HUNTER

Hunter trembled as he stepped into the quicksilver pool, holding his breath as the milky water lapped at his ankles, seeping into his leather boots. It was unnatural; impossible; and above all else, inexcusable that such fantastical magic had been kept from him all these years.

It was not fear that made him shake as he waded into the heart of the Moon Gate, but rage. Rage that he'd been kept impotent and in the dark by his father. That even Bradon and Gordon had been trusted with the knowledge of portal making before he had. How many days had he wasted travelling on foot, when he could have crossed the continent with a single step?

There was only one explanation for his exclusion, and it was that Rogan wanted him gone while he tended to secret business in son's absence. The thought made Hunter see Red -- the colour and his mate, the mate he could have saved if he had access to the portals, if he could have intercepted her in time.

But for what? his conscience nagged. So that she could come back to a life of drinking poison, none the wiser? So that I could rule with a cripple by my side? It was only by gaining independence that Red had recovered from the daily dose of poison Rogan called medicine for years. It was only by removing herself from the village that she'd finally been able to find some measure of health and happiness.

Hunter missed a step. The sloping bottom of the pond dropped off into a sharp cliff and he plunged, gasping in one last breath before the waters closed over his head.

He expected to travel through a rift of some kind, but it was more like passing through a beaded curtain, a slight tingling sensation that marked his transition from one space into the next. Kicking feet found purchase in squelching mud, which sucked at Hunter's boots as he climbed up the sloping bank towards the surface.

Hunter emerged in a small clearing, droplets of milky water evaporating off his skin as he waded to shore. When he stepped onto the beach he was completely dry, as were Bradon and Gordon, already waiting for him.

"I know this place," Hunter said, fangs of anger ripping through his chest.

It was Nya's Hand-Mirror, the closest water source to the Blood Moon village. The air was heavily perfumed by night-flowering lily-pads, the banks cushioned by equally fragrant grass. He'd brought many a girl here over the years; usually the louder ones, who couldn't help but announce their coupling to the entire village.

For a split second, Hunter wished he'd brought Red here instead. They may have only talked, given how sickly she was back then, but he wondered if even that might have eased the loneliness his other conquests had barely distracted him from.

Red had known loneliness. He'd seen it in her mind, relived it through their mate bond as her life flashed before her eyes.

Hunter recoiled from the empty longing that washed through him at the memory, fixating on his anger instead. It was bright and fierce as Nya's Grace. It made him feel powerful instead of weak, though he feared it would burn through him before long, leaving a shrivelled husk of a man in its wake. If he could even call himself that.

The boy at heart can become a good man yet.

Even on her deathbed, after everything he'd done to drive her to that grisly end, Red had seen some capacity for good in him. It was maddening how much he suddenly valued her opinion when he'd thought so little of it prior.

The disappointment implied in her parting words ate away at Hunter's conscience as the trio made their way to the village in silence, pausing only to shift the weight of their packs. The ashwood gates opened automatically for them, no questions asked. Hunter realised, suddenly, that there was a chance the people in this village were already his; Rogan had been on his deathbed when they left, fighting for his life after Sebastian's arrow found a home in his lungs.

A guard climbed down to meet them, reaching for the horn at his hip. One breath was all it would take to announce their return to the entire village, but Hunter grabbed his wrist.

"Take me to my father," he ordered, not in the mood for fanfare. Strange; he used to relish it.

The guard bowed at the waist, turning promptly on his heel. He picked a familiar path through the sleepy village, into the cluster of richly furnished houses at its heart. Hunter frowned as they marched past the glowing windows of the healing hut. Vile smoke belched from its chimney at all hours, but it seemed Rogan was no longer confined to its sordid walls. That left two options: the marble tomb beneath Nya's temple on the far side of the village, or their family home, right next to the Gathering Hall. Hunter didn't know which he preferred.

The guard took them to the latter. In a village of mud-brick huts and thatched roofs, the timber-panelled house with clay-tiled awnings stood out like a castle squatting in a slum. Firelight flickered in the windows, promising warmth that only seemed to drain from Hunter's cheeks with every step up the veranda. Dismissing the guard with a sharp wave of his hand, he turned the knob and pushed the door in, refusing to show his father the courtesy of knocking.

As always, the wiry notches on the doorframe caught his eye. His mother had carved them with a kitchen knife and rubbed charcoal from the fire into the gouges, staining them grey. Initials were inscribed next to each one. HC and SF: Hunter Callahan and Sebastian Fall. He'd always been shorter by a head, so his mother had started taking food from Sebastian's plate and dumping it on his instead.

Hunter needs it more, she'd claimed, even though there were always leftovers. He needs to grow big and strong if he's going to lead the Blood Moon Pack.

Hunter's fingertip lingered on his brother's initials. Though Sebastian was technically the eldest, Caryn had never recovered from the shame of Rogan's infidelity, even if it had been before they met. She'd refused to acknowledge Rogan's bastard child, forcing Sebastian to take on another family name. Even 'Moon', the name given to all wards of the Blood Moon Pack (of which there were few), had been too familiar for Caryn. So she'd given him the name Fall instead, claiming his eyes were a perfect match for the crimson maple leaves that littered the streets in autumn.

Now Hunter wondered if there was something spiteful in that choice. Had she hoped the name Fall would become a self-fulfilling prophecy? That Sebastian would wither and tumble away from the family tree?

She'd certainly tried to take matters into her own hands.

