Murder/Death
Violence
Blood
Explicit Sex
Soul Bond/Shared Pain & Injuries
Mention of Multiple Gods
Sex Beside a Corpse
Chapter One
The villagers always speak his name like a dark prayer they hope no god hears.
The Cursed One.
A fallen spirit, one who flies beneath the red sky once every century to lure mortals into his embrace and steal their souls, all to keep his wings.
They would tell the story around fires that burn low, in hushed tones and with fearful glances. The young ones listened wide-eyed; the old ones just drank more wine.
I would listen, too. And I still do, but only because I want to end the story once and for all.
The road into Varen is nothing but mud and the bones of trees. My horse’s hooves crunch through the frost as the sun bleeds into the horizon. The sky is the wrong color tonight. Not the soft gold of dusk, but red—a deep, pulsing red, as if the heavens themselves are bleeding.
An omen.
He’s back.
Awake. And no doubt hungry for souls.
I pull my cloak tighter, though the cold has nothing to do with the chill crawling down my spine. The Order sent me alone. They said it was an honor to be chosen for this hunt. But I know the truth. It’s my punishment.
The crime? Rejecting an Elder’s son’s proposal.
Of course, Elder Solarre wouldn’t admit that was the true reason. He claims I was accused of stealing from the market. But I know the truth.
It doesn’t matter that my heart doesn’t want his brutish, piggish son, or that I’ve dedicated my entire life to following the Order’s strict laws, harsh rituals, and fighting monsters.
To Solarre, the Order’s only important as long as its ways don’t get in his. I embarrassed not only Titus, but Solarre as well, and that alone is worthy of banishment.
Because of my place and my skills, I was given one chance to save myself from exile and a loveless marriage. Destroy the Cursed One before he can wreak havoc on our people again.
The wind carries the scent of smoke and iron from the village below. Lanterns flicker like wary eyes as I ride past shuttered homes. No one greets me. No one ever does when they see the mark on my cloak: the white fire from the Order of the Ashen Flame. It’s easier to fear us than thank us.
I dismount near the well and tie the reins loosely on the rail.
“Stay,” I whisper, running a gloved hand along the horse’s neck. He huffs and stomps once before lowering his head. Brave creature. Braver than most.
The tavern is half-empty, which is saying something for Varen. The innkeeper glances up as I enter, his expression a careful blend of respect and unease. He knows why I’m here. They all do.
“Bad time to travel, mistress,” he says, voice low. “Sky’s angry tonight.”
I slip a silver coin across the counter. “Tell me about the disappearances.”
Hesitating, his fingers twitch toward the coin before he takes it. “Four girls, all from the outskirts. Found their shoes at the edge of the woods, nothing else. Each on a night like this.”