Chapter 2
THE HUNTER
The heavy iron door groans shut behind me, sealing off the last vestiges of the modern world. I descend the winding stone staircase, my footsteps echoing in the complete silence as the air grows thicker with the musty scent of damp earth and ancient stone.
At the bottom, I pause before a set of ornate double doors. Carved into the weathered wood, grotesque figures dance in an eternal hunt. A macabre warning of what lies beyond. I push them open, and the chamber unfolds before me.
Dozens of candles flicker and dance in iron sconces along the walls. The light barely penetrates the vastness of the chamber, leaving the vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. Thick stone pillars, their surfaces etched with arcane symbols, rise from the polished obsidian floor.
At the far end of the room, a massive dais looms. Seven hooded figures sit behind a high table of dark wood, their faces obscured by gleaming silver masks. The masks are sleek and borderline featureless, but the candlelight dancing on them makes them come to life.
I know exactly who hides behind one of those masks.
My father sits among them on the leader's right hand side, his presence a suffocating weight in the room. I don't have to see his eyes—sharp steel, just like mine—to know he's watching me.
As I approach the dais, my footsteps muffled by a thick crimson carpet, I feel the weight of centuries pressing down upon me. This chamber has witnessed countless initiations, innumerable sacrifices to the Order's twisted ideology.
And now, it's my turn to stand before them.
To prove my worth in their eyes.
"Lucian," the leader calls out, his voice ringing off the stone walls and echoing through the chamber. "Your training has progressed well, despite the late start. And now, we find ourselves at the very precipice of your initiation. The moment you will finally be able to prove whether you deserve to stand among our ranks. Are you prepared for your Hunt?"
I clench my jaw. These men—this Order—believe themselves to be the elite, the predators meant to prey upon the weak. I see through their delusions, their twisted philosophy of control and domination.
I meet the leader's gaze, my voice steady and cold. "I'm ready."
A murmur of dark approval ripples through the room. My father leans forward, his eyes glinting beneath the crimson hood pooling on his broad shoulders as he scrutinizes me.
He thinks he's molded me into his perfect heir. A ruthless hunter like himself. Little does he know, I've been honing my skills for a different purpose entirely.
The leader nods. "Then let the Hunt begin," he says, his voice laced with a twisted sense of pride. "Your target has been chosen. A young woman who embodies the weakness we seek to purge from this world. The mediocrity of wasted talent and a life spent in meaningless toil. Track her, chase her, and when you catch her… prove your worth as a Hunter."
I bow my head, a show of obedience masking the rage simmering beneath my skin. "As you command," I say bitterly.
Another robed figure glides over, a set of papers in his outstretched hand. I take them with another slight bow, the weight of my target's life now resting in my grasp.
Yet I feel no guilt at the thought of taking an innocent life. It's a means to an end. A necessary step in my path to vengeance.
Turning on my heel, I allow myself to be blindfolded, the fabric cool against my skin. They lead me out of the underground chamber and into a waiting elevator, my steps measured and confident despite the darkness. Eventually, we make it to what I know to be the parking garage, and a gloved hand pushes me into the back of a waiting vehicle. The leather seat of the limousine embraces me as I settle in, the engine purring to life.
As we navigate the unseen roads, I focus on every twist and turn, committing the route to memory. A map etched into my mind with each passing second.
The driver's voice cuts through the silence. "You may remove the blindfold now, Mr. Voss."
I tug the fabric away, blinking as my eyes adjust to the interior of the limousine. I unfold the papers in my hands, any curiosity dimmed by my detachment.
“Aria Moreau.” The name rolls off my tongue. "Let's see who you are, little fawn."
Her file paints a picture of wasted potential, a life of sacrifice and mediocrity in the eyes of the Order. Perfect test scores, full rides to Ivy League universities—Harvard, Princeton, Yale, the blue-blooded trifecta—all cast aside for the sake of caring for her dying father. Now she lives a quiet existence as a librarian in the same small town where she grew up, her brilliance hidden away among dusty shelves and faded pages.
