by S. Young
Hunted
War of the Covens
S. Young
HUNTED
War of the Covens
Book One
By S. Young
Copyright © 2021 Samantha Young
Previously titled ‘Moon Spell (Tale of Lunarmorte)’
Copyright © 2011 Samantha Young
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
This work is registered with and protected by Copyright House.
Edited by Jennifer Sommersby Young
Cover Design by Samantha Young
Cover Stock Image by Ironika
Contents
Other titles by S. Young
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
COMING SOON
About the Author
Other titles by S. Young
Destined (War of the Covens #2)
Ascended (War of the Covens #3)
War of Hearts (A True Immortality Novel)
Kiss of Vengeance (A True Immortality Novel)
Kiss of Eternity (A True Immortality Short Story)
Bound by Forever ( A True Immortality Novel)
Fear of Fire and Shadow
Other Adult Contemporary Novels by Samantha Young
Play On
As Dust Dances
Black Tangled Heart
Hold On: A Play On Novella
Into the Deep
Out of the Shallows
Hero
Villain: A Hero Novella
One Day: A Valentine Novella
Fight or Flight
Much Ado About You
Outmatched (co-write with Kristen Callihan)
On Dublin Street Series:
On Dublin Street
Down London Road
Before Jamaica Lane
Fall From India Place
Echoes of Scotland Street
Moonlight on Nightingale Way
Until Fountain Bridge (a novella)
Castle Hill (a novella)
Valentine (a novella)
One King’s Way (a novella)
On Hart’s Boardwalk (a novella)
On Dublin Street: The Bonus Material (a novella)
Hart’s Boardwalk Series:
The One Real Thing
Every Little Thing
Things We Never Said
The Truest Thing
The Adair Family Series:
Here With Me
Young Adult contemporary titles by Samantha Young
The Impossible Vastness of Us
The Fragile Ordinary
Young Adult Urban Fantasy titles written under Samantha Young
Warriors of Ankh Trilogy:
Blood Will Tell
Blood Past
Shades of Blood
Fire Spirits Series:
Smokeless Fire
Scorched Skies
Borrowed Ember
Darkness, Kindled
Drip Drop Teardrop (a novella)
To Mum, Dad and my brother David,
for always Believing.
Prologue
War
The war had been raging for centuries, a war that breathed beneath human reality, lost in the labyrinth of their legends and folklore. It was a silent war of soundless screaming and invisible bloodshed.
And like many wars, it had been built upon a mindless prejudice.
The ancient Greeks had it right. They were not naive enough to believe they had any control over their fate. They knew the gods controlled all. They didn’t believe a good crop that year had anything to do with luck in a poorly cultivated land—no, it was Demeter who’d blessed their farm. They didn’t believe that one man was far superior in battle than another, thus tipping the scales of a battle in their favor—no, Athena had taken a liking to him, and so aided the warrior.
Yes, the gods were capricious, unmerciful, loving, and selfish; there was nothing that contented them more than making the human world their chessboard and humans their own personal chess pieces.
They gloried in their supremacy.
But one day the gods of ancient felt a pierce in each of their hearts. It was the day humans, who had once been under their thrall, who had loved them, and feared them, and prayed to them, turned their backs upon the gods and their hearts to a new one.
As the centuries passed, the gods were no longer worshipped by any human, no longer feared, or loved, or prayed to. The barrier of space that had allowed them to come down from their mountain and interfere in the lives of humans strengthened as time forgot them. Indeed, their very existence would have been expunged from Earth if not for their legacy: their children, the supernaturals of their own creation who still looked to the heavens and believed in them. They are the children of Gaia, mother of all the gods.
Her children perpetrated the silent war waging beneath the humans’ very noses.
On one side of the war were the true instigators, those who called themselves the Midnight Coven: a community of magiks who believed above all in their own superiority. Gaia, perhaps in her infinite wisdom, had long ago blessed a number of humans by allowing them a taste of her blood, so that as the years passed, a generation of magiks arose—witches and warlocks with elemental power, a race of children who would forever pray to her, and through them time would never forget her.
They believed, however, that those lesser supernatural beings were abominations not fit to live side by side with humans, much less themselves. Their distaste for lykans (like me) and vampyres not only enraged those they sought to exterminate but also their own kind: magiks who believed in the equality of the races. We call ourselves the Daylight Coven.
