Red the Were Hunter (Fairelle Series Book 1)

by Rebekah R. Ganiere

  Red the Were Hunter

  Rebekah R. Ganiere

  Red the Were Hunter © 2014 Rebekah R. Ganiere

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Red the Were Hunter © 2014 Rebekah R. Ganiere

  ISBN: 978-1-63300-000-1

  Cover art by Rebekah R. Ganiere

  Dedication

  For Bug, who’s always believed in me.

  Contents

  Newsletter

  Fairelle Map

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Snow the Vampire Slayer

  Thank You

  Also by Rebekah R. Ganiere

  Newsletter

  Newsletter

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  Prologue

  Pereum, Fairelle Year 200

  In the year 200, in the city of Pereum, the heart of Fairelle, King Isodor lay on his deathbed. With all of Fairelle united under his banner, his four rival sons vied for the crown. One-by-one, the brothers called forth a djinn named Xereus from Shaidan, the daemon realm, to grant a single wish. But Xereus tricked the brothers, twisting their wishes.

  The eldest wished to forever be bloodthirsty in battle, and was thus transformed into a Vampire. The second wished for the unending loyalty of his men, and was turned into a Werewolf. The third asked for the ability to manipulate the elements of Fairelle; he became physically weak, but mighty in magick, a Fae. And the last asked to rule the sea. A Nereid.

  When the king died, each brother took a piece of Fairelle for himself and waged war for control of the rest. Xereus, having been called forth so many times, tore a rift between his daemonic plane and Fairelle, allowing thousands of daemons to pour into Pereum.

  Years upon years of bloody warring went by, all races fighting for control, and eventually the daemons gained dominion of the heart of Fairelle. Realizing that all lands would soon fall into the daemons’ control, the High Elders of the Fae and the Mages from the south combined their magicks to seal the rift. The daemons were banished back to their own plane, but Pereum was wiped off the map in the process, leaving only charred waste behind, forever, known as The Daemon Wastelands.

  Upon the day of the rift closing, a Mage soothsayer prophesied of the healing of Fairelle. Over the next thousand years, the races continued to war against each other, waiting for the day when the ancient prophesies would begin.

  Eight prophecies, a thousand years old, to unite the lands and heal Fairelle. The first is the prophecy of the wolves.

  Chapter One

  Volkzene, Fairelle 1200 years A.D. (After Daemons)

  Another girl had been taken. One moment the small village of Volkzene was silent, with Redlynn drifting off to sleep to the rhythmical sounds of her clock ticking; the next a scream pierced the night.

  Redlynn leaped from her bed, grabbed her sword, and tore out to the street. People in their nightclothes, brandishing torches and lanterns, filled the village center.

  “Where are they?” she called at the nearest neighbor.

  “Cantrel’s.” The woman ran for the safety of her home.

  Anya! Redlynn sprinted toward the south edge of the village. Her best friend was on guard alone at the Cantrel’s hut. Breathing hard, the cold night wind whipped her wavy, red hair into her face and raised goose bumps on her skin. The sound of her blood pumping in her ears drowned out the buzz of the village folk.

  “Anya,” she screamed. “Anya, where are you?”

  Redlynn charged through the crowd gathered outside. “Move,” she yelled. Other members of the Sisterhood and villagers backed away at the sight of her.

  The smell of blood hit her. She stepped over the threshold, the horror slapping her with force. Her heart faltered, and a cry escaped her lips.

  “No!” she screamed. “Anya!”

  Anya’s mangled body lay sprawled on the floor, her bow still clutched in her pale fingers. Redlynn’s mind numbed, unable to process the scene. She spun on the spot. An arrow stuck in the wall next to the door. Bits of wood were strewn about from the smashed kitchen table. Coals tumbled from the fire, and little more than charred cinders remained of the curtains. A pail of water lay discarded nearby. The Cantrels huddled on their bed in the adjoining room, Mrs. Cantrel sobbed into her husband’s chest.

  “Sasha, my Sasha,” Mrs. Cantrel moaned.

  Anger and despair ripped through Redlynn’s gut. Her sword hit the floor with a clatter and she collapsed to her knees, gathering her best friend’s bloody body in her arms. She sucked in large gasps of air, tears streaming down her cheeks. The very last of my loved ones.

  Anya stared blankly into the night, her eyes transfixed and cloudy. Redlynn stroked her hair and tried in vain to piece the skin together on Anya’s neck and torso. At just nineteen, Anya had been through so much in her short life. Too much, and now it was over. Sadness gave way to anger, and bile scorched her throat.

  “This is your fault,” Mrs. Cantrel screeched, pointing at Redlynn. “Where were you? You were supposed to stand guard with Anya.”

