The Chronicles of the Last Elf - Luna (Book 2)

Deep within the frozen expanse of moonlit wilderness, a single, violent crack shattered the silence; like bone snapping under immense pressure. The sound tore Luna from unconsciousness with brutal abruptness. She bolted upright, a sharp gasp ripping from her throat as white-hot pain lanced through her skull. Her head throbbed with such ferocity that it felt as though an iron spike had been driven between her temples.

The air reeked of copper-thick blood, sour sweat, and the wet, musky stench of matted fur. It clung to her skin, heavy and nauseating. Moonlight poured down in merciless silver sheets, searing her retinas until she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Even behind closed lids the brightness burned.

Cold. The cold was worse than the pain.

It sank into her marrow like liquid lead. She shivered violently, arms wrapping around her torso; and only then registered the absence of clothing. Naked. Completely, vulnerably bare against the frost-kissed night. Confusion crashed over her in waves. How had she come to be here? Where was here? Why could she remember nothing beyond fragments of rage and screaming?

She forced her eyes open again, blinking rapidly until the world resolved into cruel clarity. She lay sprawled in a massive, sodden pile of hay, the stalks dark and matted with moisture and something far darker. Hay. In the middle of nowhere. No walls, no roof, no fire. Only endless black trees clawing at the starless sky and snow-dusted earth that glittered like shattered glass.

Luna rolled to her side and clawed her way free of the pile. Straw clung to her arms, her thighs, her breasts; mixed with caked mud, twigs, and long, sticky streaks of crimson. She froze. Blood. Not a few smears, but thick, drying rivers of it painted across her abdomen, her forearms, the insides of her thighs. Panic surged. She slapped at her own skin, searching frantically for wounds, gashes, bullet holes; anything to explain the carnage. Nothing. The blood was not hers.

Whose, then?

Her bare foot struck something solid. She stumbled forward, arms windmilling for balance, and looked down.

A scream ripped from her lungs before she could stop it.

The body had once been a man. Now it was meat. Hunting camouflage hung in tatters over a torso that had been split open from collarbone to pelvis, ribs splayed like broken wings. The face; God, the face; was no longer a face. Deep, parallel gashes had carved through cheek, eye socket, and jaw, peeling flesh away in wet flaps. One eye dangled by a thread of optic nerve. The abdomen had been torn into and partially devoured loops of intestine glistened darkly in the moonlight.

Luna spun away, bile surging up her throat. She retched violently into the snow, stomach heaving until only dry spasms remained. When she straightened, wiping her mouth with a trembling forearm, something glinted in the trampled grass near the corpse.

A necklace.

She recognized it instantly. The chain that had once hung around Meleek’s neck; the very amulet that had kept the curse from claiming his life. She crouched, fingers shaking as she lifted it. The central medallion was ruined. The word “fate” had been obliterated; in its place sat a deformed slug of lead, embedded deep. The metal was scorched black around the impact crater.

Another rifle shot cracked through the night; sharper, closer. A woman’s scream followed, high and desperate, swallowed almost immediately by raucous male laughter and drunken cheers. The sounds rolled from a thin line of woods perhaps two hundred yards distant.

Luna’s pulse hammered in her ears. She had no memory, no bearings, no clothes; but those voices meant people. People might mean help. Or answers. Clutching the ruined necklace, she began to move toward the noise.

She had not gone far before her foot nudged something soft and heavy. Another body. This one younger, male, eyes wide and glassy in death. Three ragged stab wounds gaped in his abdomen; blood had pooled beneath him in a dark, steaming halo. Luna clamped both hands over her mouth to stifle the scream that tried to escape. The cheering swelled again, nearer now.

Shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering, she dropped beside the corpse and began stripping it. First the boots; too large, but better than frostbite. Then the blood-soaked blue jeans. She shoved the necklace into a front pocket, yanked the denim up over her hips. The waistband sagged; the legs pooled around her ankles. Next came the black thermal jacket. She peeled it free of stiffening arms.

The corpse seized her wrist.

Luna shrieked and fell backward. The man; alive, barely; lurched upright with impossible strength, eyes wild and unfocused.

From the darkness ahead, a voice barked, “What was that?”

She scrambled to her feet, shrugging into the jacket as she ran. Branches whipped her face, tore at her hair. Behind her, a shout: “There’s someone else out here!”

They were coming.

She sprinted blindly through the trees, lungs burning, bare feet numb. The ground sloped suddenly; a thick root caught her ankle and twisted. She crashed face-first into frozen mud, the impact driving the breath from her lungs. Pain detonated in her right leg; white, blinding. She tried to stand; her ankle buckled. Bone protruded through torn skin in a jagged white spear. Nausea rolled through her again.

