Chapter 1
The winds of the Highlands were heavy with the scent of snow, though it had yet to fall. Kenna MacDonald stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking Loch Leven, the rugged mountains rising around her like silent sentinels. Her long auburn hair whipped around her face, her cloak billowing like the wings of a raven. But it was not the cold winds that had drawn her here, it was the faint scent of something she couldn’t explain but had felt all her life.
Magic.
The scent was subtle at first, faint like the smoke from a distant fire. But now, as the evening sky darkened and the first stars appeared, the magic was stronger. It clung to the air like a heavy mist, suffocating, yet intoxicating.
Kenna closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. It was a scent she knew well, a blend of earth and something deeper, more ancient. It was like the very land itself had become infused with power. It made her skin prickle, her heartbeat faster. But it also made her uneasy.
The gift, or curse, had been with her since she was a child. She could smell magic in the air, feel it in the pulse of the earth beneath her feet. It wasn’t always a burden. At times, it had helped her find lost things, and once, it had even saved her life. But now, it felt like a warning, one she couldn’t ignore. The air around her was thick with tension, as if the very fabric of fate was about to unravel.
“Kenna.”
The voice came from behind her, familiar and warm. She turned to see her brother, Duncan, approaching. His broad shoulders were hunched against the chill, his face set in the determined expression of a man who had little patience for the ways of the supernatural.
“You’ve been out here for hours,” Duncan said, his voice rough with concern. “You’ll catch your death if you’re not careful.”
Kenna shook her head, though she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was coming. Something dark. “It’s not the cold that concerns me, Duncan,” she replied quietly. “It’s the magic. It’s stronger than ever. The winds speak of something terrible.”
Duncan frowned. “I don’t trust that old nonsense, Kenna. Magic is just a tale told by those who have too much time on their hands.”
Her heart sank. She loved her brother dearly, but he could never understand. “This isn’t nonsense, Duncan. It’s real. And it’s coming closer.”
Before Duncan could respond, there was a movement from behind them—a shadow among the trees. Kenna’s senses, sharpened by her gift, immediately went on alert. She turned to face the figure, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at her side.
The man who stepped out of the shadows was tall and broad-shouldered, his face shadowed by a hood, but there was no mistaking him. Finlay Campbell.
Kenna’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart, despite all her years of caution and restraint, gave a traitorous leap.
“Finlay,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
He removed his hood, revealing the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity of his blue eyes. Eyes that were always a little too intense when they looked at her. She had always felt a connection to Finlay, a bond that went beyond mere friendship. But it was a bond they could never openly acknowledge. Not with the Campbells and MacDonalds at odds with one another, not with the tension between their clans growing by the day.
Finlay’s lips curled into a half-smile, the kind that both thrilled and terrified her. “I see you’re still reading the winds, Kenna. It’s not healthy, you know. They always lead you into trouble.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not the one in trouble, Finlay. It’s the rest of us who are in danger. The scent of magic is stronger than usual, and it’s not just the air, it’s in the earth. Something’s coming.”
“Something?” Duncan scoffed. “It’s just the wind, Kenna. The storm’s been coming for days.”
It was just like Duncan to be dismissive of her abilities. Just like their father. All their lives as far back as she could remember, her brother had worshipped their father. Anything Hamish MacDonald would do, Duncan would replicate. Anything Hamish MacDonald would say, Duncan would echo. Their father had never believed in her abilities. He had always told her she was just like her mother. Wild, imaginative, unbalanced and when her gift would help to find lost things, he would chalk it up to luck, or worse, accuse her of hiding the items in the first place. Though it upset her to hear him be so dismissive of her, it hurt even more to hear him criticise the mother she never knew. Duncan stopped short at being cruel to her or saying things against their mother, a mother he also had no memory of, he never openly supported her in the presence of their father. This filled Kenna with a loneliness and sense of isolation from her own family.
Kenna’s gaze never left Finlay, who stood there silently, his expression unreadable. His presence made her pulse race, but there was something more, something about the way the air felt when he was near, like the very magic she smelled grew stronger in his presence. It was both thrilling and dangerous, she never felt alone with him.
Finlay took a step closer, his voice lowering so only Kenna could hear. “You’re right. There’s something coming, I feel it too.”
Before she could respond, Duncan placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her gently but firmly toward him. “Enough of this,” he said sharply. “Finlay, you’re welcome to join us for supper, but this talk of magic isn’t helping anyone. We’ve all got enough to worry about without...”
A sudden noise from the trees interrupted Duncan. A crack, sharp and distinct. It was the sound of a branch snapping under the weight of someone, or something, approaching.
Before Kenna could say another word, Finlay had drawn his sword, his eyes scanning the shadows with the predatory focus of a man who had spent his life in battle. “Stay close,” he muttered, stepping in front of Kenna.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Magic, real, undeniable magic, was heavy in the air, thick as smoke. She could smell it now, coiling around them, sharp and powerful. It was the same magic she had sensed earlier, but now it was alive, like a beast hunting in the dark.
And then, from the mist, emerged a towering figure - wrapped in a cloak of black and deep green, the colours of the ancient forest he seemed to command. The air around him grew colder, and even the snow at his feet seemed to darken, tainted by the power he carried.
His face was pale and gaunt, as though the life had been drained from him long ago. Sharp cheekbones cast shadows across his hollowed cheeks, and his eyes glowed an unnatural green. His hair, long and unkempt, was streaked with silver and fell in wild tangles around his shoulders, giving him the appearance of something feral, something inhuman.
But it was his staff that drew the most attention, a twisted length of dark wood, adorned with glowing runes that seemed to shift and writhe like living things. The air around it shimmered with a faint, malevolent energy, and as he walked, the ground beneath his feet seemed to wilt, the life drained from it.
“Kenna, run.” Finlay hissed, his voice barely audible. But it was too late.
