Chapter 3 – Billie
Three
BILLIE
The room they've stashed me in is a step up from the moldy cell but still a cage.
No windows. One door. Two guards posted outside like I'm some kind of flight risk.
Where the fuck would I go? My entire world consists of this compound and the mission they're sending me on.
I've been sitting on this narrow cot for what feels like hours, counting the wood grain patterns on the wall. Five knots in the plank above the door. Five more in the one beside it.
My obsession with fives keeps my mind from spiraling into what's coming next.
The door creaks open, and I tense, ready for whatever fresh hell they've cooked up. But it's not the Shepherd or my father or even more guards.
It's Vera.
She hovers in the doorway like she's not sure if she should come in or run. Her red curls are pulled back in a messy bun, and she's wearing her everyday training leathers instead of that big golden gown. The guards watch her with bored expressions, clearly not considering either of us a threat.
"Hey," she says, but the word sounds like a question.
"Hey yourself."
I don't move from the cot. Part of me wants to leap up and hug her, pretend nothing's changed. The other part remembers the look on her face during the Unmasking. That mixture of pity and relief that it wasn't her, and the way she turned from me.
She steps inside, and the door closes behind her. We stare at each other for a long moment, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on us.
"You stink," she finally blurts out.
The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. "Yeah, well, that's what happens when they let you rot in a dungeon for a month."
"It hasn't been a month." She moves closer, wrinkling her nose.
"They weren't exactly providing spa services down there, either way."
She shakes her head, some of the awkwardness melting away. "Come on. They told me to get you cleaned up."
"They?" I stand, stretching muscles that have been cramped for too long. "Since when are you on prisoner duty?"
"Since my best friend turned out to be..." She trails off, color rising in her cheeks.
"An omega." I finish for her, the word still tasting like poison. "You can say it. Everyone else has."
She purses her lips and leads me through a door across the hall I noticed from when they brought me in here, into a small bathing chamber. Steam rises from a copper tub already filled with hot water.
"Strip," Vera orders, already gathering soaps and oils from a shelf.
I peel off the tattered remains of the training leathers they allowed me to change into before leaving the dungeon, trying not to think about how this might be the last time I wear them.
The water scalds my skin as I sink into it, but I don't care.
I'd scrub my own skin off at this point if I could.
Vera works in silence, scrubbing my back with efficient strokes.
Her hands are gentle as she works the tangles from my hair, and I close my eyes, pretending I'm a child again and my mother is untangling my unruly hair.
Back when my biggest worry was whether I'd master the new knife technique before evaluation day, or if Galen Clarke was going to tattle on me for pushing him in the dirt after he pulled on Vera's hair.
"Why are they bothering?" I murmur as she rinses my hair, watching the dust and dirt from days in the dungeon gray the water swirling down the drain. "If they're just going to throw me to the Fae anyway."
"I suppose even the Fae have standards," she says, her tone bone dry.
"Thanks. Very helpful."
She dumps another pitcher of rapidly cooling water over my head, and I sputter. Heated pipes are a luxury reserved for humans living in the cattle pens offered by the Fae.
A luxury not worth the cost of your soul.
"You're welcome."
We fall into silence again and once the water is finally running clear, I step out of the tub.
Vera offers me a towel that's seen better days and I take it, wrapping myself in the threadbare cotton.
It's worn and comfortable, like this place that's about to be ripped away from me.
She sits me on a stool and starts working a comb through my wet hair, the familiar rhythm almost soothing.
"Is it true?" she asks quietly, her eyes finally meeting mine in the mirror. "Are you really... what they say you are?"
"You saw my resonance. Same as everyone else."
"I know, but..." She pauses, her hands stilling in my hair. "How could you not know? All these years, and you never suspected?"
There's no mistaking the accusation in her tone. The suspicion tinged with hurt that I've been keeping such a monumental secret for most of our lives.
I spin around to face her, anger flaring hot in my chest. "None of us know what our resonance is until the ceremony. That's the whole fucking point of the Unmasking."
"I know, I know." She holds up her hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. It's just... hard to believe. You, of all people."
If I didn't know better, I'd think there was a hint of jealousy in her voice, but I dismiss it.
"You're telling me." I turn back around, letting her resume her work.
Her fingers are gentle as she sections my hair, beginning an intricate braid. "Are you really going to go through with it?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"There's always a choice."
"Right. I could refuse and they could execute me. Probably punish my father, too. Or I could try to run and they could hunt me down like an animal. Great options."
She secures the long braid with a leather tie and lets it drop down my back, then moves to a trunk in the corner. "What do you think it'll be like? The university?"
It's an obvious change of subject, but I'm grateful for it. I consider this as she pulls out various pieces of clothing. "Ostentatious and ruthless. Like everything else about the Fae."
"Here." She holds up a simple tunic and worn leather pants. "You need to look presentable but not... prepared. They want it to seem like you were cast out with nothing."
"Because I'm about to be."
She flinches but doesn't argue. We work in silence as I dress, the clothes fitting well enough. They're not my training leathers, but they'll do. She adds a cloak that's seen better days and boots that have been resoled at least twice.
"There," she says, stepping back to survey her work. "You look..."
"Like a discarded hunter who's been living rough?"
"I was going to say beautiful, but sure. Let's go with that."
A knock on the door interrupts whatever I might have said. "Time's up," one of the guards calls.
Vera's face crumples a little. "I guess this is it."
"Yeah. I guess it is."
We hug, awkward and stiff. Decades of friendship reduced to this stilted goodbye. She pulls back first, not quite meeting my eyes.
"Good luck, Billie. I hope... I hope you find what you're looking for."
What I'm looking for is Prince Corvinus's head on a pike, but I don't say that. I just nod and follow the guards out.
