19. The Hunter is Here
19
THE HUNTER IS HERE
WREN
O h suns, oh suns, oh suns.
My lungs squeeze desperately in my chest, attempting to draw breath, but my throat is closing up. My fingers clench around nothing, and my entire body seizes.
Of all the times for me to decide that cursing the gods is a useless waste of time, why did I have to choose now? This seems like the perfect moment to curse Esyn and her fucking godly minions to the Underworld.
A tight fist is compressing my lungs. My heart has stalled in my chest, refusing to beat. The tavern walls are crashing in on me, and panic has my stomach in knots.
The music is too loud, the smoke is too thick, the laughter is too jarring, and the Hunter…
The suns and moons and everything else I’ve ever held dear have failed me, because the Hunter is here. He’s here, and he’s blocking my only exit with the same suns-damned body that has been haunting my nightmares.
Why, why, why did I come here tonight? Why did I think this would be a good idea? I became complacent earlier, walking around with my hood off. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but clearly, I was mistaken.
I needed somewhere to think about the gods-blessed I saw earlier, which is why I came here. They’ve been on my mind all day, and while I don’t want to leave them, I’m not entirely sure what I can do to help them. I hoped to come up with a plan while I ate, but that no longer matters.
I made a mistake, and the Hunter caught me.
Gripping the edge of the worn wooden table, I look around the tavern desperately, searching for an escape route. Only there isn’t one. The tavern is packed, and the Hunter is blocking my only exit.
My Mark is a blazing fire on my forehead, echoing my panic. I don’t touch it. I gnaw on my lip, my gaze locking on the bartender. He’s wiping down the counter. Maybe if I get his attention?—
A hand clamps down on mine, and I barely hold in a scream as the touch yanks me out of my panicked thoughts. The Hunter’s hand is warm, as if a furnace smolders beneath his skin. I drop my eyes to where he’s gripping me.
Callouses line Gabriel’s rough hand, and his fingers engulf mine. Gods, he’s big.
My heart chooses this moment to remember it hasn’t been beating, and it hammers in my chest. That same spark comes to life in my hand, a reminder of the last time the Hunter and I touched before he saw my Mark. His warmth calls to me in a gods-damned absurd way.
This is about as bad as things could get, and I don’t know how to get out of this.
I try to jerk my hand out of his, but those damned fingers curl around my wrist. He could break me without a second thought. One snap and my bones would be brittle twigs in his hand.
And then Gabriel’s fingers shift, and he’s touching Amelia’s bracelet. My breath catches in a wheeze, and I choke. How dare he?
“Hello, Birdie.” He slides down the bench, spitting my nickname between us as though it’s a curse. I’ve never hated the sound of that moniker more than I do at this very moment. “Did you enjoy your taste of freedom?”
Stupid, handsome man. I hate him so much.
His fingers tighten around my wrist, and I drag my eyes up from the table, meeting his gaze for the first time. The air seems to disappear, and for the longest moment, all I can do is stare at him.
One look, and he’s ensnared me like an animal in a trap.
Like me, Gabriel is wearing a cloak. Shadows shroud his face from sight.
They don’t stop me from noticing the anger flashing through his green eyes, the sharp cut of his jaw, or the stubble on his chin, though.
The Hunter is rugged and rough and stupidly handsome, which only makes me hate him more.
My lips curl into a sneer. I try to yank my elbow back in an attempt to break his grip. Unfortunately, in addition to being ridiculously handsome and the reason for my nightmares, the Hunter is also far stronger than me.
I snarl, “Fuck you.”
He tightens his grip on my wrist, and I’m sure it will bruise tomorrow. But honestly, who cares about another mark on my skin?
“No, thanks. I’m not interested,” he replies calmly, those infuriating green eyes drilling into mine.
I rear back, shaking my head.
“As if I would ever let you touch me like that.” Sure, we may have joked about him biting me when he first woke up, but that was before I knew he was gods-damn hunting me. “I have values, you know. I will never stoop that low.”
He huffs a breathy chuckle, and his infuriatingly handsome gaze darkens. “Did I touch a nerve, little bird?”
“Don’t call me that!” I whisper-yell, trying to yank my arm away from his. I hate that he’s still touching me, hate that my body reacts so much to his warmth, hate that an insane part of me wants me to shift closer to him. I hate all of this. “Just let me go.”
The fiddler glances over at us, his bow pausing over the strings, but Gabriel scowls at him. The musician looks away, the music resuming once again.
Burning suns. Will no one help me?
The Hunter’s nostrils flare, and he shakes his head.
