Defying Destiny Read online

  secret died with them.” None of this made

  sense. They’d had fifteen years of peace,

  and now, some silver-sword-wielding

  Huntress invades their territory. How had

  she discovered their weakness? Chance?

  Cort’s widow, Rella, wrapped a thick

  robe around his mother’s shoulders.

  “Here, Stacia, you’ll catch cold.”

  Stacia accepted the robe to cover her

  nakedness and rose from her crouched

  position. She stared down at the grave of

  her eldest son for a long moment. “It is

  your responsibility to do something about

  this, Nash,” she said in a wooden tone. “I

  will leave the method up to you. You have

  twenty-seven days until the next full

  moon.”

  Nash nodded. As a Wolf Guardian, it

  was Nash’s responsibility to ensure the

  safety of his pack. He’d been the first in

  over five hundred years to be born into the

  pack without the curse of the full moon.

  He had all the benefits of his species. He

  could shift from Wolf to human form

  effortlessly. He was essentially immortal.

  Powerful. Long-lived. However, the curse

  placed upon his people did not affect him.

  He was the only Wolf who did not go mad

  under the glow of the full moon. For this

  reason, tremendous responsibilities fell on

  his shoulders.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he promised.

  “Wolf Hunter or not, she won’t slay

  another of our pack.”

  His mother turned her back to him then,

  walking slowly towards the village

  hidden within the dense forest. He knew

  she was dying inside, but as leader of the

  pack, she was forced to remain strong. He

  wished she would yell at him, hit him, hurt

  him. Anything would be better than her

  quiet acceptance and feeble demands.

  “Uncle Nash.” His niece, Carsha,

  tugged on the sleeve of his leather trench

  coat. She was in her human form now that

  the moon had set and she could control her

  shifting. He squatted down in front of her,

  stroking her dark gray hair from her cheek.

  “Why did you put Daddy in the ground?”

  she asked, amber eyes wide with inquiry.

  “He’ll be all dirty when he wakes up.”

  Death was such a rare thing in their

  pack. Elder Wolves, those nearing three

  hundred years in age, disappeared when

  they felt they’d become too frail to offer

  any value to the pack. The elders never

  returned

  because

  they

  poisoned

  themselves with silver. His kind was

  immortal, but they did age, albeit slowly.

  Three hundred years was long enough to

  grow weary of living and ritual suicide

  was considered an honorable death by his

  pack. Nash had no words to comfort the

  young girl or to explain a senseless death.

  He had only confronted its heartrending

  burden himself once before, when the

  Hunters had slain both his father and

  grandfather fifteen years ago in a battle

  meant to ensure the slaughter of his people

  would end.

  “Carsha,” he said, his voice hollow,

  “your daddy won’t wake up.”

  She looked confused. “But Uncle Nash

  —”

  “Come, Carsha,” her mother said

  gently. She held her hand out to her small

  daughter. “Let’s go home. It’s late.” Rella

  refused to look at Nash or acknowledge

  his presence.

  “ I wanna see my daddy,” the little girl

  murmured, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Carsha!” her mother snapped.

  Carsha trotted over to her mother and

  took her hand, silent tears spilling down

  her cheeks as the pair of them headed for

  the village. Cort’s nine-year-old twin

  sons, Lark and Lord, shifted from their

  human forms back into white wolves and

  followed behind—tails limp, heads low.

  “I want to see your daddy, too,” Nash

  whispered to Carsha’s small, retreating

  form.

  The scent of freshly turned dirt hung

  heavy in the air. Nash looked down at

  Cort’s grave. The black earth blurred out

  of focus. Staring despondently, he was

  unaware of the passing time until a new

  day streaked the sky with orange and pink.

  He stepped forward and used his

  pocketknife to carve the name Cort into

  the tree beside his father and grandfather’s

  names. When he had finished, he traced

  the letters with his fingers.

  Brother.

  He couldn’t really be dead. It wasn’t

  possible. Cort had always been the

  likable, outgoing one. Easy to smile. Easy

  to laugh. Friend to everyone. Unguarded

  with his love. An attentive husband. A

  doting father. He had only been a hundred

  and thirty, not even half way through his

  probable lifespan. Nash had always felt

  so washed-out beside his gregarious

  brother, but he would gladly forfeit his

  own life to have him back. He’d had a

  wife. Children. Nash had no one. And

  now that his brother was gone, he had less

  than no one.

  Unable to express the depth of his grief

  in his human form, Nash removed his coat

  and dropped it on the ground. The rest of

  his clothes followed and once naked, he

  took his other form. Fur blacker than the

  night, with a white patch across his left

  eye in the shape of a crescent moon, the

  Wolf sat at the foot of the mounded dirt,

  lifted his snout to the sky and howled his

  anguish to the trees of the forest.