Voices. Closer.

“Over here; they’re hurt!”

She dragged herself behind a low cluster of boulders, biting back whimpers. Blood trailed behind her in bright spatters. Three men in camouflage crouched over the stains she had left, flashlights sweeping the snow. One pointed directly at her hiding place.

She forced herself upright and limped away.

“There she is!”

They closed the distance in seconds.

Luna collapsed against the trunk of a massive pine, chest heaving. Three hunters; mid-forties, full beards crusted with ice, eyes bright with something predatory; surrounded her. The largest stepped forward, yellow teeth flashing in a wide, ugly grin.

“We must have won the lottery, boys.”

“She ain’t nothin’ but a pretty lil’ thang,” another drawled. “How’d you get out here, girlie?”

The others laughed, low and hungry.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Luna whispered, voice cracking. “I’m lost. I’m lost.”

The biggest one crouched until their faces were level. His breath stank of stale tobacco and unwashed flesh. “Oh yes you are.”

Another gestured at her mangled ankle. “Looks like you ain’t gonna be runnin’ anymore either.”

They advanced. The leader reached out, meaty fingers brushing her cheek. “You sure are a pretty th—”

Luna slapped his hand away, tears spilling over. “Don’t touch me, you—”

He laughed; genuine amusement, and seized her ruined ankle. Pain exploded up her leg; she screamed. He drew a long hunting knife, pressed the flat of the blade to her cheek, then dragged it slowly downward to rest against her throat.

“Girl,” he murmured, “looks like you need a lesson in respect.”

Tears streamed freely now. “Please let me go. I’ll do anything. I can get you money. My father is very rich.”

He released her ankle only to cup the side of her face, smearing her own blood across her skin. His tongue darted out, wetting cracked lips. “We don’t need money.” His palm slid lower, cupping her breast through the open jacket. “There’s something else we want from you.”

Her body shook uncontrollably as he yanked the thermal wide, exposing her to the freezing air and their avid stares.

“Will you look at that,” one breathed. “Her tits are perfect.”

“A little small for my taste,” the leader muttered. He squeezed hard. Pain flared through her chest.

He leaned in and forced his mouth against hers. His tongue shoved past her lips, tasting of rot and nicotine. She gagged; he only pressed harder, enjoying her revulsion.

“Mmm,” he growled against her mouth. “We’re gonna have lots of fun with you.”

She whimpered, barely audible. “Daddy… help me, please.”

He moved to her neck, biting down viciously on her shoulder. Skin tore. Blood welled. Something inside Luna snapped; deep, ancient, merciless.

Her eyes ignited, molten gold.

She seized his hair, wrenched his head aside, and sank her teeth into the side of his throat. Flesh parted like wet paper. Arterial spray painted the snow scarlet. She tore free a fist-sized chunk of meat and spat it aside. The knife flashed across her own throat in his death spasm, carving a deep, weeping line from ear to collarbone.

The other two froze, horror replacing lust.

Luna shoved the dying man backward. He flew through the air, collided with one of his companions, and both went down in a tangle of limbs.

She dropped to all fours, spine arching. Fangs grew; long, curved, ivory; gleamed in the moonlight. A guttural roar tore from her chest.

The nearest hunter fumbled his rifle upward. She lunged. He fell onto his back, the weapon trapped between them. She ripped it away with one clawed hand and hurled it into the darkness.

“Oh God, I’m sorry; pleas—”

She raked her claws across his face. Skin and muscle peeled away in ribbons. She struck again. A rifle roared from behind her; a bullet punched into her shoulder. She spun.

The third man stood shaking, weapon trained on her.

She charged.

Another shot hit her center mass. She staggered but kept coming. Blood and saliva dripped in thick ropes from her jaws.

He fired a third time. The bullet struck her cheekbone, shattering bone just below her left eye. She collapsed.

He approached cautiously, barrel trembling. “What the hell was that?”

He nudged her ribs with the muzzle. No movement.

“What the hell are you?”

Her eyes snapped open, blazing yellow; and her clawed hand shot upward, fingers punching through his larynx with a wet crunch. Blood fountained. She flung him aside like discarded trash and rose.

More voices; more hunters started crashing through the trees.

Instead of meeting them, she ran.

Her shattered ankle no longer hurt. Bone had already knit; torn flesh sealed itself. Bullets still burned inside her chest and shoulder, but the pain was distant, unimportant.

She ran until the sound of engines reached her ears—cars, a road. Lightheaded from blood loss, vision tunneling, she staggered toward the promise of civilization, the necklace heavy in her pocket, the taste of stranger’s blood thick on her tongue.