Ch. 1 And 2

Ch. 1 Itʼs a horrible thing, to be in love. The stories never tell the real truth, never describe the claws that rip open the barriers to mind and heart and display all that you are before your beloved. Everyone searches for this magical thing, this pinnacle of emotion; they spend theyʼre lives, theyʼre money, theyʼre hopes and dreams all on that one thing. If theyʼre lucky, they never find it. To the unlucky ones, I say welcome, my brothers. Welcome, my sisters. Iʼm sorry youʼve joined our ranks. I can hear the dissenters already. Love equals happiness, equals laughter and a shield against harsh times. A partner by your side for always. They know nothing of the fear and the agony, know nothing of the cost of what they desire above all else. Would they want it if they knew the price? There are those who will tell you time heals and the wounds you feel now will dwindle slowly, then simply fade away. If youʼre truly one of us, you know the truth. There is no such thing. Time will do nothing but march ahead of you and laugh with glee at the empty space by your side. I tire of love stories with their happily ever afters that leave so many with hope. Such an evil, hope is. It twines about our hearts without a peep from us to dissuade it. It lodges deep and spreads so that our very blood runs with this thing called hope. I tire of hope. I will fight it in the only way I can. I will tell you a true love story. There is a man, and a woman, and a quest, death and danger, heroes and villains. There is a love that will never die. I warn you now - there is no happily ever after. There is only the truth.

Ch. 2 “Stay to the tree line, they wonʼt think to look there. And remember water, itʼs your best defense against their tracking skills, and - Miri?” My father turned his head from the steering wheel. I didnʼt see his face, I wasnʼt watching it - instead, I saw the whiteness that banded his knuckles as he kept the car steady and straight. That described my father perfectly. Steady and straight. “Miri. Pay attention to me. We donʼt have much time,” he said and turned his attention back to the road. At least, he turned his eyes to the road. I could feel his attention on me, the frantic worry that tightened his muscles and made his eyes squint. “I know, Papa. Stay to the trees, use water to cloak my scent,” I repeated. I sat in the passenger seat with the khaki knapsack my father had packed on my lap. All that I was allowed to take with me. Our ancient Volvo crested the hill and the mansion rose in front of us. A white monstrosity, it had been built before the war and was the current residence of the Commander. It sat on thousands of acres of land. Land filled with forests, jungles, swamps and even a bit of desert. The land would soon know me intimately. It would taste my blood, my sweat. It would judge me, and no doubt find me wanting. It would take me, and never let go. The car slowed. It stopped. “Miri,” Papa began. “We donʼt want to be late,” I interrupted, even though all I wanted was to be late. So late that they would forget about me and I could hide away, forever. But it would mean not only my death, by my familyʼs too. I looked at my fatherʼs sunburned farmerʼs face, his thick wrists and calloused palms. I smelled the farm on him. Iʼd never had a choice. Not really. Papaʼs warm hand cradled the right side of my face, and I rubbed against the hard skin. Then he started the car and we drove up the paved road to the mansion. He was silent as he stopped the car in front of the massive carved doors that guarded the entrance to the Commanderʼs home. The car was thick with the silence between us and I found it difficult to breathe.

A male, his unmarred, unlined perfect face proclaiming what he was, appeared and smoothly opened my door. I looked into his night dark eyes and what I saw made my skin shudder and my fingers tighten on the knapsack. There were stories about women who took one look at a Soldier and were immediately obsessed, sanity taken away by their beauty. But I saw his eyes and shuddered. “My lady?” The vision of perfection said quietly. Right. I was still in the car. “Miri…” My father started and I could see him start to reach for his side. The Soldier tensed, his fingers clamped on the door and I could see the metal begin to dent. In only a few seconds he would attack, there would be no holding him back. No. I would not allow it. “Coming,” I said and smiled my big farm girl smile. The one that said I was a couple marbles shy of a bag. I forced my legs out of the car and onto the pavement and pushed myself out of the safety of the Volvo. Whether it was the smile or the fact that I was out of the car, the Soldier relaxed and resumed his non-threatening guise. He wore the Commanderʼs standard - shimmery blue-gold and glowing silver-pearl trousers and tunic marked him as a member of the household staff. Perfect. Blood had almost been spilled and I hadnʼt even entered the house yet. “Family is not allowed past this point. Sir,” the Soldier said politely as my father got out of the car. My father paused, his hand on top of the car, and looked at me with his faded green eyes. I could feel the burn of tears and blinked them away. I reached across the car and touched his fingers with mine. “Bye, Papa. Donʼt forget to take off your shoes.” A bad joke, but all I could think of. He never remembered before entering the house and, since I was the eldest, it was me who always had to clean the mud he tracked in. “I promise, Miri baby. You remember what I said.” The signal heʼd made me memorize before we left the house. If I used it, he would come for me. No matter the cost.

