Hellborn Huntress

YEAR 1000 BC

NEX’S POV

All week I had been naughty. Maybe it was just dark, buried, hidden desires I kept playing with. Maybe it was the King of Hemon [Hell] himself while I thought of a delicate fantasy.

I had to be cautious. I was a Moon Priestess after all.

But I would fall into a trance, smelling burning sage while moon bathing until I could see him in a lucid dream.

I had been imagining a tall man’s bronze chest and stone cut body, his sharp chiseled jaw, although I couldn’t see his face. Only his hard, deeply tanned skin, his warrior’s build encasing my whole vision. His long locks of brown hair dragging down his back, safe from sharp edges, despite the battle scars he wore. He was never struck down. He was the one who did the striking down.

Of course, in the fantasy, he dwarfed me, made me feel soft and feminine. I’d lose my thoughts, my breath, my words and just stare in wonder.

I was too shy to touch.

There I go again, thinking about him one too many times.

I breathe in a deep breath and open my eyes. The town is quiet, the birds tweeting sweetly all around.

My skin grows cool and damp, and I stare at the sky with a curious twitch at the corner of my mouth. I thought it was blue a minute ago, but now dark grey clouds gather around my tower.

Hm.

I’m sitting in the top window, looking up as rain patters softly against my skin as the day edges past dawn, onto morning. I watch from the stone arch window, curled up in the corner like a cat. My fingers tap against my bare knee, my body scantily clad. I twirled around silver ribbons on my skin, so it dressed my limbs and covered my naval, breasts and below. It was revealing but I could move so well in these ribbons. Especially when climbing the outside of my tower.

Being a priestess for the moon was always easy living, as long as my mind stayed focused.

All the young male warriors were being conditioned for their first yearly lessons down below on the streets. Mothers were grooming them with final last touches before they joined the army. Fathers were dragging them behind, into their first day of training.

Prophecies were told, celebrations were plenty and every wise old head nodded to the young gentlemen on their way to train for great wars that never came to pass. Regardless, after the petty battles that would arise this year with neighboring citadels, what flippant stories would be told, what heroes would rise, inspiring thousands?

Swendula was a strange old city, full of wanderers mixed into established families with notable kinship.

Magic was largely outlawed unless you were knighted by the King personally, and usually males were favored.

Female blood with magic was rare and treasured... if quietly.

Priestesses of the Sun were trusted most; their magic was usually harmless. They saw visions, read fortunes and gifted luck or lifted curses.

Then there was the female blood of the moon, which was both magical and mysterious. But frowned upon.

All magic was powerful, even if the few female priestesses that we accounted for in this city, were mostly shunned and ignored while kept locked away in our towers. That being said, a large portion of Swendula still supported us too, though.

I sigh as I look down upon the city, hoping that this year is full of fruitful things. Meanwhile, there is something else I can’t ignore. I feel a pit in my stomach. While the city may have a stable fortune, my personal woes were yet to begin. When you were a Moon Priestess in Swendula, if you were not hidden – you were hiding. If you garnered the wrong attention, certain Masters would come looking for answers.

Warrior Masters, War Masters, Singing Sorcerers. All kinds of powerful men looking for strange answers to their own problems. Unfortunately, they usually hated the advice given, because as a priestess I had to be truthful and direct. Well, most of the time, anyway. I tended to see their deaths.

If you were a smart Moon Priestess you kept your mouth shut and your mind busy. I was mostly lucky. My only job was to protect the Library of Curses tucked away in this tower.

While my fellow Sun Priestesses would pray in groups and tell stories of the dawn, I was the only one connected to the moon. It was rarer and stronger but far more dangerous. I was occasionally able to harness some more masculine magic, the destructive kind.

To put it simple, being a Moon Priestess, meant you were getting your magic from the moon and occasionally the King of Hemon. My magic was flexible.

While my job was lonely when I was working, at least I had a special purpose being a librarian. It made me feel uniquely important.

The bravest soldier with known knowledge and fast wit may hold everyone’s steadfast curiosity this year. And I... well... I was somewhat curious to know what it would be like... to be in the spotlight, connected to everyone’s hopes and dreams, responsible for other’s expectations.

But I guess that wasn’t my journey. Mine was simply hidden and that was something I had to respect.

In the midst of the rain falling upon the right side of my face, consumed in my thoughts... I barely hear the footfalls in the stone corridor.

Heavy boots.

The moment I come back to my senses; it is too late for me to prepare for the intrusion that would grant me the wish I should never have wished for.

In my naïve moment of curiosity, I turn my head and lift my chin to the tall, strange man in foreign clothes. Not a local.

His long dark hair is drenched by the rain, dressed in a dark violet uniform, grey pants that are tucked into big black boots. The multiple badges across his chest that he adorns tell me he is someone of high rank in the military. His hands... very tan, and strong, one almost reaching out when he spots me.

“Are you lost, sweet Sir?” I ask nicely, raising a brow at the foreign stranger with pitch black eyes. They don’t blink as he sees what I’m wearing and his gaze lingers a little too much on the ribbons grazing over my nipples. I carefully lift an arm and play with my own light brown curly hair, my elbow covering my breasts.

