Defying Destiny Read online

  Defying

  DESTINY

  OLIVIA DOWNING

  Copyright © 2012 Olivia Downing

  Cover art by Olivia Downing

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1463764537

  ISBN-13: 978-1463764531

  Chapter 1

  Breath pluming, exposed flesh stinging

  in the biting wind, the lone figure turned

  up the thick, fur collar of her cloak and

  continued through the sleeping village.

  Maralee’s boots crunched through the

  snow’s icy crust as she patrolled the

  deserted roads. The leather gauntlets on

  her lower arms protected her from Wolf

  bites, but not frostbite. She flexed her

  hands to maintain dexterity and blew a

  warm breath on her stiff fingers, before

  returning her hand to the familiar hilt of

  the sword at her hip.

  The night was uncommonly quiet, even

  for the dead of winter. Wild creatures

  dared not venture out on a crisp, clear

  night such as this, when the moon was full.

  Soon the Wolves would invade the

  village, leaving behind a wide swath of

  human decimation. Something about the

  orb of glowing light ignited a blood lust in

  the creatures. The packs partook in a

  frenzied feast of human flesh once every

  twenty-eight days and so the lady hunter

  watched, and waited, and kept her sword

  at ready.

  Maralee did not know the people of this

  village; had never laid eyes on any except

  the innkeeper. She had arrived in

  Sarbough by hired sleigh only hours

  before, having traveled from the distant

  village of Relwood. She was not aware if

  the people of this village were of strong

  character or weak, but this did not matter.

  A person was a person no matter their

  qualities and a Wolf was, at its very core,

  a monster.

  A faint crunch gave Maralee pause. She

  listened intently, but heard only her own

  ragged breaths. A strong presence lurked

  behind her and instinct was a trusted ally.

  She spun around, drawing her sword in

  one fluid motion. Holding the long, sliver

  blade before her in both hands at her

  waist, she scanned the lane, finding

  nothing there but crisscrossing sleigh

  tracks and footprints in the snow.

  “A dangerous night for a stroll, little

  miss,” a deep voice reverberated from the

  shadows.

  Maralee pivoted in the direction of the

  voice, her heart hammering. The man

  pushed away from a wall and stepped into

  the wide lane. He was tall with midnight

  black hair except for a white lock that

  draped over his left eye. His long coat

  accentuated the broad cut of his shoulders

  and chest. With the moon to his back,

  Maralee could not make out his features,

  but something about him made the hairs on

  the back of her neck stand on end. She

  took a step backwards despite herself. She

  faced packs of vicious Wolves fearlessly,

  but human villains were a different matter.

  His hand disappeared into a pocket and

  Maralee lifted her sword, shifting from

  defense to offense.

  “I warn you, sir,” she said, her lilting

  accent identifying her as native to northern

  Dubwar. “I know how to use this.”

  “I never doubted it.”

  Was he mocking her?

  The man drew his hand from his pocket

  and brought something to his mouth. A

  flame lit his features and Maralee found

  him young despite the lock of white in his

  untamed, collar-length hair. The flame

  died and the tip of his cigarette glowed

  red in the darkness as he inhaled deeply.

  “Smoke?” he offered, reaching into his

  pocket again.

  “I do not partake in sinful pleasures.”

  He made a sound of amusement and

  drew the cigarette away from his mouth.

  “Pity.” He took another drag before

  tossing the cigarette into a snow bank. It

  extinguished with a small hiss. “I don’t

  recall seeing you around here before. Do

  you have a place to stay?”

  “I have a room at Smithy’s inn,” she

  blurted, then bit her lip, too late to catch

  her slip.

  “I’ll walk you back,” he said, taking a

  step closer. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Because I didn’t offer it.” She returned

  her sword to its sheath with a faint

  scraping sound. She wasn’t prepared to

  bring harm to a human anyway—she

  exterminated vermin, not people. “If

  you’ll excuse me.”

  She turned to continue her patrol, trying

  to convince him, if not herself, that she

  found his presence trifling.

  The persistent man fell into step with

  her. She paused once more, looking up

  into his eyes for signs of misdeeds. His

  eyes, a pale shade of brown— amber—

  had an unsettling, feral quality. Catching

  the moonlight, they almost glowed, like an

  animal’s. He smiled at her crookedly, and

  her heart gave an unexpected lurch. She

  became conscious of his height, which

  must have been several inches over six

  feet, as she did not reach his shoulder. The

  aroma of tobacco and oiled leather, along

  with the earthy scent of his body,

  surrounded her. Was it possible for

  someone to smell dangerous? Her

  thudding heart believed so.