“Never.” He adjusts his grip on my wrist, his thumb pressing down on my pulse point. His breath warms my ear, and my core twists at his closeness. My treacherous body doesn’t understand that we despise him. “I gave you one day’s head start, Birdie. You squandered my gift, and now, we’re on equal footing. I caught you, fair and square.”
Gift. Gift?
Does he honestly believe he did something helpful?
I wish he’d never given me the head start. It’s almost worse, knowing I’m fated to die now that I’ve tasted freedom.
Sure, being on the run has been painful and exhausting and not at all delightful, but I’m still alive, and that counts for something.
My hatred for him grows with every word that comes out of his stupidly well-formed lips. I hate the way he’s looking at me and the way my body reacts.
I hate it all.
“One day’s head start is not a gift,” I hiss, twisting my hand in his and digging my nails into his skin. “It’s a fucking joke.”
The Hunter doesn’t even flinch as I do my best to scratch him and draw blood. Is this damn man made of fucking stone?
The corner of his mouth curls, but before he can speak, a shadow darkens the table. I look up, my eyes widening at the barmaid standing before us. She can’t be older than fifteen, and even though weariness is etched onto her face, no doubt from working in this bustling tavern, she’s beautiful. Her blue eyes dart between me and the Hunter, and she’s gripping a tray with white knuckles.
“Your order is ready, miss,” she says.
In the commotion of the Hunter’s arrival, I’d completely forgotten that I’d ordered food.
I stare at the barmaid pleadingly, widening my eyes and trying to let her know I need help. Her face pales as her gaze lands on Gabriel’s hand covering mine. She gingerly places the bowl of steaming stew on the table, gnawing on her lip.
“Forgive me for asking, but is everything all right?”
I open my mouth, a desperate plea rising in my throat. Before I can speak, the Hunter tightens his grip on my fingers. He subtly shifts, moving his cloak to the side and revealing the hilt of a sword hanging from his baldric.
Fuck.
I swallow my words, my hope for rescue vanishing. My heart drops, and I wilt in on myself. I can’t risk bringing harm upon this young woman. There’s a softness about the barmaid that reminds me of my sisters.
My voice is rough as I whisper, “It’s fine.”
This time, tears don’t prick my eyes, and dread doesn’t coil in my gut. Instead, cold spreads through me like ice on a lake as I’m thrown back to the day before my Giving.
A sharp silver blade. Amelia’s muffled scream. The head priestess’s hood falling back. A fountain of crimson. A flash of pink. My best friend’s body tumbling to the floor.
I’ve been living on borrowed time ever since Amelia was killed.
The Hunter’s head start was more of a punishment than anything else. It allowed me to fool myself into thinking that maybe I had a chance. Maybe I could get to the Sapphire Coast. Maybe I could live.
But now, I know the truth.
The Given stick together .
Amelia was right all those years ago. We do stick together—even in death.
Just like everything else I’ve been told since the moment of my birth, the whisper of freedom I experienced was a lie. I’m never going to be free, never going to truly experience anything this world has to offer.
I was born with a Mark branding me for death, and I was a fool to think I could ever escape my fate. I still don’t know why they sacrifice the Given, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.
I’m so lost in the depths of my despair that I barely hear the Hunter speaking to the barmaid. He thanks her, for what I don’t know or care, and then he asks for a refill. Reaching into his pocket with his free hand, he pulls out a coin and hands it to her. She slides it into her apron and nods, hurrying to the bar.
When she’s gone, he turns to me, lifting his hand from mine. Locks of dark blue, almost black hair fall in front of his eyes, and I clench my fists to avoid touching them.
What’s wrong with me? This man is hunting me. I shouldn’t want to touch him at all.
“That was wise,” he says, his voice gruff.
Was it, though? Because right now, it seems like I allowed my only chance at freedom to slip through my fingers. But maybe this is how it was always meant to be. Maybe this is how everything was meant to end.
After all, the Given were always meant to be returned to the gods.
Bile rises in my throat as I imagine the cool press of steel against my neck, and my fingers spasm on the table.
The part of me that was raised to worship the gods wants to beg for my soul, but I don’t think it will do anything.
No, death is coming for me. Will it be cold as it draws me into its embrace? Will I scream as the knife slides across my throat, or will I stand frozen in shock as my blood leaves my body, coating the temple floor?
I’m not ready to die, and yet, I don’t know what else to do.
A scratching sound comes from the table as Gabriel draws the bowl closer to me. The stew is thick, and chunks of brown meat float alongside slices of carrots and potatoes. It’s peppery, the scent tickling my nose when it reaches me.