They lead me through corridors I've never seen before, deeper into the compound's administrative heart. We stop at a heavy oak door, and one of the guards knocks.
"Enter."
My father's voice. I steel myself and walk in.
He's standing by a window that overlooks the training grounds, hands clasped behind his back. He doesn't turn when I enter.
"You didn't run," he says. Not a question.
"If you thought I would, you don't know me," I say bitterly.
He turns then, and I'm struck by how old he looks. When did those lines around his eyes get so deep? They soften as he looks at me.
"No," he says quietly. "You are your mother's daughter."
There it is. The first hint of pride I've ever heard in his voice, and it's over this.
He moves closer, each step measured, and the softness vanishes as quickly as it appeared. "The Fae are not like us, Billie. They play games within games. Trust no one. Not even the humans around them. Especially not them."
"I wasn't planning on making friends."
"Good." He stops just out of arm's reach. "Remember your training. It may serve you in unexpected ways."
"My training was for killing, not..." I can't finish the sentence.
"Your training was for survival. Everything else was just application."
We stand there, the space between us feeling like miles. Then, shocking me to my core, he steps forward and pulls me into a hug.
I freeze. I can't remember the last time my father hugged me. Maybe when I was twelve, the night we learned about my mother, but it was all too much of a blur to be certain. His arms are strong around me, and he smells like weapon oil and pine smoke.
"Come back," he whispers against my hair. "Complete your mission and come home."
The weight of those words hits me as I stand there, but they're not nearly as heavy as the realization that follows.
It's a pipe dream. Even if I manage to succeed at the task my mother failed and kill Prince Corvinus, I'll still return an omega. Would there even be a place for me here anymore? And as what? Certainly not a hunter.
Before I can respond, he's releasing me, stepping back with his usual stern expression firmly in place. "Go. They're waiting."
I stumble out, my mind reeling. Two hugs in one day. Must be a record.
The guards flank me again, leading me to what looks like a loading dock. An armored vehicle waits, engine running. The female guard, a new transfer I vaguely recognize from the training grounds, gestures for me to stop.
"Arms up," she orders.
I comply, and she pats me down with thorough efficiency. Her hands check every pocket, every seam, even the lining of my boots.
"You're sending me without weapons?" I ask when she's done. "How exactly am I supposed to complete my mission?"
She smirks, cold and knowing. "All you'll need is what's between your legs, omega. The rest you can figure out when you get there."
The words hit like a slap. I want to grab her by the throat, show her exactly what these hands can do with or without weapons. But I force myself to stay still. She's not wrong. That's the worst part. In their eyes, I'm not a hunter anymore. I'm just an omega. A tool.
They shove me into the back of the vehicle, and I'm grateful for the darkness. It hides the rage I know is written all over my face.
The ride is rough, the vehicle bouncing over uneven terrain. No windows back here, just metal walls and a single bench. I count the turns, try to map our route in my head, but after the twentieth switchback, I give up. They're taking a deliberately confusing path.
Hours pass. My ass goes numb from the hard bench. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven't eaten since yesterday.
Or was it the day before?
Time blurs when you're a prisoner.
Finally, the vehicle stops. The doors open, and late afternoon light floods in. We're in the middle of fucking nowhere. Trees stretch in every direction, dense and dark. The guards climb out, gesturing for me to follow.
"There," one of them points to a mountain in the distance, its peak shrouded in mist. "You know what's at the base."
The portal. The entrance to the Fae realm. Every hunter knows its location, even if we can't get close. The wards make sure of that and the creatures prowling these woods do the rest.
"You're leaving me here?" I look around at the wilderness. "I'll be dead before I make it halfway."
"Not our problem." The male guard starts back toward the vehicle.
"Wait." The female guard pulls something from her belt. A knife. Basic, utilitarian, barely fit for opening a letter. "Here."
I take it, testing the weight. It's shit compared to my usual blades, but it's better than nothing. "How generous."
She's already turning away when something pricks my neck. I spin, hand going to the spot, and find the male guard stepping back with an empty syringe.
"What the fuck did you just—"
Heat races through my veins, followed by a rush of adrenaline that makes my heart pound. The forest suddenly seems sharper, more vivid. Every sound, every scent intensified. Then, as quickly as it came, the sensation fades, leaving me dizzy and disoriented.
"What did you do?" I demand, steadying myself against a tree.
They're already climbing back into the vehicle. "Just making sure the hunters find their prey," the woman calls out.
Those sons of bitches.
The engine roars to life, and I watch them drive away, leaving me alone in the wilderness with nothing but a shit knife and whatever the fuck they just injected me with.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
I turn toward the mountain, calculating the distance.
At least fifteen miles through dense forest. In normal circumstances, I could make it in a few hours.
But these aren't normal circumstances. I don't know half of what's in these woods.
What I do know is deadly enough to send any sane hunter with a proper arsenal turning back.
The knife feels pathetically small in my hand as I start walking.
Maybe that's the real plan. Maybe the Shepherd never intended for me to reach the Fae at all and this is just an elaborate execution, letting the forest do what their laws won't allow them to do to a fellow hunter who hasn't outright refused their orders.
There are no clauses for one of our carefully guarded bloodlines producing an omega.
A branch snaps somewhere to my left, and I freeze. Something's watching me. I feel that prickle of awareness that years of training has honed to a razor's edge.
I grip the knife tighter and keep walking.
If I'm going to die out here, at least I'll die on my feet, moving toward my goal. It's what my mother would have done.
The thought brings no comfort as the forest closes in around me, dark and hungry and full of things that would love nothing more than to tear me apart.
Maybe that would be the better fate than whatever awaits me at Valemyre.