You see, to our mind, Midnights hunted not abominations but their own people, humans transformed and blessed by the gods, creatures descended from Gaia herself. This gaping split in beliefs between the dark and light covens was shared by their contemporaries, the faeries of Hemera. As a primordial deity, the Goddess of Daylight and Sun, her children were almost equal to Gaia’s. They were descendants of a young queen who had sold her soul to her favorite goddess for the opportunity to take on the form of any living thing she wished, so that she would always know her enemies, and they would never know her.
From her, to Hemera’s delight, sprang a race of shapeshifters who held the power to take on the appearance of anything born of nature. They’re mischievous and tiring but useful, serving as spies on e
ither side of the war.
Hades, God of the Underworld (and grandson to Gaia), created a race of children familiar to humans within their folklore: vampyres. His children were the souls who passed through the River Styx without toll and whom Hades returned to Earth to extort, in blood, payment from those who dared to leave them to travel into the Underworld without coin.
And the youngest of the children of the gods are the lykans: we are fierce, strong wolves consecrated with the power of regeneration. In the dying years of the ancient gods, Artemis, Goddess of the Moon, the Hunt, and of Beasts, was called down to Earth by the last human who prayed to her. His son was dying from his battle wounds, and Artemis, in gratitude for his loyalty, replaced his son’s wasted heart with that of a wolf’s. To her supreme pleasure—for she had always been a competitive goddess—her own race of children was born, and she, too, was remembered by us.
In the early years of our existence, we children of the gods, cousins, wandered the world of humans at peace with one another. But the ages passed, and our forms changed—lykans produced lykans by humans, diluting the werewolf blood, and eventually becoming a nonviolent breed of our original selves.
In other words, this rational (most of the time), articulate lykanthrope narrator before you is an evolved version of my ancestors.
Because of the vengeance taken upon Hades for his kidnapping of her daughter Persephone, the goddess Demeter changed the course of the vampyres, blessing them with fertility and diluting their undead souls with the light of humanity, until eventually adhering to the laws of the Daylight Coven, they withheld from killing humans.
The last century saw the calm before the storm. The Midnight Coven had dissipated into a mist, a near invisible layer of destruction that touched those who did not seek it. We Daylights waited with bated breath, aware that our enemy had retired a fearsome, aggressive strategy. The Midnight Coven had become wary of the war spilling over into the human world and instead embraced a far more threatening silence.
But then the attacks started.
The subtle desolation of individual supernaturals: communities of vampyres and packs of lykans, packs like mine, who wanted nothing to do with the war and had lived in relative peace until that point.
Other than the faeries who shared their beliefs, only the daemons—the beasts created from Midnights’ own magik—are allied with the Midnight Coven. The Daylight Coven, with her allies of faeries, lykans, and vampyres, could only hope to act fast enough to discover the target of the next Midnight attack in order to prepare the target for war.
Some supernaturals escaped disaster.
Others slipped through the cracks, targeted without warning, without preparation.
That’s how the war stood.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, Gaia, already weary of being called down upon both sides, had set in motion her plan for the war’s end many generations before.
My pack, Pack Errante—untouched by the war, unpolluted by the world—was pulled into this chaos. My name is Lucien Líder. I am Alpha of Pack Errante, and our story begins in 2010.
We were going about our business, living in the world of humans, keeping our secret. Little did we know that from the heart of us would spring the culmination of all Gaia’s designs.
1
Hidden
Caia recognized his ruddy face and chocolate eyes from long-ago memories, memories that poked and prodded her heart and set it racing, her ears burning hot with the sudden onslaught of blood rushing to them.
Life was going to be very different from now on.
His dark eyes settled on her only companion these last eleven years, Irini, and shifted from soft concern to steely determination.
“It’s finally safe for you to return her, Irini.” His gaze flickered to Caia, as if trying to gauge a reaction. He would get none.
Irini sagged down into the sofa beside her. “Dimitri, please promise this is for real.”
He smiled. “I know you have lived alone for a long time but it’s finally time to come home.”
“What happened?” Irini asked in disbelief.
Dimitri managed to fold his huge, muscular body into the small armchair before them. He looked to be in his forties, but Caia knew he must be much older than that. He was an Elder, after all.