  CHAPTER 2

  Maralee thrashed in her sleep, unable

  to pull herself from the nightmare.

  “Stay here, children. Don’t come out

  no matter what happens. Do you

  understand?”

  “Yes, Mama,” Maralee promised.

  “Leland?” her mother prompted

  Maralee’s older brother.

  “Why can’t I fight too?” Leland

  asked, a sour look on his young face.

  Smiling gently, his mother stroked his

  blond hair. Leland twisted away from his

  mother’s pampering. Mother and son

  looked alike—blond hair, blue eyes.

  Maralee resembled her father—raven

  hair, gray eyes. She wished she looked

  more like her fair mother. Mother was

  like an angel. Radiant.

  “You are still too young,” Mama said

  with a gentle but firm tone. “Another few

  years and you’ll be ready.”

  Maralee gasped when a series of

  howls carried into the house. The Wolves

  were close. It seemed odd they had come

  here, as if asking for death. The moon

  was not yet full. The Wolves had never

  made an appearance on any other night

  of the lunar cycle before. Mother

&n
bsp; glanced over her shoulder towards the

  parlor door, and then looked down at her

  children again. “Stay here. I’ll be back

  for you soon.”

  “I’m not a baby, Mother,” Leland

  shouted. “I’m ten years old.”

  She smiled at him again before

  closing the trapdoor. Maralee heard the

  flop of the carpet as it was thrown over

  the trapdoor and the scrape of a

  decorative table above them. They were

  safe here, but it was dark beneath the

  house. Trembling, Maralee reached for

  her big brother’s hand, but he was

  already climbing the wooden stairs.

  “You can stay here like a little mouse

  hiding in the crawl space,” Leland said,

  “but I’m going to help the Hunters.”

  “Leland! Mother told us to stay

  here.”

  “I’m tired of her babying me. I can

  use a sword almost as good as father

  can.”

  “Cannot,”

  Maralee

  whispered.

  Father trained both of them to use a

  sword on a daily basis, but neither was

  ready to fight a Wolf. “If you go, I’ll tell

  on you.”

  Leland huffed. “You’re such a

  coward.”

  Leland pushed against the trapdoor,

  putting his shoulder into the motion, and

  the table above crashed to the floor. A

  flash of light illuminated the crawl

  space. Leland grunted as he dragged his

  body through the narrow space beneath

  the carpet. The door dropped shut and

  Maralee was alone. The darkness moved

  closer. The house moved further away.

  She shrank. So small. A frightened, timid

  mouse.

  Maralee sat amongst the cobwebs

  against a pillar of support stones and

  stared into the blackness towards her

  home. A long, low howl pierced the air

  and Maralee shuddered. The crash of

  breaking glass came from everywhere at

  once.

  Growling. Snarling.

  A woman screamed. Mother?

  Leland’s footsteps thudded across the

  floor above as he sought his first real

  battle.

  Unable to blink, Maralee listened to

  the chaos above her. The cries of the

  people she loved were silenced as the

  Wolves tore every human in the house

  apart—all but her, hiding like a coward

  in the crawlspace.

  Once the sounds stopped, it couldn’t

  have been less than ten lifetimes later,

  Maralee gathered enough courage to

  climb out of the trapdoor. The floor was

  scattered with fragments of glass. Cold

  air blew through the jagged-edged holes

  of the broken windows. Concentrating on

  the damage to her lovely home, Maralee

  stumbled over her brother’s mauled body

  just inside the parlor door. She looked

  down and blank, blue eyes stared up at

  her. The condition of his body was

  horrific—incomprehensible. Pieces of

  him were... missing.

  Leland... Maralee closed her eyes and

  shook her head. No. No. No! If she

  denied it, it wasn’t true. It wasn’t true.

  Heart thudding, Maralee covered her

  mouth and fled to the front of the house.

  Mama and Father would be able to help

  him. Fix him. Fix Leland. They never

  failed their children.

  Maralee found other members of the

  Decatur family scattered around the

  foyer. Her grandfather, two uncles, an

  aunt, several cousins, all of them had

  their throats torn out and the same blank

  look on their faces. The floor was

  decorated with a discordant pattern of

  macabre, bloody paw prints. Near the

  front door lay her mother. Her radiance

  extinguished. Her beautiful blond hair

  saturated with blood.

  “Mama!” Maralee turned away.

  Shapes blurred behind her tears. She was

  shrinking again.