“The War General’s Meeting, I’m looking for it,” he finally speaks out in a deep and majestic voice, the kind I would imagine typically reads books aloud to children; he probably has a whole brood, “This is the twelfth floor of the North Tower, is it not?”

“I am not privy to war meetings,” I scoff and wave my hand around, which causes my many silver bracelets to clink together, “But this is not where you are supposed to be. Perhaps you were misled?”

“That is likely,” he pauses and watches me suspiciously, “I suppose the Swendula Generals have no need to provide common courtesy to the very enemy that has your city walls surrounded by approaching and undeniable defeat,” is he testing my knowledge with that sudden mouthful? He looks pointedly at me, looking for a reaction.

My interest is certainly spiked. The enemy? I spot the tattoos on his neck and they show a very rare demon called a Dragon. He had come a long way. There had been no warnings to alert of our city being surrounded. Perhaps his army came cloaked in magic. Hm... he does have the confidence of a Sorcerer... he reeks of masculine prowess. Even from here, his sweat smells... divine.

“Perhaps they sent you here, hoping you would be cursed with a bad omen,” I tease, holding out my hand and twinkling my fingers at him.

It is a mock attack gesture. He watches my hand, my attempt at humor clearly succeeds as I see the slightest smile on his lips, however... I’m not sure if it’s humor in response to my teasing or a humor in regards to something he knew that I perhaps, did not.

“And you are?” his pitch eyes jump up to meet mine while I lean back into my stone windowsill, feeling an uneasy sense of... unknowing starting to unfurl in my gut.

Hm.

Was he dangerous?

“I am the sole priestess that guards this particular Northwest tower,” I explain, “I’m a Moon Priestess, to be precise. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name and where you come from?”

“Zarcar,” he rolls the r at the end, on an unfamiliar name, “Perhaps you will tell me where I am meant to be?”

“I face the Tower of War, directly east,” I explain, looking out the open window I point to the place he should be, “My guess is you’ll not make it in time, I don’t think they want you to make it at all,” I turn back to him to see that he has taken an unexpected step closer.

My heart jerks in my chest when the wind blows his hair drier, and those locks fall in front of his chest. Brunette. Not as dark as I first thought.

My mouth becomes a little dry.

He has taken precisely two steps to me now. He leans upon the opposite end of my windowsill, his thigh brushing my toes. I pull away, shocked at the contact. No man ever touched me.

“It is of no concern,” he finally says, turning to glance at me one more time, “I was only here as a formality, anyway... their mockery will be met with disdain.”

“I do not understand your way with words,” I try to wave him off, so that he can step back. I did not feel safe with him so close.

“Your name?” he asks, out of the blue, “You failed to answer me the first time.”

“Nex,” I proudly respond, but in a bit of an impatient tone, “You never told me who you were... aside from you name, Zarcar.”

“I have many titles,” Zarcar murmurs, “Master, General, Warlord is my most common...” his eyes linger on mine now, no longer drifting down. Instead of it bringing me comfort, I feel him assessing my every reaction.

There is only one word I pick up on that piqued my interest.

“And what things do you Master?” I ask, raising a brow – curious.

“Witches,” Zarcar chuckles a bit to himself as he moves away from me, back the way he had come, leaving my mouth gaping.

“That is an abhorrent term!” I gasp, “Witches do not exist! It is an insult to wild-turned women.”

“Neither do priestesses exist, not from the land I come from, your kind are forbidden,” he raises a brow at me, hardly giving anything away as he backs up.

“Do you group all magic bearing females as simply witches?” I ask, in a nervous whisper.

“Magic is handled differently where I’m from,” Zarcar explains, “It’s controlled by patriarchs, as it should be.”

“Where are you going?” I ask as he begins to walk away from me without a respecting farewell.

“None of your business.”

Probably the Tower of War, but then when?

He doesn’t even turn to look back at me. But as I watch his head turn, I figure he is trying to leave before I can spot the handsome smile inching across his lips.

I didn’t expect him to be so rude.

“Well, if you return, I will watch your blood spill on the streets as you attempt to usurp the rule here in Swendula. It has never been done before,” I explain loudly, proudly and arrogantly.

He departs without another word, never hesitating.

Soon, his presence may be gone, but my heart won’t stop beating with a strange timid fear slowly swirling through my gut.

He was familiar to my dreams.

But instead of a sexy fantasy, Warlord Zarcar was cloaked in danger. If it was him.

I’m almost a little bit scared.

My palms feel sweaty as I look back up to the moon still present in the morning sky.

I didn’t know what was to come, but I did know peace was ending. I could feel it deep in my chest. The peace I had lived within my entire life; was about to crash and burn.

All thanks to Zarcar and his powerful army, usurping our peaceful city.

Because as I would soon find out, it was his army and he was so powerful, he could blatantly walk through these streets alone and no one would touch him.

I wondered... if he too, had darker magic running through his veins.

The Hellborn kind.