Fallen Prey (The Hunted #1)

Chapter One

Melinda

Burrow Hills. What had once been a flourishing farming town, became only a random name mentioned by the local weather during a storm. In my twenty-two years living here, nothing like murder had ever happened.

However, here I stood. Toe to heel with the dead body of Agatha Oakland.

My left hand sought out the pendant that hung from my neck to ground myself.

My heart was pounding louder than a cicada as I struggled to grasp what I had stumbled upon.

Death wasn’t unknown to me, but never had I seen a body in such a state of trauma.

There was nothing accidental about the body before me.

Agatha was the town’s apothecary owner and with her business came the rumors of her dabbling in witchcraft. I knew better than to listen to them. Here in Burrow Hills , there was no such thing as witches or magic unless it was being preached as a sin from the Bible.

I wondered briefly if it was a sin to believe in magic as I looked at the corpse of the woman who had once told me fantastical tales. I wished there was some kind of magic to bring her back and find who would do such a monstrous thing.

I stared at the markings on Agatha’s body while the cross that was stabbed into her chest reflected the rising sun back at me.

A charred hole was all that was left of her chest, yet the cross remained stuck where her heart had once been.

It had been plunged into her with such force that the end was driven deep into the soft ground beneath.

Whoever had killed her had believed she was something demonic (insert em dash) so much so that they had killed her as if she was one.

My eyes didn’t miss the aged markings on her fingers that were once hidden by gloves or makeup. These tattoos weren’t the usual flowers or quotes, but ancient lettering that had blurred with time. Runes would better describe what was etched into her desiccated skin.

Her hair, once flaxen brown, was now gray. There was no life left in its strands.

It was a strange sight, as if I were staring at the body of someone much older and not that of the fifty year old lady who had once stressed about looking her age. If someone had told me this was Agatha’s mother, I would’ve believed that before I believed it was Agatha.

As the sirens sounded off in the distance, I knew my time here would be too short for any questions to be answered.

Deciding to give her some peace, I knelt to close her eyes as well as diminish the unnerving feeling they gave me.

It had honestly been disturbing to stare down into cold, lifeless eyes.

My own had avoided hers directly until the dull emptiness was covered by her eyelids.

I finally released the breath I had been holding, allowing it to escape my lips in a cloud into the early morning air. The chill now nipped at my exposed skin with my adrenaline sinking away, causing me to wrap my arms around myself to keep warm.

What had started as a morning run had now become more than I could’ve ever anticipated.

I had always kept to the treeline bordering the gravel lot that served as the trail’s parking area.

It was supposed to be safer, given the visibility to others.

Agatha hadn’t been so lucky. Some monster had taken that illusion of safety and ruined it.

The question of who was present in my mind, but lights of red and blue flashing behind me pulled my focus.

The cops had finally arrived. The closing of doors alerted me to their exit, and soon Chief Dorian Pierson stood beside me.

His daughter and I had been friends before she moved away to study Forensic Science in Texas.

He was a fatherly figure during my school years, but now we only saw each other in passing.

I doubt he had expected my call today to be so out of character for Burrow Hills.

He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, then gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I thought there was no way for a murder victim to be found in our town,” he sighed, remorse lacing his words.

His voice carried a southern accent, deeper and raspier than most. His salt and pepper hair appeared dark under the rising sun, brightening the green in his kind eyes. He was always a kind man, even when difficult.

“It’s Agatha.”

He removed the hat from his head to place it over his heart in respect for the deceased. “Poor Miss Oakland. Did you see anyone when you came here?”

“No, I was on a jog when I noticed something over here. I thought it was a coyote, but,” I drew a breath and looked back down.

“I was sorely mistaken,” I confessed. He gave another gentle squeeze followed by a pat before approaching Agatha with two other cops and the coroner.

I observed their approach, noticing the county badge on the coroner.

That must have been what took so long, I thought to myself as I watched the overweight man hunch over Agatha.

His bulging eyes assessed her, taking in every detail.