  “If you insist on taking a midnight stroll

  on the night of the full moon, then I insist

  on escorting you,” he said.

  “I have neither need, nor want of an

  escort, sir.” She picked up her pace again.

  “I’m Nash.” His hand touched the small

  of her back to direct her around a deep rut

  in the lane.

  At his light touch, her heart faltered and

  began to race. She glanced up at him

  again, puzzled by this unwarranted

  reaction. He graced her with another

  mischievous smile. A blush crept up her

  throat and spread over her face like fire.

  She ducked her head and rushed forward,

  moving beyond his bewildering touch.

  “You are a particularly obstinate

  female.” He easily caught up with her

  again, as his stride was longer than hers.

  She stopped abruptly and glared up at

  him. How dare he insult her!

  “Will you just leave me be?” she said.

  “Once I have returned you safely to

  your lodging.”

  Maralee growled in frustration. “See

  here, you—”

  “Nash.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “See here, Nash,”

  she said. “I am not the da
msel in distress

  you take me for. I came to this village for

  a reason and nothing you say or do will

  dissuade me from my purpose. I am well

  aware of the dangers that befall villages

  on the night of the full moon. I am a Wolf

  Huntress by trade and you needn’t concern

  yourself with my welfare.”

  This seemed to ruffle his calm. “Wolf

  Huntress? You kill Wolves?”

  “Yes. I have come to protect this

  village from an unusually large pack and

  my job would be a lot easier if you would

  just go away. I require strict concentration

  and do not wish to be responsible for your

  safety during the slaughter.”

  He took her by the arm, his touch no

  longer gentle, but punishing. He turned her

  in the direction of the inn and forced her to

  move forward.

  “Let go!” she demanded.

  She pulled on her arm and tried to plant

  her boots in the crusted snow, but he

  dragged her along as if she were a

  ragdoll.

  “You’ll not be killing any Wolves

  tonight, Nameless Lady. It is my duty to

  protect this village.” He didn’t even slow

  as she continued to struggle against him.

  So this was the reason he persistently

  tried to ensure her safety? She infringed

  upon

  his

  territory?

  The

  village

  undoubtedly paid him handsomely to keep

  the Wolves at bay. She knew from

  experience a single Wolf carcass of a

  particular species returned a hefty bounty.

  His reasons did not excuse his bullying

  however. Maralee refused to submit to his

  tyranny.

  “I said let me go!”

  A long howl in the distance drew a gasp

  from Nash. He paused and listened to the

  answering howl seconds later.

  “They’re coming,” he said, his grip

  loosening.

  In his distraction, Maralee managed to

  pull free of his grasp. She dashed forward

  in the direction the Wolves’ calls without

  a backward glance. She drew her sword

  as she ran, her cloak flapping like an

  ominous, black bat.

  At the edge of town, Maralee halted

  between two wooden houses, readying her

  sword, listening, watching for any signs of

  motion. The Wolf pack emerged from

  between the trees at the end of the lane,

  their shining eyes glazed with madness in

  the light of the full moon. There were at

  least thirty of them—the largest pack

  Maralee had encountered. These weren’t

  typical wolves. They were nearly twice as

  large and much heavier, with a keen

  intelligence Maralee knew was their most

  dangerous asset.

  When the Wolves caught scent of her,

  they stopped their progression, wicked

  teeth bared, hackles raised. Growling and

  snarling, the lead Wolf charged forward.

  All four paws lifted from the ground as he

  leapt for Maralee’s throat. She slashed the

  beast across its middle with her solid

  silver blade. It dropped to the ground,

  instantly dead. More Wolves charged.

  Maralee lifted her sword, preparing for

  the onslaught of what promised to be a

  difficult battle.

  An arm grabbed her from behind and

  dragged her across the road. Her assailant

  shoved her into a shed and barred the

  double doors from the outside.

  “Hey!” she cried, banging on the door

  with the palm of her free hand. “Let me

  out of here! I demand to be set free this

  instant!”

  A snarl on the other side of the door

  answered her plea for freedom. Persistent

  claws scratched the door. A sniffing snout

  pressed against the crack at the base of the

  door. Maralee stabbed in that direction,

  but found no mark. The bar holding the

  door closed rattled. Soon, they would get

  into the shed. Little things like doors never

  stopped them. Maralee took a step

  backwards and held her sword at ready.

  At least, they could not sneak up behind

  her while she was inside.