I nodded. “I remember.” He gave a short nod, then sank back into the car and closed the door. I watched as he turned the key, shifted into drive, and slowly, so slowly, drove forward, away from the mansion. Away from me. “My lady?” The servant/Soldier was still behind me. I turned to face him. “Time for the fun to start, right?” I asked with the big smile still on my face. “This way, my lady,” he tilted his head to the right and down, a tiny bow, before turning and walking to the big doors that were now open. Waiting. I followed the male through the entryway and entered what felt like a cave. The gloom of the place temporarily blinded me after the brightness that had been outside. I stopped to wait for my eyes adjust and felt, more than heard, the doors close behind me. No escape. My skin prickled and stung, my heart started to pound and the hairs on my arms and neck raised, but I kept my feet steady. Running just made the predators give chase. There would be plenty of that later. “Whatʼs your name?” I asked the male who waited somewhere in the darkness ahead of me. It would have killed them put lights in the foyer? “Tyros, my lady,” he said. The dimness was starting to thin, finally, and I could make out the pale shade of his face a few feet in front of me. His right foot moved a few inches to the right, then the left. Impatient with me already. “Mineʼs Miri. Well, Miriam really, but no one calls me that. Just plain Miri,” I babbled and watched his foot move faster. Donʼt like me, donʼt approve, do you, Tyros. Isnʼt that too damn bad. “Yes, my lady,” he said in the same tone that otherʼs had used to say stupid farmerʼs daughter. “Are you ready to proceed? Your rooms are prepared and Iʼm sure that you wish to - ” he paused and looked me over thoroughly, and found me thoroughly wanting if his delivery was any indication - “freshen up.” I looked down at my outfit then back at him in confusion. “But why? Iʼm in my Sunday best.” I used my best addled cow impression to great success if the slight sneer that passed over Tyrosʼs face was any indication.

My outfit wasnʼt my best, but they didnʼt know that. In fact, the rough denim trousers and wool sweater with cotton undershirt were some of my oldest clothes. But they were warm, strong, and allowed me ease of movement, all necessities here. Before Tyros could make another subtle disparaging remark, a voice behind me purred, “You heard her, Tyros. Sheʼs in her best. No need to delay her entrance to the court.” I tensed, but luckily my clothes hid that instinctive response. I turned around slowly as Tyros bowed low, almost to the floor. “Yes, my Lord.” Capital L on that one, I thought, even as I met eyes as pale green as smooth glass. Death, those eyes whispered. Death by pleasure. Youʼll scream for more even as your heart shudders its last beat. I grinned, made sure my eyes were wide and wondering, and held out my hand. “Iʼm Miri.” The male, at least a foot taller than me, was dressed in Soldier dress uniform and from the insignia etched into the perfect black skin on his right arm, he was one of the Elite. He studied my rough, tanned hand for a moment, then accepted it with his smooth right hand and brought my skin to his lips. “Myrtan, my lady. A pleasure.” His voice rolled over me, warm, smooth as honey, and just as thick. “Wow,” I giggled at him, and blushed. They wouldnʼt know the flush on my face was from the fight or flight instinct screaming through my system. “Indeed,” Myrtan said and kept my hand in his. He tilted his head to the door on his right. “Shall we?” “Shall we what?” I asked and stared at him like he was the moon and the stars and the sun all rolled into one. He paused again, and I saw the skin at his eyes tighten for a second. He wasnʼt buying my stupid act as well as Tyros was. Better throttle back. “Oh, you mean - ” and I waved at the door heʼd indicated. “Of course! Thatʼs why Iʼm here, right? Lucky, lucky me.” The breath froze in my lungs - had my sarcasm leaked through? But Myrtan just smiled a glorious smile and pulled me toward the room of the court.

