Wintersfall

CHAPTER ONE

Sziveria, June 7th, 832 P.C.E. (Post-Cataclysm Event)

Old Helston locality

Chaos erupted in the wake of a bullet piercing a target secured to a giant oak tree. Birds squawked, taking flight in a mass exodus of feathers and trembling leaves. The satisfaction of another perfect shot failed to ease the fiery pain in Katria Nachemir's side from the rifle's recoil. A side effect of not being healed enough to practice.

The exercise provided a much-needed distraction, but the ache brought a reminder of the devastation she attempted to escape. Tears burned her eyes, and with a quick breath, she pushed on, loading two more bullets into the bolt action chamber.

Shooting at a target wouldn't change anything. Her mother and sister were still dead, buried in what would now become a family cemetery. A bullet wound would forever mar her body. Escaping was nothing more than a mental game now. Anytime she looked down at herself, the nightmare would be made real again.

The gunman who stole their lives remained elusive, the reason for the fatal attack unknown. Focusing her pain on something productive was all Katria could think to do. Sitting in the too-quiet house with her despairing father wasn't an option anymore. At some point, perhaps hours after the massacre, he'd forgotten he had one daughter left alive. Katria couldn't take being ignored any longer.

The target became the manifestation of her pain, and the bullet a means to end it. Taking a long, slow inhale, she wrapped her hands around the gun. Her fingertips formed a connection with the rifle. All the working mechanisms became a map in her mind, while the wind blowing across her skin became an adversary. Without effort on her part, the calculations flowed through her.

Before she could pull the trigger again, a twig snapped behind her. She swung around and took aim on the stranger before he moved another step. His hands flew into air. Strong morning light cast his face in sharp relief, drawing attention to a firm jaw, high cheekbones, a patrician nose and a mouth that didn't look to smile often.

"I'm just here to talk," he stated in a deep, soothing voice, his foot lifted midstride. "My name is Ryan Voklane, I work with the First Intelligence Office."

Katria didn't lower the weapon or allow her surprise to show. The FIO Guardian was a long way from home. "Are you here about my mother and sister?"

He slowly removed a tan ivy cap he'd been wearing, revealing neatly combed pale blond hair. He lowered his foot and sank into a non-threatening, relaxed stance. "No, local enforcement is handling that, I believe."

Anger flared. Somehow, Katria managed to keep her temper in check. "And getting nowhere. It wasn't a local murder."

"I'm sure you're aware of your father's past. They may never find who killed them," he said gently.

Fresh tears burned, and she looked away from the pity in his silvery blue eyes. "Then what do you want to talk about?"

"You."

That brought her attention back. "Me?"

"Yes. Do you mind lowering your gun?"

Katria looked him over. Though broad-shouldered and fit, his neatly pressed black pants and jacket, well-tailored gray vest and red silk scarf spoke of days spent in an office. There were no telltale bulges of a hidden gun or knife, at least from his front. If he opted to pull something from his back, she'd be quicker. She decided he likely wasn't much of a threat and lowered her gun. "You're from Haven City?"