Chapter 4
Run for me
KADE
The rain doesn’t stop. It falls in endless sheets, heavy and thick, making the world look like a smudge of paint on a watercolor canvas. My boots sink into the mud with every step, and I curse under my breath, wiping a strand of wet hair from my face. I shouldn’t have to be out here.
This is a mess, a fucking mess, and I’m the one stuck with cleaning it up.
It’s beneath me.
I’m tired of dealing with this shit, and yet here I am, trudging through another goddamn problem that my brothers found a way to avoid dealing with. Galen’s dealing with the aftermath of the coven’s actions and Darius is either helping him or trying to knock his whore up.
I’ve been tracking the witch for days. Weeks technically.
The whole thing is a shitshow of epic proportions and I am through playing nice.
I hate every minute of this hunt, and not one thing about it fills me with anything close to joy.
It’s cold. I’m constantly damp. The wet air sticks to my skin like it wants to drown me, and when I find that little bitch, I’m going to make her pay for my discomfort.
Every. Single. Second.
The mud sucks at my boots and I press forward, the forest closing in around me.
It’s quiet, eerily so, except for the relentless drumming of rain on the canopy above.
The occasional crack of thunder cuts through the silence, a sharp reminder of the storm that hasn’t let up since I started this cursed trek.
It should have been Galen out here. Or Darius.
This should’ve been simple.
Find Zara, drag her sorry ass back to our mansion, and deliver her to the mercy—or lack thereof—of our order. But no. The stupid witch has to make it complicated. She had to run and hide and waste my fucking time.
And she is good at running and hiding.
My frustration threatens to simmer over as I grip the hilt of my blade, the cold steel grounding me in the storm of my thoughts.
The memories of the coven are still fresh in my mind, vivid like the edge of the dagger.
The way they screamed, begged for mercy, tried to use their pathetic spells to defend themselves.
It wasn’t enough. It never would’ve been enough.
They thought they could stand against us. Fool us. Manipulate us. Persuade us even.
They were wrong.
They all lied, covering for the witch who broke the sigil.
They protected the one who tore the fabric of order apart, even though they were using her.
Even though they were stealing her magic for themselves.
Even though they planned to trade her to a warlock for their gain.
The darkest witch’s face flashes in my mind, her terror mingling with defiance.
She lied to us like the rest, and we knew it.
The memory of her screams brings a smirk to my lips.
But it took this one a few days and she was the last to fall, and I almost felt sorry for her in the end.
Her mangled body barely looked human and it was almost a shame to break something that strong.
That fierce and devoted. Her agony was beautiful, and it was almost like she cared for the girl.
Truly cared, in the way she sacrificed herself and endured much more pain than she needed to as she brought the girl time to evade us.
She broke eventually, just like the others. They always do. Pain is a universal language, and I speak it fluently. It doesn’t matter how strong they think they are, how deeply they cling to their convictions. They all fall in the end.
Zara didn’t fall.
She ran.
She fucking ran and it’s a second crime to add to her record.
She didn’t just break the sigil; she defied us by escaping.
The girl’s proven that the witches can destroy the bindings that tie their magic to us and then gone, and now she’s trying to show one of them can outmaneuver one of us. One of the Senior Council.
And that’s why it had to be me who tracked her down.
Not because I’m the best tracker or the most ruthless hunter.
Not because I’m the one who’ll relish her pain the most, or make sure she suffers a world of unimaginable torment when I catch her.
I’m all these things, but I’m the one who finishes what I start.
I’m going to find her and then I’m going to make her regret every choice that led her to this point. That even made her think about taking the first step on this road. She’ll pay for every step she took away from the ruin she created. For every moment of inconvenience she’s caused me.
Her trail is faint, but it’s here. A hint of her magic lingers in the air, subtle traces of her presence etched into the forest. The chaos she leaves in her wake is like a thread pulling me forward and although it’s weak and frayed at the edges, it’s enough to follow.
The girl’s trying to cover her tracks, but she doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.
Another spark of frustration flickers in my chest as I push through some underbrush, ignoring the scratches as the branches claw at my clothes and skin. The witch is fast; I’ll give her that. Resourceful, too. But not enough. She can run, hide, try to outsmart me, but it won’t work.
