Jessamine
Drawing the hood tighter over my head, I weave through the woods, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. My stomach flutters as knotted nerves unravel. A loud roar splits the air from a distance, sending the birds perched on the trees flying.
I haven't been back in these woods in years, but it is almost the same. The paths I created when I was a child have all closed up, but the markers mother put on the trees are still here.
My fingers trace each as I walk past, and my heart clenches at the sight of the familiar boulder that had served as a gate for my home.
I halt in front of the little mud hut I grew up in. Memories assault me and I shove them down, deep into the box of things I don't like to look into. Each step is heavier than the last as I approach, and I convince myself, again and again that this is important. I need to find the truth and while I can't ask my mother anymore, I know where to look.
Towards the end of her life, she could hardly recall details anymore. She wasn't old, or senile, but she would zone out in the middle of the room on some days and ask me where her daughter was. Or where she was.
So I got her a journal.
What if Madeline was never ill?
There was no way she pretended for so long, and with me, her daughter. There was no way she pretended to break and whipped me until I bled and passed out. There was no way she pretended. None at all.
I hate that the bearer of the note has instilled fear and doubt in my heart, but I must get rid of them before I find myself trying to find whoever this is.
The house comes to view and I don't spare it a second glance. There's not much left of it. I wrecked and burned it to the ground when I was leaving.
Grabbing a shovel from the side of the debris, I take off the cloak, hanging it off a tree branch as I walk over to where I buried my mother. And her secrets.
My heart vaults to a stop when I notice flowers by her grave. Some wilted, some fresh. I've never dropped flowers by her grave. She hated them. Someone's been coming here every year...and today, seeing as it's quite close to her death anniversary.
There's a lingering scent in the air and I cock my head, sniffing it in. I don't know what it is, but I know it's wrong, because it doesn't belong in Neredia.
A sound in the forest behind me has my neck snapping back, and I ask, bending over to pick a spade. "Who's there?"
*********
Hunter, A Third Pov.
Leaning against a tree, Hunt watched violet eyes search the woods with anger brimming in them. He couldn't quite believe it.
She looked so much like Madeline, it hurt to look at her. She was alive, and Hunt didn't know what or how to feel. Nymeria had lied to him, and though he should've been surprised, he really wasn't.
Nymeria had a terrible habit he couldn't rid her off. She'd gotten so accustomed to getting what she wanted that it didn't matter what she destroyed in the process of attaining it.
Not even her father's heart was important enough to keep her from telling such a terrible lie.
His fingers twitched to smoothen the edges of her hair--his hair--and hold her like he did many years ago, but she wasn't the same child she'd been many years ago, and he wondered why she had such hardness in her young gaze.
He remained hidden in the shadows and after a moment, the woman turned, stabbing the spade into the sand. “I’m sorry, mother,” the woman said as dug up the ground, and the King of Dawn didn’t miss the sorrow, longing, yet loathing in her voice.
Hunt watched her dig up the ground relentlessly, her small frame working with surprising strength and stealth. He wondered if she had her first shift, but he knew she hadn’t. Her wolf wouldn’t ever appear as long as she was in Neredia. She was after all, Dawnish. Their powers were nearly depleted in the lands of the moon goddess. The same way the people of Neredia had no powers in Dawn. It was why they stayed the fuck away from each other’s borders.
After sometime, the woman tossed the spade aside, grunting in frustration and she screamed, her voice breaking as she gripped the ends of her hair tightly. Tears glistened on her skin and Hunter fled from his daughter, his little jasmine before he could ruin whatever chances he had to fix things.
But he couldn’t run from the memories that barraged through his mind, causing him nothing but unending pain and longing for his mate. For Madeline, who he had attacked and almost killed in a fit of rage, even as she carried their child. For the woman he’d loved and broken.
**********
Twenty years ago…
Hunt wrecked his study, his room, the training hall. Everything. He knew she was his mate. He knew he loved her and would give everything up if she decided to be with him. His crown, the love of the people, his duty, his place as heir, none of those things matter to him as much as she did.
