The Hunter (excerpt of "Origin", book 1 of the Hunter series)
Quiet footsteps whispered on the gravel outside. Footsteps that knew no hurry, but seemed as single-mindedly focused in their soft-footed approach as a predator stalking prey.
Excerpt of “Origin” (book 1 of the Hunter series; chapter 6)
Quiet footsteps whispered on the gravel outside.
Footsteps that knew no hurry, but seemed as single-mindedly focused in their soft-footed approach as a predator stalking prey. There was a gravity to them that belied their own hush as well as the lean shadow causing them.
Before they ever reached the inn, the first heads inside were already turning; focusing unconsciously on the door, slumped postures raised, without ever knowing why. Voices fell into a hush. Gazes flickered, unsettled, searching for a danger that hadn‘t even entered into existence yet.
One or the other person suddenly left off what they were doing as if caught red-handed — the mug of beer that might be one too many already, their work of building a house of cards that wasn‘t quite age-appropriated for them anymore, … slid their plate away; dropped the dice… flinched.
Even the children froze in their games, without being able to pinpoint why. It most certainly couldn’t be the hissing cat—and Anur‘s little dog was hiding behind his owner, tail between its legs. Feréll suddenly grasped my hand as if he wanted to emulate the mutt.
„Lili. Lili, what is that?“ His voice was barely a whisper.
The heavy ironwood door opened as fast as it possibly could. Almost as it has decided it suddenly wanted to be the cloth or thin leather flaps we used at home, and quite as silently. Despite normally being of a rather creaky voice.
As if to make good for that acute lack, it banged against the closest, heavy supporting beam with a cracking thud and hurry, the beam the only thing stopping it from spreading its momentum onto the nearest table—and the people sitting at it. They weren’t the only ones to wince and recoil.
Even the teenage rowdies that had just been arguing with Anur‘s mother -the inkeep- at top volume, because she refuses to hand them any more beer, suddenly feel deathly silent. A good part of them turned around in a snap—the rest hastily took to their heels in retreat; all but one who ducked his head as if that might hide him.
Feréll’s fingers dug into my skin. „Lili, I‘m scared.“
I laid an arm around him in safe support and gave him a little reassuring squeeze.
„There‘s no need, Feréll. It‘s just the hunter, hm?“ I softly stroked his hair.
But Feréll‘s eyes only got bigger at my words—and I saw how the gaze of our second little one did just the same.
Oh, I would neck Bertram!
„…every seven years. And this year, he came for Aemon’s wife.“
The words still echoed in my own ears as well.
Bertram und his thrice-forsaken expansion of the old story of the Black Tower. The vampire that purportedly dwelled in there—the very same whom one long-gone forebear of our hunter‘s was said to have killed. Only Bertram now claimed our hunter was no ancestor that man at all. But the original still: struck with the same curse when he took the old one‘s head.
And, according to Bert’s newest addition, he now came to snatch away some people every few years.
To eat them.
[ Excerpt of „Origin“, book 1 of the Hunter series.
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