Hunted (The Giving Chronicles #2)

NO STRANGER TO DEATH

GAbrIEL

“Little bird,” I breathe hoarsely, the words the only ones I can force past my lips. My sword is heavy in my grip, and I’m standing in the stone tunnels beneath Rose Palace, staring in equal parts disbelief and awe at the scene that has unfolded around me.

When I chased the king through the dark passageways running beneath his home, this was the last thing I expected to find.

Burning suns, Wren Nightingale, the gods-blessed with the glowing blue Mark that I was hunting across the kingdom, the one who I’ve been drawn to since the day we met, has magic.

It shouldn’t be possible. Everyone knows the royals are the only ones with magic.

True, full-blooded royals like my father, Andreas; his wife, Lucille; and my half brother, Severus.

All three of them have power, a gift from the gods.

A reminder of how things used to be. Up until a few minutes ago, I thought they were the only ones.

Another lie.

My gut churns, but I cannot deny the proof in front of me. Wren’s power is in the flames she wielded, the shield keeping her from me, and even in the dead bodies all around us. The soldiers she killed to protect the honored guests.

If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I never would’ve believed it.

Earlier, I’d raced through the corridors below Rose Palace, chasing my father and wondering if I was too late.

After careening around the corner, I’d found Wren along with another Given—the man who escaped from Mora—and the pair of twins currently hiding behind her.

They’d been cornered by the man I despise most in this world—my father, King Andreas Bloodthorn.

Ruler of the Kingdom of Myreth, blessed by the gods, and wearer of the Ruby Crown.

Anger had roared to life inside me when I saw the man I hate most in this world and his soldiers threatening Wren.

Mist, my familiar, had panicked at the intense emotions coming through our bond, but I hadn’t had time to explain what was happening.

Hadn’t had time to tell her why possessiveness unlike anything I’d ever felt was rearing its head within me or why I was so angry that my prey was about to be killed.

Because that’s all Wren was supposed to be. Prey.

Nothing more.

Horror had pooled in my chest and fear had dug in its cold claws into my heart when the king aimed a death blow at Wren. But the blow never met its target—Wren’s friend had thrown himself in front of the deadly magic.

He’d sacrificed himself for her.

There had been no time for relief. My father’s rage had been palpable, and the terror on Wren’s face had sent chills skittering down my spine.

Then a soldier stepped towards the twins. That had been the catalyst, the moment everything changed. Blue flames had exploded from Wren’s hand, killing the soldiers in a fiery blast while a shimmering barrier of the same color protected Wren and the girls.

And the king . . .

Burning suns save me. His eyes had filled with crimson rage, and fury had poured off him in waves when he realized he couldn’t break through Wren’s shield.

For all the monarch’s madness and strength and seemingly endless supply of magic, he hadn’t been able to do it. It might have been the first time he ever failed at anything.

Like the fucking coward I’d always known the king to be, he gave up when he realized he couldn’t defeat Wren. Abandoning the fight, he had vanished into the night, leaving us here in the cold, dark tunnels that stretch beneath the city.

Now Wren, the twins, and I are alone.

I can barely look at the honored guests.

My heart slams against my chest, making a valiant effort to break through the confines of my ribs, but it’s nothing compared to the pull deep inside me.

The draw has been present ever since I first met Wren, but it’s louder now.

More insistent. Urgent and impossible to ignore.

Wren is standing a few feet away from me, a statue save for her heaving breaths. Sky-colored flames wreathe her hands. She hasn’t said anything, hasn’t moved since the king vanished.

“Wren.” Her name is a prayer and a plea as it leaves my lips.

Those violet eyes widen. Esyn help me, but although we’re surrounded by death and danger, I’m drawn to her. Her eyes are as captivating as the day we met, even though everything else has changed since then. The logic-defying fire licking the stones between us is proof enough of that.

The flames stand a foot high, releasing blue sparks into the air. They lead to the translucent wall blocking me from Wren and the two other girls—the honored guests.

“Hunter.” Her Mark glows as bright as a star, and her breath hitches. The shield wavers before solidifying.

Wren takes a single step towards me, and suns save me, she’s all I can focus on. She looks over her shoulder to the twins, but almost as if she can’t help herself, as if she’s pulled towards me, too, her head turns back.