  I’m so small. I can’t help her. I can’t

  help anyone.

  Her brother’s voice echoed around

  h e r . Coward. Coward! Coward! She

  covered her ears, but it didn’t drown out

  his words.

  Too late. It’s too late.

  Maralee stumbled out of open the

  front door, fleeing the ghosts in the

  house, and tripped over another body

  lying across the porch. She pitched

  forward, tumbled down the steps and

  landed in the graveled drive on her

  knees. She sucked in a sob of pain and

  then froze. An enormous, black Wolf lay

  sprawled beside her.

  She shrieked, but it didn’t move.

  It was dead.

  Several others scattered across the

  drive and yard—dead.

  She struggled to her feet. No place

  was safe haven. The horror of death

  engulfed her.

  A metallic scrape behind her gave

  her heart pause. She turned her head

  slowly, eyes reluctantly seeking the

  source of the sound. The body she’d

  tripped over on the porch was her father.

  His sword, still clutched in his right

  hand, scraped across the marble

  doorstep as he attempted to lift it.

  “Father!”

  She spun on her heel and raced up

  the steps to kneel beside him. Her

  salvation. Father would protect her. He

  would

  make

  things

  better.

  Fix

  everything. Fix Leland. Fix Mama. Take

  the fear. The pain. The terror. Her faith

  in Father was as infallible as his sword

  wrought in solid silver.

  He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Like

  the other members of her family, his

  throat had been ripped out. His silvery

  eyes locked with hers and he handed her

  his bloodied sword. Maralee took the

  weapon and cradled it against her

  narrow chest. It was heavy. The weight

  of her world rested upon its blade. But

  her father’s strength radiated from the

  sword and gave her hope.

  “What should I do, Father?” she

  asked, afraid to touch him.

  There was so much blood. None of it

  in his vessels.

  Father never answered her. His face

  went lax and he flew with the angels.

  From behind, a vicious growl alerted her

  to danger.

  Maralee sat up abruptly, instantly

  awake. She took a deep, shuddering,

  breath and collapsed back on the lumpy,

  inn pillow. Every night for the past fifteen

  years, the same dream of her past

  interrupted her sleep. At times, she was

  grateful for it. It never let her forget why

  she hunted Wolves. Why they must all die.

  She would not rest until every one of them

  was extinguished.

  She had failed so utterly in her duty the

  night before. She’d only slain a solitary

  Wolf. Only one. That ignorant man, N
ash,

  had shut her in a shed. How dare he

  interfere with her destiny? Then he

  seemed to mourn that horrible Wolf.

  Strange fellow. Definitely strange. She

  hoped she saw him again, just so she

  could tell what she thought of him and his

  damned meddling. Now she’d have to

  wait an entire month before she could

  destroy the rest of that pack of soulless

  monsters.

  The sun had barely risen, but Maralee

  knew she would be unable to go back to

  sleep. She tossed the covers aside and

  rose from bed. She rummaged through her

  knapsack and gathered clothes and

  toiletries for a bath, then journeyed to the

  end of the hall and filled the tub with cold

  water from the hand pump. Several

  steaming kettles sat upon the radiator. She

  added the hot water to her bath before

  refilling the kettles and returning them to

  the heater.

  Her bath was cool, but it was better

  than washing up in a partially frozen

  stream as she had while traveling by hired

  sleigh. She thought she’d never arrive at

  this secluded village. She really needed to

  get herself another horse. Wolves had

  killed her last mount two months ago and

  she just couldn’t bring herself to get

  another yet. It seemed disloyal to replace

  Sully so soon after she had failed to

  protect him.

  Maralee washed with soap and

  fragrant shampoo, and then added more

  hot water to the tub from the kettles. It

  wasn’t like her to lounge in a tub of warm

  water, but she found it soothing. She had

  almost drifted to sleep when someone

  rattled the doorknob.

  She sat up hastily with an awkward

  splash. “Someone’s in here!”

  “Apologies, miss,” the gravelly voice

  of the innkeeper called through the door.

  “I was wanting to tell you that breakfast is

  being served down in the dining hall.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Maralee called. “I

  shall be down directly.”

  Footsteps faded away from the door

  and Maralee rose from the tub. It took her

  a while to figure out how to drain the tub

  with the siphoning hose, which ran

  outside. It was nearly a half an hour

  before she was dressed in black woolen

  breeches and white blouse, and on her

  way

  downstairs

  for

  breakfast

  in

  stockinged feet.

  She found the dining hall was more

  like a dining closet. Two square tables

  were squeezed into the tiny room with

  eight, unoccupied chairs. The dark wood