Then, as he squatted beside her and slipped on gloves, I heard him clicking his tongue in a manner that was caught between sympathy and amazement.

“Looks like she’s been dead for weeks, but this charring seems recent. I’d reckon within the past hour. You can still feel the warmth,” the coroner spoke, his gloved fingers touching the charred remnants of Agatha’s chest. “Feel it. It’s quite extraordinary.”

“I’m alright.” Dorian frowned before rising from his own squatted position. One of the trainees decided to don some gloves under the instruction of the county coroner. Together they poked and prodded the shell that used to be Agatha Oakland.

Seeing them snap photos and remove the cross made my stomach twist. Grasping onto my necklace again, I turned away from the scene.

“Will I need to answer any questions,” I inquired softly. The shock had left and now I remained there trembling slightly. I didn’t trust my voice to not do the same so I spoke lower than normal. Dorian had still heard.

“We might ask for some follow up later, but I’ve known you since you were in the womb.

You’re a good kid, Mel. I know you wouldn’t do something so terrible,” Dorian told me.

I nodded, eyes keeping away from Agatha’s body.

“Get home. You’ve been through a lot tonight.

Tell your father that I will have to cancel our fishing trip tonight. ”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. I mustered the courage to give one last parting look at Agatha before finally jogging back to my truck.

When I slipped inside, I let out a shaky breath while tears burned my eyes. My fingers ran over the steering wheel, feeling the grooves of the stitched leather. Squeezing the wheel, I took a deep breath as the tears began to blur my vision,

I hadn’t been necessarily close to Agatha, but her death was still enough to bring me to tears.

There had been a phase where I dipped into the fantasy book pool and Agatha entered my life then, feeding me stories of a place where vampires, witches, werewolves and all other supernatural creatures lived.

However, once I got into high school, I stopped visiting her for stories and delved back into my studies. Now they were gone, taken with her last breath and the beat of her heart.

I eventually got a hold on my emotions enough to turn the key in the ignition and began driving home.

Burrow Hills had very little paved roads and the ones it did have were mostly located in town.

All the residential neighborhoods were either dirt or gravel mostly due to how spread apart the houses were.

The drive home helped steady me as my beat-up truck rattled over the countless holes in the dirt road leading home.

Much like everything else in Burrow Hills, it was something you eventually got used to.

New people rarely came through—most didn’t even know we existed—so the only ones who ever complained about the roads or living conditions were the ones stuck in this forgotten town.

It took nearly half an hour to make it home, but when I finally pulled into the driveway, the sight of an unfamiliar car parked out front greeted me. And with it, a fresh wave of unease coursing through me.

I climbed out of the truck and hurried up the porch to see who it belonged to.

There I found a man in a navy blue suit stepping from the house wearing a victorious smile that made my blood run cold.

When he caught my eyes I let that chill in my blood gather in my stormy gray irises that were fixed on him.

My enjoyment from the flinch he gave from such a glare was short lived.

It unfortunately didn’t deter his cockiness.

“The land will be turned over to us by your father,” he said, all confidence.

“You can glare at me all day, sweetheart. Glares won’t change the inevitable.

” I stepped closer and jabbed a finger into his chest. These men sent here from the bank had taught me new ways I reacted to threats and I wondered how many ways they were willing to learn before someone took them seriously.

"It is our land, and it will always be our land.

" I dramatically raked my eyes over him, causing him to retract uncomfortably.

“I don't see any bags being packed or demolition commencing.” I gestured broadly to the two cars behind me. He remained silent a beat longer than necessary, as if his stoic silence meant something. I knew he had no real power until my father broke, and the Hardgraves didn’t break under pressure. We hardened.

“We will get his signature. It’s only a matter of time.”

“You will not get my father's signature on any of your documents.

Even on his deathbed, he will refuse, as he has continued to do to your little group for the past ten years.

I shall inherit this land after he passes and then I will personally deal with you," I shot back at him, driving my finger into his chest with every sentence.

"And this farmland could use some good fertilizer. "