Chapter 3Damien Blackwood
Chapter
Three
DAMIEN BLACKWOOD
T he pull of her is undeniable, a gravity that tugs at my core, and for a moment, I forget the rules. Forget everything but the warmth of her skin, the scent of her hair, the way her breath hitches when I lean in. Selene. She’s more than just another participant, more than prey. There’s something about her—something I haven’t felt in any Hunt before.
But just as quickly as the connection forms, it’s severed.
Damien . The voice in my mind is sharp, cutting through the haze of desire that clouds my thoughts. Stop playing with the prey. The Hunt must begin.
I clench my jaw, cursing the Order under my breath. Of course they know. They always do. They watch everything, hear everything. I can’t let them suspect anything more. With a reluctant sigh, I step back, tearing myself away from Selene and the electric heat between us. She looks up at me, confusion flashing in her eyes, but I can’t linger.
I turn, disappearing into the shadows of the club, my mind still buzzing from her presence. But there’s no time for indulgence. I have a job to do.
The chosen are waiting for me when I reach the edge of the platform. Ronan, Lucien, and Adrian—all masked, their faces obscured by the swirling magic that forms their skull-like visages. Each mask is unique, crafted from their own power, but I can recognize them instantly by their magical signatures. The way their energy hums in the air, sharp and distinct.
Ronan stands to the left, tall and broad-shouldered, his posture tense and coiled like a predator ready to pounce. His magic is wild, untamed, like a storm barely contained beneath his skin. The mask he wears is sleek, the skull polished black, its eye sockets gleaming with a dangerous light.
Lucien is beside him, his mask a pale white, cracked in places as if it’s been shattered and pieced back together. His magic is different—calculated, refined, cold. There’s a sharpness to it, like the edge of a blade that’s been honed for years. He’s always been more reserved, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous.
And then there’s Adrian. His magic hums the loudest, a steady thrum of power that radiates confidence. His mask is bone white, adorned with intricate markings that glow faintly in the dim light. There’s a regal air about him, one that comes from his bloodline—one of the most elite families in the realm. His posture is relaxed, but there’s always an undercurrent of tension with Adrian, a constant readiness to strike.
The three of them are warlocks from families that have participated in the Hunt for centuries. It’s not a choice for them; it’s a duty. A given. Each year, a warlock from their family must participate in the Hunt, and each year they compete for status, for favor with the Order. The Hunt isn’t just a game to them—it’s an opportunity to rise above the rest, to gain power and influence in the only realm that truly matters.
I, on the other hand, am the facilitator. The bridge between the warlocks and the Order. I don’t hunt, I don’t claim. My role is to ensure that the rules are followed, that the Hunt proceeds as it should. But sometimes, like tonight, I find myself wanting more than my assigned role.
“Interesting move, Damien,” Ronan says, his voice dripping with amusement as he turns to face me. “ Didn’t think we’d see you intervene like that with one of the prey.”
Adrian's eyes narrow behind his mask, studying me closely. I can feel the weight of his gaze, and for a moment, I wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. He’s always been perceptive, too perceptive.
I shrug, keeping my tone neutral. “As the facilitator, it’s my job to ensure that the rules are followed. Prey can’t be hunted before the Hunt begins.”
Ronan chuckles, his teeth flashing behind the mask. “Sure, sure. But it seemed like more than that to me.”
Lucien doesn’t say anything, but his cold eyes flicker with interest. He’s always watching, always calculating.
I give a tight smile. “I’m not here to break the rules. You know that.”
For a moment, the tension lingers, thick in the air. But then Ronan relents, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Fair enough. The real fun is about to begin, anyway.”
Adrian, however, isn’t so easily satisfied. “There’s something different about the prey this year,” he says slowly, his voice measured. His eyes shift to the crowd below, scanning the women as they laugh and dance, unaware of what’s about to happen. “I’ve felt it. There’s a power among them... something I haven’t sensed before.”
