covered in...skin juice?’
‘Ha. So it is.’ That didn’t not stop her from reaching into the pocket of her jacket, withdrawing a phone. Before I could so much as question her, she lifted it to her ear and spoke.
‘Walton Street. Yeah. Three Hunters. Dead.’ Her eyes dragged up to me, lips flashing another smile. ‘No, not alone.’ She paused, a small voice shouting something down the other line. ‘No, it wasn’t a Coven member. I told you… yes, yes, I know the risks, but I had some unexpected help. Although he needs a healer.’
Unexpected help? Coven member?
My mind decided in that very moment that this had been planned. Not by the Hunters, but by Romy. Now, a new fear reared its ugly head. I felt my lungs restrict. This witch had never been the unsuspecting person I first took her for.
She was a plant, a decoy. A lure sent here tonight for the very same reason I was.
‘Let me ask.’ Romy voice cut through the haze in my mind. She lowered the phone, but not completely. Just the polite shift down her cheek as she whispered another question. ‘I never did catch your name—hey—wait. Where are you going?’
I was already running, fast but awkwardly. Where to? Anywhere but here.
My boots slapped against the street, my legs pulsing with renewed adrenaline. Caym took flight, not beside me but up and up, until his presence was only a tingle in the back of my skull. All I could focus on is getting away from her. Maybe minor injuries? I could blame the wounds on something less… monstrous. But I knew I needed to get far enough away that Romy, and those on the other end of the phone call, couldn’t find me.
Mother’s final warning repeated in my mind as it had over and over since her death.
‘Protect him. Keep my son from them.’
‘All of them. Our allies and our foes.’
Foes, being the dead bodies left in my wake. Allies, the very people Romy had just spoken with.
The Coven.
The wound across my upper arm became barely a tickle now that something else had taken over my mind. Nor did my shattered nose worry me as I picked up my pace. Caym’s panic overwhelmed me, his desire to swaddle me up in his shadows. But something was stopping him. I sensed his knowing, the intuition that screamed of something bad.
I ran directly into that bad thing as I reared around the corner and barrelled right into their path. They might as well have been made from concrete. The collision felt as much.
I fell back, just as I caught the flash of white-rimmed, glowing eyes.
The eyes of a spirit-witch.
The eyes of the very person I had been hiding from since the night my parents were murdered.
Not Hunters. No. Worse.
‘Hello, Hector Briar. We have been looking for you.’