  A long, loud howl sent a shiver down

  her spine. Holding her breath, she

  lowered her weapon and pressed her ear

  against the wooden door. That man, Nash,

  was out there amongst the monsters. And

  just who did he think he was? Locking her

  in a shed. Who else could be responsible

  this madness?

  There was no way the man would

  survive a battle with a pack that size. With

  fangs longer than her fingers, Wolves

  inflicted mortal wounds. Maralee wore

  gauntlets when she fought them for a

  reason. Circulating anecdotes suggested if

  bitten by a Wolf, a human would transform

  into one of the mad beasts. Maralee knew

  better. Multiple scars on her right arm

  proved these rumors false.

  Another howl. Wolves panted and

  sniffed beneath the shed door, but the

  scratching stopped. Another howl, a yip,

  and the beasts moved away.

  What was going on? Had the Wolves

  overpowered Nash? Were they invading

  the villagers’ homes even now? That

  couldn’t be the case. Things were too

  quiet. No screams of terror and pain. No

  growling, snarling chaos. None of the

  sounds of slaughter that had haunted

  Maralee’s nightmares for fifteen years.

  She had to get out of this shed before it

  was too late. She struck the door with her

  sword. The blade was too thin and the

  metal too soft to do more than scratch the

  wood’s surface. Using the hem of her

  cape, she wiped the blade clean of blood

  and sheathed it before searching blindly

  around the pitch-black interior of the shed

  for a more effective tool.

  Her hands found a rake in the darkness,

  followed by a hoe. A shovel. An ax. With

  a self-satisfied smile, Maralee took the ax

  in both hands and approached the door.

  She lifted the ax over her head and struck.

  A board splintered, leaving a crack. A

  band of moonlight crossed the floor. She

  pulled the ax free and hit the same

  location. The board broke off, leaving a

  space large enough for her arm. She

  dropped the ax on the floor, stuck her arm

  through the opening and lifted the slab of

  wood barring the double doors.

  Maralee pushed the doors open and

  rushed out into the frigid air. She drew her

  sword, searching for signs of the Wolves.

  Other than paw prints in the snow, all

  traces of them had vanished.

  Maralee caught sight of Nash kneeling

  over the Wolf she’d slain. Long fingers

  stroked the dead animal’s fur and eased

  the Wolf’s blank eyes closed. The man

  lifted the animal into his arms and sto
od,

  cradling the Wolf’s massive body against

  his broad chest. Its head lolled against his

  shoulder.

  Nash headed for the woods. He glanced

  back at Maralee just before disappearing

  into the trees and she recognized the

  shimmering on his cheeks as the

  moonlight’s reflection on the paths of his

  tears.

  Before the cursed full moon set, Nash

  buried his older brother, Cort, beneath the

  colossal tree that marked the graves of his

  father and grandfather. Their mother, a

  pale gray wolf, and his brother’s tawny-

  furred widow, leaned against one another

  for comforting support. Cort’s two young

  sons, both purest white, and his only

  daughter, the same gray shade as her

  recently deceased father, howled forlornly

  as they watched their uncle complete his

  unsavory task.

  That woman! Why hadn’t she just

  listened to him? Cort would still be alive

  if she had simply done what Nash had

  asked of her. And what kind of wicked

  sword did she possess that could slay a

  powerful being so effortlessly? It couldn’t

  be the same one used to murder his father

  and grandfather. The last of the Wolf

  Hunters had died fifteen years ago. How

  could another have arisen to prey upon his

  pack?

  As soon as Nash smoothed the rich soil

  over his brother’s grave, his mother

  approached and looked up at him, her

  large, amber eyes full of questions and

  pain. She whimpered and Nash sank to his

  knees to wrap his arms around her broad

  neck.

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” he whispered. His

  fingers burrowed into the thick fur at the

  back of her head as he tried to comfort

  her. “I was able to control the pack, even

  in their frenzied state beneath the curse of

  the full moon, but that woman…” Nash’s

  eyes narrowed as he remembered her

  wide, innocent-looking silver eyes, so

  contrary to her true monstrous demeanor.

  “There was no controlling her at all.”

  As the moon sank behind the distant

  horizon, his mother’s fur became smooth,

  warm skin and her arms moved to circle

  her youngest son’s waist. “You know who

  did this?” she asked.

  “I do not know her name, but I spoke

  with her. She couldn’t be dissuaded.”

  “But how did she do it? Nothing but

  silver can kill one of us.”

  “It only makes sense if her blade is

  silver. She claimed to be a Wolf Huntress,

  but I don’t see how she can be,” Nash

  said. “The Hunters are all dead. Our