My stomach tightens, but I keep my expression neutral. Adrian’s always been sharp. He’s not the type to ignore the details, and if he’s sensed Selene’s pull, this could complicate things.
"Power?" Lucien scoffs, his lips curling beneath the pale mask. “They’re just human. Weak. There’s nothing special about any of them.”
The dismissal in his tone grates against my nerves. Typical Lucien. Cold, detached, always so sure of his own superiority. I keep my expression unreadable, but my mind turns over his words. Human . The word used to hold weight, back when warlocks like us were at our prime. Now? It’s an illusion.
The truth is, our power has been fading. For centuries, warlocks like Ronan, Lucien, Adrian, and myself have fought to maintain the facade of strength, of dominance over the mortal realm. But the magic we wield comes at a cost—a terrible one. Every warlock knows it, whether they admit it or not. We burn through souls, using them like kindling to fuel our magic. It’s what gives us the ability to bend reality to our will, to manipulate the elements, to tear the very fabric of existence apart if we choose to.
But that magic is hungry. It takes and takes, and with each soul we consume, it corrupts us a little more. It taints our minds, warping our thoughts, making us more... like them . Feral. Unpredictable. It destroys everything around us, leaves us hollow, rotting from the inside out, and yet we continue to pay the price. We call it power, but it's a curse .
I glance at the other warlocks. Ronan’s barely contained fury, Lucien’s chilling calm, Adrian’s ever-calculating mind. They all know it, too, but they’ve made their peace with it. They’ll burn through their souls until there’s nothing left. They’ll take what they can from this Hunt, claim their prizes, and leave these women ruined in the process.
Because that's what happens. These humans... they will be hunted. Their souls will be claimed, devoured to fuel the warlocks' magic for a little longer. And after the Hunt, they’ll be left empty, hollowed out, marked by the magic that has ravaged them. Ruined for anyone else, for any other man. They’ll return to their lives, but they won’t be the same. They’ll carry the scars of this night, invisible yet ever-present, and no matter what they do, they’ll never feel whole again.
I know all of this. I’ve seen it countless times. And I’ve justified it, over and over, because this is the price of power. This is the game we play. But tonight, as I glance back at Selene, something gnaws at me. Her face, her eyes... there’s more to her than any of the others. There’s a spark inside her that hasn’t been touched by the darkness of this world yet. It makes me wonder if I’m willing to let her be torn apart like the rest.
I can’t afford to think that way. I shouldn’t. The Order is watching, and any sign of hesitation will be seen as weakness .
But Lucien’s words echo in my mind: They’re just human.
Not her , I think, and I swallow down the guilt that threatens to rise. I have to stay focused, play my role. Selene is different, yes. But the Hunt has rules, and I am bound by them as much as anyone else.
Adrian’s gaze sharpens as he turns to me, his eyes narrowing. “You must have felt it too, Damien. There’s more going on here than just the Hunt.”
For a split second, our eyes lock, and I know he’s testing me. He’s looking for a crack in my facade, a sign that I’ve felt what he’s felt. I can feel the suspicion hanging in the air between us, but I keep my tone measured, careful not to give anything away.
“The Order has chosen this year’s participants carefully, as they always do,” I say, deflecting. “If there’s something more, we’ll discover it during the Hunt.”
Adrian studies me for another long moment before nodding, though I can tell he’s not entirely convinced. He’s always been the one to look deeper, to question everything. But for now, he seems satisfied.
“Either way,” Ronan says, breaking the tension with a wicked grin, “it’s about time we get started. The sooner we begin, the sooner we can claim what’s ours.”
Lucien’s cold smile returns. “Indeed. I look forward to seeing who proves themselves this year.”
I glance at the three of them—Ronan’s raw aggression, Lucien’s icy control, Adrian’s quiet calculation— and I know that this year’s Hunt is different. There’s something stirring beneath the surface, something the others haven’t fully grasped yet.
Something about Selene.
I push the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. The Order is watching. The Hunt must proceed, and I have a role to play.
With a nod to the others, I step forward, preparing to address the crowd.