Or so Sebastian claimed. It was only yesterday that Hunter had been reunited with his brother, and he was struggling to reconcile the hatred he'd nurtured for years with his brother's account of events. It was easier to blame Sebastian for his mother's depression and the slow, wasting death that resulted. His father had lost all interest in Caryn after the mauling, and the loss of his love, which she'd coveted for years and slaved to maintain, had ultimately destroyed her self-worth and will to live.

Or so he'd thought. Something Sebastian said yesterday clung to his thoughts like smoke to his clothes. No matter where his mind turned, Hunter couldn't shake the suspicion that stalked his every step and pounced in idle moments.

Don't you think it's strange that she came down with a waking sickness after living a long and healthy life?

Lycans were hale creatures, blessed by the Night Goddess with good health. There was only one other lycan he knew of that had experienced the wasting sickness, and it had turned out that Red was being poisoned the whole time. And then there was Harry, who had a similar cough, but the healer's symptoms were always worse inside his apothecary...

Gordon shut the door on Hunter's memories, the soft click drawing his mind to the present. "This way," he said, bypassing the kitchen and living area, climbing up the creaking stairs. There was one place Rogan loved more than all the rest, where he always went to escape the chaos of his household and the fawning stares of his wife.

The place he felt closest to Nya.

Sure enough, Rogan was lounging in the rooftop courtyard, swilling a glass of glowberry wine as he looked up at the stars. It was an acquired taste on account of its sourness, but a novelty for the way it stained one's teeth a lurid pink that shone with its own light in the dark. A platter of cheese, flat bread and assorted dips was spread out on the side table, sprinkled with feta and rosemary and drizzled with honey. On the far side of the table sat another cup, empty at a glance, but a thin streak of pink glistened along the rim, as if someone had drunk from it recently.

"My boy," Rogan said, filling the second cup with a flourish. "I want to make a toast to the success of your mission!"

A hot flush crept up the back of Hunter's neck, and he licked his lips without thinking. It had been days since he'd felt the heady kiss of wine, the soothing balm of inebriation against his chafing thoughts. Something in him warned against the offering, however, sensing the barb underlying the bait.

"Ah, but I see you have returned empty handed," Rogan lamented, looking oddly satisfied despite his tone, as if he secretly relished Hunter's failure. "So I shall toast to my own good health instead. Long live the Voice of Nya!"

"Long live the Voice of Nya," Gordon and Brandon chanted dutifully behind him. Hunter refused to follow suit, but Rogan was too busy draining his cup to notice. Was this truly the same man who'd begged for Red's safe return on his deathbed?

Hunter's fingers twitched with the urge to strike the goblet from his hand. "While I'm glad to see you well, this is no time for celebration. Red lost her life in the Wylds."

"Oh, so you're mourning her now?" Rogan asked, quirking a silvery eyebrow. "You didn't even want to go after her in the first place."

Now he wanted to smash the cup into his father's smirking face.

"I acted rashly," Hunter admitted, "but only because I didn't have all the information at my disposal. I thought she was sick, but she wasn't, was she?"

A flicker of surprise, quickly masked by contempt. "If she's dead, what does it matter?"

"She was my mate," Hunter snarled, forgetting his place. His skin started to glow with the onset of Nya's Grace, as it always did when he lost control of his emotions. "You of all people should understand the mark that leaves on your soul."

Rogan narrowed his eyes, as he always did when Hunter brought up Caryn.

"She is your mate no longer," the Alpha said dismissively, leaning back in his chair. "You were too late to come to your senses."

"I could have saved her!" Hunter exclaimed, nostrils flaring. "Why didn't you tell me about the Moon Gates? Gordon could have saved us days of travel!"

"You drove her there in the first place. I merely gave you a chance to win her back," he said. "In fact, I gave you every chance at a future with that girl. Don't blame me for your failures."

"Enough of your riddles, Father. For the love of Nya, speak plainly for once!"

"For the love of Nya," he repeated, chuckling quietly to himself. "What could I possibly gain by trusting you, boy? What do you have to offer me, Nya's Chosen?"

Rogan's cruel eyes caught the candlelight and held it ransom. He was far more alert than his giddy posturing would suggest, but Hunter was desperate for answers. He was willing to grovel if that was what it took. But what was it, exactly, that his father wanted to hear?"

"I offer my service," Hunter said, leaning into the role of the dumb son, eager to prove himself in his father's eyes. "I have always been your tool to wield, but right now I'm gathering dust on the shelf. Tell me what's going on so I can help you with it."

Rogan cocked his head, intrigued but not convinced. "And what if I need not a tool to build, but a weapon to destroy?"

"Then I will be your instrument of destruction," Hunter swore. "I will be the knife that slips between your enemy's ribs." The poison that clouds your wife's wine. "All I ask is that you trust me."

It was exactly what he wanted to hear. Blinded by self-importance, the Voice of Nya didn't once question his sons's sincerity. He took the bait hook, line and sinker.

"Trust must be earned, but I'm willing to give you one more chance," Rogan said magnanimously. "Truth be told, I doubt you'll have the spine to handle the work that goes on in the shadows, but I'd like to be proven wrong. If you can stand before me now, perhaps there is hope for you yet."

"Your will is my command," Hunter said, bowing his head. He had to in order to hide the smug smile toying with the corner of his mouth.

He knew his father was working towards something big. What he needed to know was how far Rogan was willing to go to achieve it. Only then would he be able to say whether he'd poisoned his mother, as Sebastian claimed.

Only then would he be able to bring him to justice.

"Very well," said Rogan. "We leave at first light for the Hidden Vale."