I ordered the meal thinking I’d need sustenance to survive the next leg of my trek, but now…
Cold steel. Pain. Blood everywhere. Death.
“Eat,” the Hunter says brusquely, unaware of the dark direction of my thoughts.
I pull my gaze from the bowl up to his.
“Why?” I ask flatly. “What’s the point?”
The man arches a brow, the expression bordering on incredulous. As if my question is ridiculous. “You need your strength.”
Well, that’s laughable. Does he honestly believe that?
I flatten my hands on the table. Tiny grooves are cut into the otherwise smooth wood, likely from years of use. “Strength so I can be Given. ”
The word Given sounds like murdered as it clangs around my mind like a resounding gong, as loud as the temple bells.
A vein feathers in Gabriel’s jaw. “Yes.”
Bastard. I hate him so much; I want to scream.
The barmaid chooses that moment to return with the Hunter’s drink. I grit my teeth as she swaps out his empty glass for a full one.
I haven’t moved towards the bowl, and I won’t.
“Eat,” he repeats once the barmaid has left, moving the stew closer to me.
I ignore the savory aroma that makes my empty stomach grumble and shake my head, pressing my shoulder against the tavern wall.
Between the log wall on my right and the Hunter on the left, I’m well and truly trapped. My heart races in my chest, and a cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.
Gabriel is as intimidating as he is gods-damn handsome, but I won’t let him boss me around.
Gripping my bracelet, I draw strength from Amelia’s gift.
“I will not,” I snarl. I may be destined for death, but I’m not some animal to be fattened up for the slaughter.
The Hunter’s nostrils flare, and his eyes narrow. If looks could force someone to act, I’d be drowning in that bowl of stew. Luckily, they can’t, so after the longest, most uncomfortable staring contest of my entire life, Gabriel huffs and pulls the bowl towards him.
“Fine,” the infuriating man says, picking up the wooden spoon. “But I guarantee you’ll regret this when you’re walking back to Grenbloom on an empty stomach.”
“I don’t care,” I lie stubbornly, crossing my arms and glaring up at him. “And if you think for one second that I’m going to follow you like a docile little lamb back to my village so you can hand me over to the temple, you’re out of your gods-damned mind.”
The spoon freezes halfway to his lips, and Gabriel slowly turns his head towards me. Even with the shadows from his hood, I can see his eyes perfectly. They spark with interest, and his lips quirk up into a smile.
Why the fuck is he smiling? Nothing about this is funny.
“Kick up all the fuss you want, Birdie.” He leans in, his eyes twinkling. His obvious amusement makes me want to punch him in his stupidly attractive face. “I assure you, I can take it.”
I fucking hate that I gave this man my nickname. Hearing it come out of his mouth is awful, and I want to scream.
My fingers itch to grab Father’s knife and slam it into his hand, pinning it to the table, but something tells me that wouldn’t go over well.
Gabriel makes a show of lifting the spoon to his lips and eating slowly. He takes his suns-damned time finishing my dinner. My hatred grows with each passing moment. I don’t speak again until the stew is gone and he’s exchanged the bowl for his mug.
“You know, you don’t have to do this,” I say.
I begged before, and it didn’t go over well, but I’m not too proud to admit that I’d do just about anything to avoid being Given.
He pauses mid-sip, shifting in his seat to look at me. Gods, I have no idea how I ever thought he wasn’t a threat because predatory grace radiates from his every movement. “What did you say?”
There’s no way he didn’t hear me. Even though the tavern has gotten louder now that night has truly fallen, he’s practically sitting in my lap. Besides, I’ve been able to hear every little thing he says and does. It’s like my body is frustratingly attuned to his. But as several long moments pass in silence, I realize he’s going to make me say it again.
Damn it. Damn him. Damn this entire situation.
“You don’t have to take me in.” I meet the Hunter’s green gaze and wonder if there’s an ounce of kindness in his well-built body. “You could let me go and pretend like this never happened.”
He hasn’t replied, so I take his silence as leave to continue.
“I’m not staying in Myreth, you know. I will get on a ship and leave, never looking back. No one would ever know you did this.”
And then, I’ll still be alive.
His brows furrow, and he shakes his head. “Impossible.”
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach, but I can’t give up. I won’t.
“It’s not,” I insist, gesturing to the packed tavern. “Look around us. Most people here are drunk.” Those that aren’t will be soon. “Let me go, and you’ll never have to see me again. I promise.”
I hate that I have to plead my case to this man while staring into his green eyes, searching for something to give me even a spark of hope. Doesn’t he realize how much asking him this is costing me? But I’d rather lose my pride than my life.