“Five years ago Lucien returned to reclaim the pack.”
Caia’s attention bounced between the two lykans. She’d been seven when she was removed from the pack, but she still remembered Lucien, a young, headstrong male. Irini had told her he’d fallen out with his family and then ran from the pack at seventeen. A year later, Lucien’s father, Albus, Pack Leader, had been killed by the Hunter.
Irini looked shocked at this news. “And the pack welcomed him with open arms?”
“After Albus’s death, no one else tried to track the Hunter. Everyone was far too caught up in who was going to be Pack Leader, what with Lucien being AWOL. While you were stuck in this goddess-forsaken place under Marion’s protection, we were trying to reassemble our lives. Then Lucien returned. He didn’t give us much explanation … but he told us what he had been up to.” Dimitri seemed to pause for dramatic effect. “He killed the Hunter, Irini.”
They both looked at Caia. She was puzzled by their guarded expressions. Shouldn’t they be happy? The Hunter had killed her father and mother and had wanted to murder her as well. If it hadn’t been for Irini taking her into isolation, the Hunter would have killed her. As it was, Albus, a beloved leader, was gone because of his determination to see her and Irini returned to the pack. Caia’s father had been Albus’s greatest friend.
“I suppose that gained him his rightful place?” Irini sneered.
Dimitri shook his head. “No. Magnus and I were willing to see him take up the mantle of Pack Leader—”
“How could you after—”
His hand came up, shushing her accusation. “Irini, he is extraordinary. Everything his father was and more. He just needed time.”
“Time?”
“Time. Of course, there were others, some younger males who felt the need to challenge him. We felt it only right that those who challenged him were truly willing to risk everything for the mantle …”
“A Lunarmorte?” Irini asked, surprised.
He nodded.
Irini was somewhat closemouthed about the pack and their way of life, but this she had mentioned to Caia. Lunarmorte was an ancient ritual among their specific lykan pack, dating back to their Portuguese origins. If there was a break in the hereditary line of the pack, or a rebel rising within, it fell to a Lunarmorte to determine the Pack Leader. It was fought during a full moon and only happened once in a blue one.
“As you can imagine, in the end only one challenged Lucien. Lucien killed him within seconds.”
“Who?”
“Dermot.”
Irini look unsurprised by this. “You sound admiring of Lucien. Am I to assume he has done well as Pack Leader these last five years?”
Dimitri stood, towering over them. “It was Lucien’s idea to keep you here protected. There are still some Midnight followers of the Hunter on the loose, and we had no way of knowing if they still held plans for Caia.” He nodded toward her, using her name for the first time, and drawing her back into the reality of what he was saying. “Instead, he wanted to wait until we had built a safe new life.”
“And I’m guessing you have if you’re here.”
“Yes. Lucien has managed to integrate us into a good town. All the families have jobs. Lucien’s got this furniture business going …” He drifted off at the sour look that passed over Irini’s face.
“We’ve been left here for eleven years, Dimitri.”
“I know.”
Irini shook her head in anger. “No! You don’t know. I have been left here with Caia while my brother gallivanted around goddess knows where—not allowed to come home for my father’s funeral, not allowed to even speak one word to my mother!”
“Irini—”
&
nbsp; “And now my brother just expects me to come home, like nothing happened? Like he didn’t abandon us? Goddess—”
“Irini!” he growled.
Caia slid back in her seat. She had lived with Irini’s tantrums for eleven years. Not entirely sure how to deal with the behavior, she had merely listened as Irini hissed and snarled about her predicament. Apparently, Dimitri didn’t have the patience for it.
Irini slammed her mouth shut and shrunk closer to Caia.
“You would not even be able to return if it wasn’t for Lucien. As soon as he learned of Albus’s death, he hunted the Hunter and he won. He did not send for you immediately because he wanted to make sure you had somewhere safe to come home to. And now you do.”
“And if we don’t want to?” she whispered, although Caia was sure she didn’t really mean it.
“You must,” he said, throwing Irini a meaningful look that Caia didn’t quite understand.
Irini reached for her hand and nodded.
“Do we leave now?” Caia asked.
Dimitri looked at her, seeming startled. It was the first time she’d spoken. “Yes,” he eventually acknowledged. “While you pack, I’ll summon Marion so she can finally drop the protection spell.”
