Forsaken by the one person who was supposed to love her unconditionally, Red must brave the magic and monsters of the Wylds to find her true place in the world.
*****
Plague...
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"Holy Goddess," someone breathed behind him.
Hunter did not know which of the twins had spoken, whether it was Bradon or Kadon who'd shifted to express their sheer disbelief. He supposed it did not matter, when both of their voices set his teeth to grinding; when their relentless competition over the years had them constantly -- and quite literally -- going at each other's throats. His father, Rogan, was openly delighted by their heated rivalry; probably even took the credit for engineering it, as the old dog had certainly done his best to fan the flames over the years. It was likely a strategy to hone their killing instincts, to raise each other to new heights of violence.
And it had worked, Hunter had to admit, but took grim satisfaction in the knowledge that his father wasn't as omniscient as he thought. Hunter had hated the twins for years; since they were children, long before their cruelty caught his father's eye. Every flash of their yellow eyes brought up that old, festering rage, and he remembered all the times he'd wanted to squash them underfoot, or peel the hides from their backs -- if only to make them understand what they did to all those bugs for amusement. He was still prone to daydreaming about prying their limbs off, as recompense for all those butterflies that needlessly lost their wings.
The bugs had only been the beginning.
Deep down, Hunter knew the twins would only respond to violence. That it was the only way to make those selfish, soulless bastards feel a flash of empathy for the creatures they delighted in hurting, simply because they could.
But he shook his head, clearing his thoughts of blame and hate. He had committed many violent acts in the name of his father, and though he did not delight in them, that feeling did not absolve him of responsibility or guilt. Just as he had not delighted in shunning Red Moon, the sickly ward of the Blood Moon Pack, despite the threads of fate that had woven their souls together. One look at her gaunt face, her gangly legs and sunken eyes, and he had known her to be his. And known that despite her fiery temperament, despite the better judgement of the Night Goddess, Red was not fit to rule beside him.
So he'd ended it, nipping it in the bud before it could even truly begin. And he'd mourned the loss of his mate, his perfect match. Not Red, per say, but the ideal he'd always harbored in his heart; that out there, waiting for him, was a woman as strong, proud and noble as she was beautiful. His perfect match in every way.
A little part of him regretted ending things with Red, if only because it had led to this. An urgent summons to the healing hut, once again interrupting his time with Bethany. His father, having gathered enough strength to shift back at last, had gripped Hunter by the lapels of his jacket and commandedhim to go. To take his most loyal men -- Gordon and the twins -- and search the village for Red Moon. To bring her back to the healing hut.
When Hunter had tried to argue that Red probably wanted nothing to do with him -- and sheepishly explained why -- his father had merely blanched. And then dealt him a ringing blow across the cheek, snapping his head to the side.