He crushes my dreams before they can take root. “I can’t.”
“I saved your life,” I tell him, unwilling to give up. Growing up in the middle of five children taught me how to be stubborn. “Back in the forest. You’d be dead right now if it weren’t for me.”
My foolish, compassionate heart twinges at the thought of his death, but I ignore it. Clearly, my body doesn’t understand why we hate the Hunter.
“I know,” he says. “And I repaid my life debt.”
This again. Seriously?
“It wasn’t a gift,” I hiss.
“Maybe not,” he concedes. “But you squandered it, nonetheless.”
This man. How can he be so gods-damned vexing and good-looking at the same time?
Frustration bubbles up inside me, and I ball my fist, slamming it on the table. The empty bowl and spoon shake.
No one even glances in our direction, the sounds of the tavern drowning out the sound of my anger.
“I did not squander anything.” My nostrils flare, and I glare at his stupidly rugged face. “I ran as fast as I could.”
I tried so fucking hard to get away from this man, only for him to find me again.
“And you did a good job,” he says. “You got far.”
“Not far enough.” I curl my fists. “Not nearly far enough.”
The Sapphire Coast feels further away now than ever before. It’s nothing more than a dream at this point, one I’ll never see to fruition.
He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes sweeping over me before he dips his chin. “No. Not far enough.”
I hate this. I hate that we’re still having this conversation. I hate that the handsome Hunter is here. I hate that his green eyes are drilling into me beneath the shadows of his hood.
I hate it all.
“Let me go,” I say again, louder than before.
“No.” His voice is firm. “King Andreas would know.”
It’s my turn to furrow my brows. The king is in Rosebridge, which is nowhere near here. According to my newly acquired map, it would take days to travel there.
“How would he know?” The question slips from my lips before I remember who I’m speaking with.
Why am I bothering to ask this man questions? He’s already proven that his heart is made of stone.
Gabriel’s eyes darken. If they were emeralds before, now they’re mossy and filled with shadows and darkness.
No. Bad Wren. Stop thinking about the rugged Hunter’s pretty eyes.
“Magic.” The word is ominous as it leaves his lips, and he shivers. “King Andreas’s power is vast, and he has ways of finding things out that no one else knows.”
Cold snakes down my spine, and I fight the urge to draw my arms around myself. How would the king know if I left? What kind of magic does he possess?
Questions for a later time. Desperately, I try the last option in my arsenal.
“I’ll do anything you want. Anything .” I bat my lashes at him, hating myself for even offering this. Not that I’ll let him touch me—the moment he stands, I’ll run—but still. “Whatever you want.”
He scoffs, as if the thought of using me in that way disgusts him, and he shakes his head. “You’re not the first person I’ve hunted to make me such an offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse.” His voice hardens. “I do not touch my prey.”
His rejection shouldn’t sting, but it does.
“Do you want money? I’ll find some.” At this point, I’d rob the king himself if it meant I could be free.
I don’t even have it in me to worry about the king’s magic, as much as Gabriel is clearly concerned about it. I need to get out of here so I can survive.
“No. I don’t need money.” He shoots me down with such ease, as if my offer isn’t even worth thinking about.
His eyes drop back to his cup. Clearly, this conversation is over. At least for him.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should give up and let him take me back to the temple. Maybe accepting my fate would be easier.
My fingers slide off the table, finding my satchel. The bag is much lighter than it was when I first left Grenbloom, since my book was destroyed after the waterfall, and I left the full jar of ointment with Alba.
Slipping my hand inside, I feel the array of the objects I still have in my possession. The sharp edge of my quill pokes my finger, but I ignore the sting of pain. I run my fingers over my remaining jar of blessed salve, then trace the rough parchment of the map I purchased earlier.
None of these will save me from the Hunter. I’m about to give up entirely and accept my fate when the pads of my fingers brush up against something smooth and cold.
The vial from the Giving Festival.
My breath catches, and I curl my fingers around the glass container as I try to remember the woman’s whispered words. It was hours ago, but it feels like days have passed since then.
“Take one drop to stop feeling, two to be free, and three... three is too much.”
I tighten my grip around the vial, lifting it out of my bag and into my lap.
The Hunter’s tankard is on the table, and his back is partially to me as he gazes into the dimly lit tavern. He seems deep in thought, and if he were anyone else, I’d wonder what he’s thinking about so deeply. I don’t, though, since he’s literally planning on dragging me to my death.
I turn the vial around in my hand, pursing my lips. This might be the only thing that provides me with the freedom I so desperately seek. But is this me? Am I seriously considering giving Gabriel a mysterious substance that a woman slipped me on the street? Judging by the look that had been in her eyes, it’s a drug of some kind.