But he didn’t even know her name. And she was hellbent on rejecting him.
Everyday, he visited the Brothel, just to catch a glimpse of her. Every day, she had her men toss him out. It really didn’t matter if he was a prince. She was a Queen in the eyes of men. A Goddess for whom they would lay down their lives, if it meant she would shower them with her affection. If it meant they got to spend a night with her.
He wanted to give her a better life. A home. A family. But she turned him down, and Goddess knew he was beginning to lose his patience. One more time, he told himself. One more time, he would visit her, and if she rejected him again, he would hurl her over his shoulder and abduct her if he had to. Just until she realized he meant every promise he made.
However, upon reaching the brothel that night, Hunter was met with an empty building, and upon entering, he saw his queen alone, liquor in hand, book in another. Her brilliant eyes shot up, amused as he entered in disguise. “You look…ridiculous, Hunter,” she murmured in a voice he would always find arousing.
Her legs dangled off the table, a shocking amount of skin displayed and Hunter averted his gaze, fixing it on the wall instead. “No show tonight?”
She sighed, and raised the bottle to her wet, red lips. “I’m on a holiday. I don’t feel well.”
Hunter leaned over her, placing a finger against her forehead. She stiffened, staring up at him through thick, dark lashes. “You seem perfectly fine to me,” Hunter murmured, only suddenly aware of how close their faces were. He had never quite come this close to her to notice the flecks of silver in her eyes, or the distinct scent of musk, lust and sin.
He jerked away from her, turning red, and the woman chuckled. “I am. People lie, you know. I just needed…” Her voice trailed off and she took a swig from the bottle. She threw the empty bottle behind her and it crashed, shattering against the wall. “…a break.”
She looked tired, Hunter noted. Her eyes weren’t so bright and there were dark circles under them. There were marks around her throat that looked like fingers had choked her. Her usual see through was replaced with something, almost modest and feminine, and…she just looked vulnerable.
The prince knew he couldn’t stay. Shouldn’t. When a woman’s mental walls were down, she was prone to yield after the slightest of pushes, and his mate looked like she was…close to breaking. So, he turned and took the next bottle of liquor from her before she could empty it down her throat. “Come on. I’ll make your bed. You should rest.”
The woman smiled. “You’re not going to try and cajole me into marrying you today, my prince?”
He took her arm and helped her to her feet. “Not anymore. I’m going to abduct you tomorrow if you reject me again.”
She laughed, climbing onto his offered back, her arms tightening around his torso. “I’d like that very much,” she crooned and his muscles tensed when she flicked her tongue over his earlobe. Her hot breath fanned his neck as she whispered, “You taste very princely. I wonder if the other parts of you taste the same.”
Hunter didn’t respond. She was drunk. He knew better than to take advantage of a drunk woman.
She leaned her cheek against his back and sniffed. “Your back smells very nice, your grace. I’d really…like to have your…shirt,” she murmured, words slurred.
“You can have everything I own, my’ raena.”
My’ raena was Dawnish for my queen, and Hunter meant every word.
She didn’t respond, and when he’d tucked her in to sleep, he turned to leave. But her fingers closed around his, and when he turned, there were tears in her eyes. “Don’t…go.”
Prince Hunt’s fists clenched, his chest tightening. “Tonight or…forever? Be mine, Madeline.”
She blinked. “Madeline?”
“Because you’re the strongest woman I know, and way out of my league,” Prince Hunt joked, but his face turned solemn quickly as he twined his fingers with hers. “I think you’re magnificent.”
“I’m a seer, Hunt,” she whispered, silver lining her eyes, and Hunt didn’t understand how that could be a problem. It wasn’t until much later that he understood why she’d said that. That she’d seen their future, and there was nothing but pain and blood.
But that night, Hunter smiled and cupped Madeline’s cheeks. “I don’t care if you’re an eel, Maddy. I need you with me.” He didn’t believe her. Seers didn’t exist. He thought she’d been lying just to push him away again.
And it was the first time Madeline pulled him into her bed and kissed him.