  Redlynn swallowed the angry words threatening to unleash. “I’ll find Sasha,” she vowed.

  “Find her? Those beasts have probably already torn her to bits. You’re the protector, and where were you? Asleep. To let my Sasha be taken, and poor Anya to be murdered. If you can’t even do the one thing we’ve kept you around for, what good are you?”

  The words struck Redlynn like a blow to her gut. Her throat dried as she searched for something to say. Something to soothe the mother, to soothe herself. “I’ll find her.”

  “Get out of my house, Cursed!” Mrs. Cantrel screamed.

  Redlynn’s heart thundered. She wanted to yell at the woman that she was all too aware how the sting of loss felt like a million white hot stabs with a fireplace poker. To scream that at least the woman still had a husband and other children. That Anya was all Redlynn had left. That if the Sisterhood would do it's job and go back to hunting werewolves instead of letting them live and breath and breed, that this would never have happened.

  But she didn't. Instead, she laid Anya down, grabbed her sword, and pushed out the door, past the crowd of Sisters and villagers. Running flat out, she made for the village gate.

  “Red!”

  The sound of her name stopped her. Breathing hard, her body surged with adrenaline and her head p
ounded with the need for vengeance. Her heart ached from the pain of Mrs. Cantrel’s words. As much as she pretended that the harsh words and name calling didn't bother her, it was a constant reminder that she did not fit in in Volkzene.

  “I hope you aren’t thinking of doing anything foolish.” Lillith stepped calmly from the shadows, her red stone necklace glowing faintly in the dim light.

  Redlynn locked eyes on the head of her Order and ground her teeth.

  “You know it’s forbidden to go into the woods.”

  “We need to go out there. Strike them now. Take the fight to them and end this.” Redlynn continued toward the gate. “We need to become the hunters we used to be. Not the village guard we are now.”

  Members of the Sisterhood gathered around.

  “Do not defy me on this, Red.” Lillith crossed her arms over her chest. “It won’t end well for you if you do.”

  Redlynn closed her eyes and sucked in the chilled night air, trying to get her mind to focus. Anya was dead. Another girl was gone, and they just stood around arguing, like always. It had been the same thing over and over since Lillith had taken over.

  Sasha made the second girl this month; twelve altogether. There had been five new girls inducted as full-fledged members of the Sisterhood this year. All of them carried off by Weres. It made no sense. The Weres hadn’t attacked the village since before her time. What changed?

  A frigid wind hit her skin. Frost from the ground seeped through her stockings, making her shiver in her nightgown. The rage inside dimmed, giving way for a need to understand what had happened.

  “Tell me,” she demanded, wiping tears from her cheeks. “What happened this time?”

  Lillith’s voice carried into the night for all to hear. “The Weres came in a pack of three. Snuck in and stole Sasha out of her bed, like all the others.”

  Redlynn let out a shuddered breath. Anya, a good fighter, would’ve been no match for three. No one was, but perhaps Redlynn herself. I shouldn’t have left her alone.

  “Who was on watch?” she asked.

  The Sisters looked at each other.

  “Who saw them come through the gate?” Her eyes raked over the group of women.

  “I did.” Lillith’s back straightened.

  “Why was the alarm not sounded?” she yelled, taking a step closer. “How could you let this happen?”

  Lillith’s gaze flicked to the crowd, then snapped to Redlynn. “Don’t take that tone of voice with me, Red. I am the Head of the Order, not you.”

  “And how many have we lost since you assumed that position?”

  Lillith's eyes narrowed. “It isn’t I who was made protector of the village. I leave village security issues to you.”

  Redlynn gripped her sword so tightly that the metal bit into her fingers.

  “We need to take care of Anya,” one of the Sisters said. “Before the moon passes.”

  Redlynn took a deep, cleansing breath. She had to keep it together. “I’ll do it.”

  Lillith stepped in Redlynn’s path, blocking her. “You don’t need to–”

  “I will do it.” She glared at Lillith before stepping around her.

  Lillith glanced away, as everyone did from Redlynn's cursed golden eyes. In times like this she appreciated her strangeness.

  “We’ll move her to the Hall and prepare, while you clean up.”

  It was not a request.

  The rest of the Sisterhood watched the exchange. Redlynn ground her teeth together so hard her jaw ached. For years they’d all been waiting for the day when she’d challenge Lillith for control as Head of the Order. Their thoughts and silent glances snapped in the air like lightning swirling around her, wondering if today would be the day.

  Swallowing her anger and pride, she turned from them and headed home.

  She dragged her sword, heavy as an ox’s yoke, through the mud to the other end of the village. Her feet were past being numb in the bitter November cold. Fiery pins and needles pricked at her soles with every sloppy step she took.