It’s one thing to hate the Hunter for doing his job, even if it’s despicable, but it’s another thing entirely to give him something against his will.
Honestly, I can’t believe I’m even considering this. I don’t love the idea of harming another person, even the man who has actively made my life a living hell since I saved him.
The problem is, I don’t see another way out of this situation.
I stare at the bracelet around my wrist. The sun is resting against the table, and I can’t help but think of Amelia. She would’ve smashed the vial the moment she got it.
She was always good. Always kind. Always morally in the right.
I used to think I was the same. The old Wren would never even consider doing this. She would’ve been shocked that I was even thinking about it.
But the problem is, the old me is dead. She bled out with Amelia and disappeared along with the matching sun on my bracelet.
I wasn’t lying to Gabriel. I won’t go back to Grenbloom willingly. I’m going to fight him every gods-damned step of the way.
But this…
Drawing my bottom lip through my teeth, I stare at his back. Am I willing to actively throw my morals out the window to save myself?
Wren Nightingale: gods-blessed, outlaw, and now… potential-poisoner?
I’m not stupid. Some substances taken in small doses can make people feel good. The ale flowing around me is a great example of that. But when they’re taken in larger quantities, they can be dangerous. Deadly even.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I inhale deeply. I don’t like the idea one bit, but the problem is that as much as I don’t like it, I hate the idea of dying even more.
I just want to live .
The Hunter looks over his shoulder at me.
“We’re leaving soon, Birdie.” His eyes narrow as he studies me. “Prepare yourself.”
What the fuck does he mean by that? Prepare myself .
Does he want me to get on my knees and pray to the gods for deliverance? I won’t do that. The gods, like everyone else, have abandoned me.
“Leave me here,” I beg Gabriel again. One last time. Maybe he’ll change his mind. “Please. I’ll do anything you want. I can’t go back. I don’t want to be Given.”
He doesn’t even turn around. “No.”
“I won’t go willingly,” I remind him.
He peers over his shoulder, his lips creaking up into a smile. That expression has no right to be so handsome or to heat my core so intensely.
“Good, I hope you don’t,” he says.
I sputter. “W-what?”
He lifts his shoulder. “You’ve made my job interesting, and I’ve had fun chasing you.”
I clench my fists and fume. Fun . How dare he speak to me in such a manner? Here I am, trying to survive, and he’s amusing himself.
I hate this Hunter, with his beautiful green eyes, sharp cheekbones, and dark blue, almost black hair that falls in wisps around his face.
I hate that he’s so much bigger than me and that his muscles are so well-fucking-defined that it’s clear he trains for hours every day.
Most of all, I hate that there’s a twinkle in his gaze when he talks about hunting.
I hate him so much that the next time he turns his burly shoulder to me, I pop the vial’s tiny cork.
I’m not Amelia, and I’m not even sure I’m good . All I know is that I’m Wren, and I’m not ready to stop living. I’m not ready to be Given, so I have to do everything I can to stay away from the Hunter.
By the time he places the tankard back on the table, I’ve made up my mind. I’m just going to give him enough to make it easier for me to run away. I edge my hand over to his glass and tip the vial.
One drop, two…
Damn it, he’s turning back around. My fingers slip, and the vial empties into his glass.
Fuck .
That can’t be good. My heart is racing as I panic, pulling my fingers back and dropping the empty vial in my lap.
A second later, green eyes meet mine again. “Time to leave, little bird.”
Can he sense my panic? Can he hear my heart racing in my chest?
I stare at him as he picks up the tankard, lifting it to his lips. His throat bobs as he drains the rest of the cup in one go.
The empty cup hits the table with a thud, and he rises. The vial is the heaviest of weights in my lap as seconds tick by, and I watch Gabriel expectantly.
What’s going to happen? Will his words slur? Will he fall over and die? Maybe his lungs will stop working. Will it hit all at once or slowly over time?
Suns, I have no idea what to expect, but my imagination is happy to provide me with a plethora of ways the unknown substance might affect him.
Except, in an upsetting turn of events, the Hunter doesn’t die.
He doesn’t keel over or cry out in pain as his stomach twists into painful knots. He doesn’t seem affected at all.
His emerald eyes are crystal clear as he glares down at me. His size is so much more imposing now that he’s back to looming over me, and my lip quivers. It didn’t work. My last chance at freedom is empty in my lap, and now, I have no other options.
Gabriel pins me with his emerald gaze, and he holds out a hand towards me. “Let’s go.”