The room was octagonal in shape, with gleaming golden hardwood floors and white molding on the walls. It had more light than the foyer, mostly due to the glass dome in the center of the ceiling that let natural light flow down. Servants were stationed at all entry and exits points, I saw in a quick scan of the room, most likely to “help” the guests stay where they were supposed to. To my right, were the others - the women who, like me, had been called. They lingered around the buffet tables heaped with luxurious, expensive food; caviar, champagne, real butter and lobster, and most treacherous of all, chocolate. I felt a brief yearning when I saw the dark squares, but stomped on it. Hard. To my left were the Soldiers, grouped together in such a way as to suggest casual conversation, but I knew that it was actually in optimal configuration for defense against an attack. Thatʼs just how Soldiers thought. In the center of the groups was one larger group, and at its center stood a pale Soldier. His hair, white as a star, fell down to shoulders covered in skin that gleamed the cold blue-white of snow. The gold letters etched into his right arm proclaimed his title Commander. A burst of giggles caught my attention. A couple of the other women, girls really, were laughing at me behind their hands. I looked at them in their silk dresses that their families had probably sacrificed to give them and felt only the heaviness of pity. You canʼt save them, Miri. Concentrate on survival. Pity will only hurt you; it wonʼt save them. My fatherʼs voice rang in my head and I turned away from the giggling girls. “We must present you to the Commander,” Myrtan murmured in my ear. He had waited patiently while I observed; he probably thought I was in shock at all the fancy decked out in the room. His warm breath brushed my ear lightly, just enough to entice, not enough to leave spit on my skin. Yes, Myrtan had most definitely been trained as a Seducer. Wonderful. I wanted my skin away from his, but instead I smiled and said, “Do I look ok? I donʼt want to insult him or anything.” “You look ravishing, my lady. Good enough to eat,” he said without looking at me. He lead me toward the inner circle; or, more accurately, towed me. “Great. Just great,” I muttered, but kept the smile on my face.

I saw the girls on the right giving the males on my left shy glances and wondering smiles. Not one of them was over the age of nineteen. Which, at twenty four, made me the oldest female in the room. But then, I hadnʼt been chosen for my youth. I met the deep ocean blue irises of the Commander as Myrtan stopped us a few feet from him and saw the lines that briefly appeared around his mouth, the corners of his eyes. No, I hadnʼt been chosen for so little a reason as age. “My Lord, may I present lady Miram Laetin, of Grovesdale?” Myrtan bowed low and his ebony hair slid over my hand where it rested on his arm. “Call me Miri; only my father calls me Miriam, and only when Iʼve done something very wrong,” I grinned and put out my hand as if to shake his. I didnʼt bow, I didnʼt curtsy and I didnʼt lower my gaze. A big no-no in Soldier culture - it meant a challenge. The Commander watched me for a moment, a hunter judging its prey, and his lips creased up a bit before smoothing out, and he took my hand. “Miri it is then, lady. You may call me Phen.” He gripped my hand, then released me. And I felt triumph. Heʼd bought it. He thought me an easy hunt. “Itʼs nice to meet you, Phen. Thank you for the honor of your invitation,” I said, belatedly, as if remembering my manners. “The honor is all ours, lady.” No smile, thank Goddess. Just the smooth beauty that characterized all Soldiers, and that was disturbing enough. Then a movement behind Phen caught my eye. It was another Soldier, probably Phenʼs personal guard, and I was ready to dismiss him when a stray ray of light caught his face. His scarred face. In fact, the gold skin looked as if some beast had clawed it, with ragged stripes that criss-crossed his face. The black eyes met mine and the punch of shock plowed into my stomach. Soldiers do not scar. Ever. There was only one exception that I knew of: Kyren. One of the original Soldiers, heʼd been used as a guinea pig to test just how indestructible his new skin was. The scientist who had found the substance that corroded Kyrenʼs skin had mysteriously disappeared, along with the formula.

