1. A Secret of Snow and Ruin

Chapter I

"Whatever you are physically...male or female, strong or weak, ill or healthy--all those things matter less than what your heart contains. If you have the soul of a warrior, you are a warrior. All those other things, they are the glass that contains the lamp, but you are the light inside. Whatever the color, the shape, the design of the shade that conceals it, the flame inside the lamp remains the same. You are that flame." - Cassandra Clare

•••
Alistair Wardwell

The feeling of a midnight breeze danced on my skin. The auroras were a while away but even across the lakes of The Northern Reach I could still see them clearly. In my home of Vrasail, bursting cities and freezing waters were at the forefront. The sky was never full of light or stars, only foggy mist and death creeping in each corner. I absorbed this foreign beauty in, knowing that tonight would only bring contempt and blood on my dagger. It was time to kill the Lycan and with a bounty on my head I couldn't afford to be indecisive about my further actions.

House Wolfe was weak and I was about to take out their greatest fighter and backbone in the blink of an eye. I studied, watched, and analyzed every waking movement that my target committed. She trained hours on end, never stopping until she perfected every motion in combat with her bow and arrow. She writes on thinned tree bark, spilling every soiled and unfiltered thought from her brain. She wore the same gowns and armor more than once for balls and festivals. She always watered the plants in her manor with a delicate touch. In that soulless manor, she stayed alone usually occupied with her thoughts and sometimes that baggage would tip off and spill from her eyes. Her maids never stayed too long because Lady Wolfe had always sent them home early before supper.

Through all the humanity I saw in her she was still like the rest of them. They were only full of hate and malice once the true parts of themselves were unsheathed from sheeps clothing. The blood they could spill once turned was lethal. These savaged beasts were a small problem in the plethora that I already had. If anything, I couldn't wait to present her heart to my mistress and get this over with. I did hate the killing, but Lycans were too tainted to filter my illicit beliefs. Not even pretty ones with amber eyes, a kind soul, and a warriors heart.

When it came to my mistress, nobody was a singularity. So, I follow orders and I do her tasks because if anything; I could be next.

The tavern I tracked from my targets location was called The Blue Retreat, a filthy bar full of dogs who drank like there was no tomorrow. Drunken customers staggered outside, laughing and not seeming to notice what I was from under my cloak. I raised my hood and with an instant that I stepped in that cesspool, blue glowing eyes gravitated towards me. They lingered as they went up and down to size me up. They immediately knew what I was, and the look of disgust on their faces was merely mutual.

I tore my eyes from the beasts and roamed the crowded room for her. I almost missed her in the depths on the tavern until I saw her mane of curly hair. She sat alone, closed off from the rest of the pack. Even from behind I noticed the scars and her clan tattoo. She had long lines from her murder count that cascaded down her arms from hunts and a heap of battles. I counted fourty previously. Now the number spiked with about five fresh silver burns. She was definitely skilled, maybe just as skilled as me. When I watched her hunt with that bow, her pointed ears peeled back at every sound. Her heart beat with a might that let me know that she took her craft seriously.

I respected that but through it all, I had to strip her down to nothing. As far as I was concerned she had no family, no name, no life, because at the end of this she'd be another victim of mistress and another life added to my long list.