To anyone else, her choices might be seen as noble, a testament to filial love and devotion. But to the Order, to the men who seek to bleed out human weakness, it is an unforgivable sin. Squandered potential, a life unlived, a mind left to wither in the shadows of obscurity. A potential predator willingly turned prey, and thus worthy of death.
It figures my father would pick an innocent woman, and I have no doubt that he is the one who had an undue influence over the selection of my fawn.
He had no interest in me until my brother's death, so until my fifteenth birthday, I led a bleak if relatively normal existence myself.
Until he finally had a use for me.
For the past seven years, it's been a crash course in purging the humanity from my veins. The weakness from my soul.
This is his final test. Proving I have what it takes to overcome those human instincts and transcend. To become something more.
To be a hunter. To kill prey without remorse, as only a predator like him can.
I was expecting this. A woman, first of all. An innocent. Someone who would give the old Lucian Voss pause.
But his efforts at turning me into a monster like him have been more fruitful than he gives himself credit for.
I've killed before, without remorse. So far, all my victims have deserved it, but that's merely coincidence. I can kill a less deserving target as a means to a worthy end.
I won't hesitate.
At least, that's what I think until I see the photograph nestled in with all her biographical information, an entire life reduced to words and numbers on a page.
Her image stares up at me, a captured moment of unsuspecting innocence. Aria Moreau's face is a study in contradictions—soft, delicate features juxtaposed against the quiet strength and brilliance in her gaze. She has the kind of beauty that sneaks up on you, unassuming at first glance but impossible to forget once you've truly seen her.
I find myself drawn to the rich chestnut of her hair, the way it frames her heart-shaped face in loose waves. Her eyes are a striking green, vibrant and expressive even in the stillness of the image. There's a smattering of light freckles across her nose and cheeks.
As I trace the curve of her full lips with my gaze, a flicker of something long-dormant stirs within me. A distant echo of the humanity I've worked so hard to purge from my being. It's unsettling, this sudden awareness of my own pulse, the way my breath catches in my throat.
I crush the feeling mercilessly, my fingers tightening on the edges of the photograph. Even carnal desire is weakness, the very thing I've been trained to bleed out of myself. I can't afford to let a pretty face distract me from the purpose that drives my every waking moment.
And yet, as I tuck her picture into the inner pocket of my suit jacket, I can't shake the nagging sense that Aria Moreau is more than just another target. There's a depth to her eyes, a story waiting to be unraveled. Part of me wants to know what lies beneath the surface, to peel back the layers of her existence until I understand what makes her tick.
But that's not my role in this game. I'm the Hunter, and she's the prey. Her life, her secrets… they're all forfeit the moment I catch her.
And I will catch her, just as I've caught every other target the Order has set before me.
I let the rest of her file fall to the leather seat, the papers scattering like fallen leaves. The limo slows to a stop, the city's heartbeat pulsing just beyond the tinted windows. I take a moment to compose myself, to slip back into the skin of Lucian Voss, the ruthless predator.
The door opens and I step out into the bustling streets. I breathe in the cold night air and the scents of the city—exhaust fumes, the faint aroma of street food, the heady perfume of a passing woman. It's a sensory overload, a cacophony of life I've learned to filter out, to focus only on the hunt.
I straighten my suit and glance at my reflection in a storefront window. My gray eyes are sharp and cold, but with my designer suit and perfectly styled white-blond hair, I look like any other young trust fund playboy prowling the streets in search of his next dopamine fix. Young, attractive, elite. It's a mask I've perfected over the years, a facade that hides the seething rage and the festering bitterness beneath.
As I melt into the crowd, my senses heighten, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. Somewhere in this teeming mass of humanity, Aria Moreau goes about her life, unaware of the shadow that now stalks her every move. She has no idea that her fate was sealed the moment her name was printed in that file, that her very existence now hangs in the balance.
I allow myself a small, cruel smile as I begin my hunt in earnest. The thrill of the chase, the rush of power that comes with holding another's life in my hands—it's a high I've come to crave, a drug that numbs the pain of my own shattered past.
And Aria is the innocent lamb I must slaughter in order to step into my future and finally make my father pay for the sins of his past.
Let the Hunt begin.