Look away. I didnʼt; I couldnʼt. The darkness in his eyes surrounded me, shut out all light, a vacuum, where it was just him, just me. My body began to warm, to heat from the inside; the initial punch turned into a caress inside my skin. Stop it, Miri. NOW! The scream of my common sense woke me from the dangerous place Iʼd been sucked into and I looked away from Kyren just as a little balding man rushed up to the Commander. “The cameras are in place, sir. The light is perfect. Weʼre set to begin broadcast,” he hurried through his statements, the words stumbling together like drunks on a street corner. “Excellent,” Phen said, but didnʼt take his eyes from me. He didnʼt look at Kyren but he angled his body just enough that there was now a clear space between me and Kyren. We faced each other, but I knew better, and looked at the floor, nice and meek. I could still see Kyrenʼs arm as it lay against his side - the gold of his skin was warm, like liquid sun had been poured over his body. Even the scars, the burns, seemed to writhe with heat - a swirl of flames that licked its way up his arm. He was a stark contrast to his Commander, who seemed to have been carved from some frozen tundra. “The Welcoming is about to begin, lady Miri. Please take your place at the dais,” Phen said, and looked to his left, to a stage that had appeared out of the wood flooring. I kept my eyes lowered. “Oh, right. Can I say hi to my family? Theyʼll be so excited!” There was a smothered throat sound from Myrtan, an abbreviated snort or laugh. My lips curved on their own, just a bit, before I fought them back into their normal straight lines. “Perhaps a wave will do, lady. This way,” Myrtan said and maneuvered me to the end of the line of females who had all staked out their places. The males who would hunt us, the other ʻcontestantsʼ as some of the talk shows had labeled us, lined up on the other side, from highest to lowest rank. Shit. Shit. Shit. Kyren stood at the head of the line, directly next to Phen, who took his place at the center, facing both lines. Kyren in line meant he would be hunting. But not me, I told myself, before I could start useless hyperventilating. No Soldier would want the woman I was projecting. Weak, stupid, not beautiful with my straight brown hair and stocky figure that looked solid. No, he wouldnʼt hunt me. I felt a brief flash of heat at the thought of whoever he would hunt, then it was gone, buried, as Phen began to speak.

“I extend the protection of my house to the potential mates of my Soldiers, and Welcome you,” Phen said, and tiny cameras, the size of crab apples, buzzed around his head. That was our cue and all the women, except for me, said in unison, “We accept your protection.” I kept my head bowed and no one noticed that my lips didnʼt move with the rest. To accept the protection of a Soldier put you under his authority - every girl here had in essence just given herself to the Commander. “It has been over one hundred years since the tradition of the Hunt began,” Phen continued in the same speech he had given last year, and the year before that, and the year before that, for decades. I tuned him out; I didnʼt need to hear his sanitized version of the history of the Soldiers. I knew the truth. I knew the truth because my great-grandfather was a Soldier; one everyone, including Phen, thought was dead and gone. It was better for everyone that they continued in that belief. Because the truth was that Soldiers, for all their beauty, were savage, terrifying monsters who would do anything to survive. That was why the Hunt existed. It was a compromise reached after the Fourth World War, when the brutality of the Soldiers had blazed in headlines and on television screens for six years and no one wanted to ally with them. Or against them, either. And so the Soldiers had demanded women as part of the concessions in the treaty negotiations. Without mates, they would die out. That would not be allowed to happen. I looked up at Phen and somehow got caught in Kyrenʼs black gaze. No matter the cost, Soldiers would survive.