Once again, our eyes connect. It’s like a punch to my gut, a vise tightening around my lungs. All the air disappears from around me. The stone walls seem to close in, and I release a strangled breath.

The way I’m being drawn towards her as if there’s a hook in my belly that demands I touch her, is more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt.

Like it originated from the gods themselves.

Which is . . .

Impossible.

It shouldn’t be happening.

But like the flames on the floor, it’s undeniable.

I need to get closer to her like I need air.

My feet move of their own volition as if they can’t bear the fact that distance exists between us, and I step towards the blue flames. That rope yanking me towards her doesn’t care if I get burned.

But the pain never comes. The flames part as if they don’t want to touch me. As if they’re alive and they recognize me.

There’s no time to ask how this is happening. Wren’s mouth falls open, and she gasps. The sound reverberates all around us, and the tug in my gut nearly forces me to my knees.

And Wren’s Mark . . .

Rising fucking suns, that swirl is glowing brighter than all three moons on a cloudless summer night. It paints the stones in a blue sheen, eerily illuminating the dead soldiers scattered around us like charred corn husks.

I am no stranger to death. After all, the court in Myreth is soaked in blood. Death was as much a part of my upbringing as was hiding from the dangerous, blackhearted man who sired me.

I know death intimately. I have brought it about many times and witnessed it even more often, but this is different.

Not only because of where we are, but because this is Wren’s handiwork. The hands that healed me killed these soldiers, and she took their lives without touching them.

Wren sucks in a breath, and the sound resonates around us. We stare at each other through her shield, the depth of her gaze stirring something inside me. It feels endless, as if I could lose myself in her forever.

This doesn’t make any fucking sense. My mind swirls, and it feels like I have a thousand questions and not a single answer.

Seconds that feel like hours pass before one of the twins lets out a strangled sob. The sound is a knife, slicing through the rope drawing Wren and me together.

Wren hitches a breath, stumbling back as if she’s in pain. My eyes shift from Wren to the girls, and I stare at them. Now that I’m truly looking at them, similarities start to appear.

The slope of their noses and the arch of their identical brows resemble Wren’s.

It’s almost uncanny and can’t be a coincidence.

Wren is older than the teenagers, and curvier, but the more I look between them, the more I’m certain that these twins aren’t just anyone—they must be related to the gods-blessed.

Are they sisters? Cousins? I’m not sure, but their presence here strikes me as odd.

The blue wall flickers once, twice, then disappears altogether. The flames vanish a moment later.

“Birdie?” the twin who sobbed asks, the bottom of her pink dress stained red with blood. “What’s happening?”

The other girl raises a trembling finger, pointing at me. “Who is he?”

The questions snap me out of whatever trance had been cast over me.

All I’m left with is the desperate need to get out of these tunnels.

Part of being a Hunter is knowing when strategic retreats are appropriate, and this is one of those moments.

There is no doubt in my mind that the king will be back and Esyn only knows we need to leave before that happens.

“Introductions will have to wait,” I say gruffly. “We have to go.”

Every nerve in my body is vibrating, the urge to depart this wretched place growing stronger with each passing moment.

“We?” Wren stares at me incredulously as if I suggested we grow wings and fly out of here. The tone of her voice is bitter and at odds with the way she was looking at me mere moments ago.

“Yes. All of us.” It’s clear she won’t leave without the twins.

Tension coils inside me. Every moment we stand here talking is one we could be retreating.

“Absolutely not,” she counters sharply. “There is no ‘we’ here, Hunter. No ‘us.’ There’s the three of us and then there’s you. After everything you’ve done, why would you think I would come with you?”

A knife to the heart would hurt less than her words, and that also doesn’t make sense.

On one hand, I understand where she’s coming from. I know who I am and what I did. The rest of my life will be spent atoning for my sins. I had no idea that when I was hunting escaped Marked Ones, I was returning them so they could be killed.

On the other hand, we are in the capital and far too close to the bloodthirsty king to be debating this.

My chest fills with an anxious thrum, and I can feel Mist tugging on our bond. She’s looking for me, and I can picture her pacing the forests outside Rosebridge, wondering where I am.

Her panic seeps into me, and my next words come out sharper than I intended. “You don’t want to come with me?”

“Certainly not,” Wren retorts.