It never does.
The storm eases as I crest a hill, the rain thinning to a drizzle.
The forest seems quieter now, the shadows deeper, the air heavier.
She’s close. I can feel it. The pull of her magic is stronger here, more concentrated.
She’s made a mistake, stayed in one place too long.
It’s going to be her downfall and I close my eyes, pausing to focus on the faint hum of energy in the air.
It’s a thread of fire woven through damp air, sharp and unforgiving.
It’s like a heartbeat, erratic and uneven.
It’s undeniably hers, like the smell of lavender and rosemary.
The forest holds its breath as I close my eyes, letting the sensation crawl under my skin.
Her magic is wild and untamed, a hurricane barely leashed, leaving traces in its wake like claw marks across the earth.
It calls to me, not with words, but with the unmistakable promise of defiance.
She’s close now—so close I can taste her fear, laced with the bitter tang of her stubbornness.
She knows I’m coming.
And she knows there’s no escape.
I move silently, weaving through the trees with deliberate steps, my senses honing in on the flickers of her presence.
The rain slows to almost nothing and the forest is a blur of gray and green, muted by the storm’s retreat.
The weather doesn’t matter and it won’t keep her safe or cover up her tracks. She can’t hide from me. Not forever.
My feet grow weary as I follow her trail, taking every twist and turn as the trace she’s left behind leads me through a labyrinth of shadows and undergrowth.
My patience thins with every step and her magic teases and taunts me, and I lick my lips in anticipation as it shifts.
It’s growing sharper and more focused, stronger even, drawing me toward a clearing up ahead.
And there she is.
Zara.
She’s crouched by a fallen tree, her hands working over a small satchel. Her silver hair clings to her face in damp, matted strands, her clothes muddy and torn. She’s smaller than I thought she’d be, somehow more innocent than a witch ought to be, despite her pitch black nails and pale white skin.
The girl looks like the prey she is—cornered, desperate, and painfully unaware that the hunter is already upon her. But there’s a fierceness in the way she moves, in the way her frame coils with tension, and I watch her as she lets herself take a free breath, shedding her worry as she exhales.
She’s exhausted. Vulnerable.
It’s perfect.
I take a step forward, careful not to make a sound, my blade glinting faintly in the dim light.
My fingers stretch and my magic ripples through the air, a subtle pulse that brushes against her senses.
She freezes, her head snapping up, her eyes scanning the surrounding forest. Their emerald dazzles, even among the greens of the woods, and for a split second, I almost fall under their intoxicating spell.
“Who’s there?” she calls, her voice steady despite the edge of fear beneath it.
I don’t answer. Not yet.
I’m relishing this game and I don’t want it to end so soon.
I step closer, letting the shadows cloak me. The anticipation is a slow burn in my chest, a delicious tension building with each passing second. I can feel her fear, taste it in the air, and it’s intoxicating.
“Show yourself,” she demands, her voice sharper now, laced with defiance. She dares to stand, her head turning left and right as she searches for me in the shadows. The girl is clever but not clever enough, and I conceal myself in the darkness, letting her panicked movements feed my excitement.
I chuckle softly, low and menacing.
“You’re in no position to make requests, Zara.” I laugh again and delight as she shudders. “Let alone demands.”
The girl stiffens as my presence floods the space around her, my magic overwhelming hers. Her eyes narrow as she scans the darkness, still trying to find me despite the discrepancy in our powers. She fails, and her heart races as the realization she’s out of her depth dawns on her.
Her fear spikes, and I revel in it.
“Who are you?” she screams.
I wait until the last echo fades into oblivion before answering. “You already know who I am, Zara.”
“A fucking warlock,” she spits and I refuse to take the bait. “One of the Senior Council, I assume?”
“Clever girl,” I reply, stepping closer, still cloaked in the shadows. My voice is calm, laced with just enough venom to make her flinch. “But you knew that already. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be running.”
Her hands curl into fists, and I see the faint glow of magic building in her palms. A warning. A threat. An amusing gesture that doesn’t come close to intimidating me.