  I deserved this pain. It should have been me. If it had been, Sasha would still be here, Anya would be alive, and we’d have three less Weres in the woods to worry about. The pain in her body and the pain in her soul were the price she paid for allowing Anya to stand guard alone tonight. I should have stayed with her.

  The wary glances from the villagers made loneliness swell within her. Out of reflex, she grasped the small oval locket hanging loosely beneath her nightgown, and thought of her mother.

  She let her feet carry her down the street, past the deserted training ground. Wind whistled through the archery targets and sparring dummies. Clammy air from the small fountain in front of the village hall made Redlynn’s gown cling to her legs. She glanced sideways at the village council, who gathered in the doorway of the building that served as school, church and meetinghouse. They said nothing, watching her go.

  Why did she stay? She asked herself for the millionth time. Why couldn’t she just find a new place? A better place? She knew the answer all too well. She’d promised her mother. Redlynn hiccuped a sob and turned from the council, unwilling to let them witness her shame.

  Reaching her wood-and-thatched home, the sounds of the village chatter died away. She walked in the still-open door.

  “Dammit!” The fire had gone out. She hurled her sword across the front room, leaving it stuck into the wall of her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  Snatching up the fire poker, she stabbed at the crumbling log; sparks swirled up into the flue. Redlynn ignored her quivering chin and concentrated all her efforts into teasing the fire alight. Tears threatened to spill, but she refused to free them. She wouldn’t show more weakness. She would swallow it down until the right time, and then she’d get revenge.

  The fire caught. Redlynn threw down the poker and grabbed her red cloak from the hook, wrapping it over her shoulders. With trembling fingers, she stripped off her muddy stockings, tossing them into the water basin to soak. Anya’s blood-caked Redlynn’s hands and gown.

  Redlynn tied her long, red hair up in a leather strap, pushed the sticky nightgown down her body to the floor, and plunged her hands into the water bucket. She scrubbed her flesh from under her cloak, with her bloodied gown. She couldn’t scrub hard enough; the metallic scent of iron filled her senses.

  Biting her cheek, she tried to stop nausea from taking over. Blood never affected her in battle; when every piece of her was fighting for her life, nothing else mattered. But given more mundane circumstances, the scent and the texture of it, the fact that it was Anya’s, caused her to almost faint. She grabbed the table where the washbasin sat, trying to steady herself. When the darkness receded from her vision, she threw the gown into the basin.

  Shivering, she hurried to her bedroom. She dropped her cloak and pulled on a clean tunic. Looking down, she spotted another of her flaws. A purple birthmark, shaped like a wolf, above her left breast. Tonight the heavy burdens of her life seemed to be piling on top of her.

  Redlynn shoved her legs into her breeches and spotted her mother’s bow leaning against the wall.

  How many Weres had her mother and grandmother taken down with that bow? Her lineage went all the way back to the first Sister herself. Were hunting was in her blood. Not this pitiful existence she now lived. Her Sisterhood sword, with the wolf’s head handle and ruby eyes, hung still lodged in the wall. She stared at the sword. The sword that had belonged to the first Sister. The sword that had slain hundreds of wolves. The sword that she would wield once more. Heat rushed into her chest. She knew what she must do.

  She had to kill the beast responsible for ordering the kidnapping of the girls, and the death of Anya. She needed to drench her sword in the blood of the Were King. To feel the sweet satisfaction of vengeance as she ran him through.

  Redlynn grabbed the bow, quiver, cloak and her bag. Filling the bag to the brim with herbs, clothes, food and everything else she might need for her trek, she looked around the home
that she and her mother had built with their bare hands. All the pieces of her mother’s life hung around her. She clutched her locket again as her heart squeezed, remembering the past.

  The buckskin satchel her mother had used for her midwife visits. Her mother’s teacup set, adorned with giant yellow sungold flowers, passed down for generations. The wicker rocking chair that her mother had sat in to sing, knit, and tell stories.

  Come on. Be optimistic. You might not die. Redlynn snorted and reminded herself that she wasn’t the optimistic type.

  When the Head of the Order had first founded the village decades ago, there’d been over sixty members of the Sisterhood. The Sisters used to hunt the Weres nightly. Now only a handful of active-duty Sisters spent their time as the village guard, trying to fend off the attacks. It had to end. She wouldn’t waste away in this hellhole any longer. Redlynn strode to the wall in her bedroom, yanked down her sword, and set it with her pack.

  She’d had enough. Her promise to her mother that she’d protect the village wasn’t being fulfilled by sitting on her rear, waiting for the Weres to attack. She was sick of girls being taken, never to be heard from again. But Redlynn knew better than to try and fool herself. She wasn’t doing this for the villagers; she was doing this for Anya, for her mother. For herself.