Page 1 of Hallowed Games

CHAPTER 1

As my life was about to spill out of me on the floor of a musty little cottage, a realization hit me like a fist: I’d forgotten how all this was temporary—the sunlight, the smell of grass, the feel of cold rain on my skin. In a few seconds, it would be gone for good.

The witch-hunter was holding a dagger to my throat, and I wanted to scream at him that my life wasn’t supposed to end this way. That someone was waiting for me at home, a boy who’d be waiting for me every night until he was at least old enough to shave. So, I had to get out of this because I wasn’t done yet.

Clenching my teeth, I gripped my attacker’s wrist tightly in place. Straddling me, he had the upper hand—the extra body weight, the weapon. Slowly, inevitably, I’d be bleeding out on the hearth soon if I didn’t gain control.

Blood spattered the man’s black tunic, and it glistened in the firelight.

The edge of the man’s blade touched my skin, and panic screamed in my mind. His hands shook as he tried to force himself to push the steel in further. But he wasn’t like me. Death didn’t run in his veins, and his eyes looked wild with the horror of what he was about to do. This close, it was hard to kill someone—when you could feel the warm breath, see the beads of sweat. Despite their name, the hunters usually had someone else finish the job for them.

Sweat ran down his temple, his jaw moving soundlessly. The edge of the blade pierced my skin just a little. My blood roared.

My thoughts spun wildly with everything that had gone wrong tonight, each misstep that led to exactly this moment. When the Baron sent me on this mission, he’d told me there would only be one hunter in the cottage. Now, two of them lay dead on the floor, bruises covered my body, and I’d been stabbed in the shoulder.

The third was trying to work up the nerve to end my life. His hesitance was a weakness I could exploit.

I stared into his green eyes. He looked about my age. In another world, one without dangerous magic like mine, we might be friends. We might meet at the tavern to drink and sing bawdy songs with the bards.

But not in this world.

My chest cracked beneath his weight. I needed to use my magic. The problem was, every time I used it, it felt as if a hole was ripped open in my soul, leaving a ravening hunger. Magic was a dark and dangerous addiction that would tear my life apart if I gave in.

On the other hand, I really had to get home. Sometime tonight, the little boy I looked after would be waking and searching around for me, wanting to tell me about his nightmares. I needed to sing him a lullaby, to reassure him that monsters weren’t real.

I needed him to forget that I was one.

A sharp pain shot through my neck as the dagger pressed harder. I was out of options. By the tensing of this man’s muscles, he was working up the nerve to slit my throat. A lock of his hair brushed my cheek as he leaned over me. The way his hands were angled, all I had to do was move my head up a little…

I hadn’t touched another person in years. The pathetic thing was, I yearned for the contact. Magic was evil—especially mine—but I craved it like a starving man craves food. And I didn’t really have another choice here, did I?

I lifted my head, feeling the blade nick my skin. But it was close enough. I brushed my lips against his hand. It was barely a kiss, a gentle skim across his knuckles. A little taste of warmth that made me feel as if, for just a moment, I wasn’t alone.

A kiss of death.

His muscles constricted, and he jerked the blade away from my throat. Lurching back, he dropped the dagger. A purple bruise formed where I’d kissed him, and then dark veins shot out along the contours of his hand like paint racing under his skin. As his body started to convulse, he slumped off me. I stood as shadows spread along his body. He stared up at the ceiling, twitching, lips growing blue.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to look away. A forbidden pleasure roiled through my body. Once I used my magic, I always wanted more. I wanted to run through the village knocking on doors and caressing the warm, sweet faces of anyone who answered, brushing my fingers over their lips to watch their last breaths...

I tightened my jaw, and my eyes snapped open again.

Sadness carved through my chest, and I forced myself to walk to the door of the cottage. I tugged my cloak tight against the cold and pulled up my cowl.

By the hearth, the witch-hunter was still gasping for breath. But at that point, it didn’t matter if I was there. Everyone died alone.

CHAPTER 2

My nerves jangled from the chaos of the night, and I craved another taste of my magic. But I had to rid my thoughts of that exhilarating hum. Before I went in to see the Baron, I needed complete mastery over myself.

I breathed in deeply, thinking of a sun-kissed afternoon by the lake, throwing stones with Leo. My muscles relaxed.

I pushed through the door into the courtyard, my feet crunching over the snowy cobbles. Pain shot through my shoulder where I’d been stabbed, but it wasn’t a serious wound.

With a deep breath, I surveyed the wintry rose garden, trying to rein in any last crackles of magical cravings. White and thorny, the garden spread out beneath a star-flecked sky. Our village of Briarvale stood close to the sea, and when I licked my lips, I could always taste the salt.

When I was a kid, my father had planted the pear trees in this very garden, saying they did well in the coastal air. They still reminded me of him, even if he was long gone. Even if it was just the Baron now, with all his threats and shitty information.

Earlier tonight, the Baron had told me I’d find only one person in that cottage. And yet, when I stepped into his office, I’d have to do my best not to scream at him about his mistake. Whether I liked it or not, he was the one with the real power.

---