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Chapter 1
ARSENE
The creature is hunting Arsene.
He’s woken in the middle of the night by a flash of intuition that makes his nerves jangle. He shoves the bedroll aside and sits up. The back of his neck prickles like he’s being watched.
It hits him like a bolt of lightning.
“Fuck.” He rubs his eyes with one hand to clear the sleep from them. He’s an idiot. He’s been following the creature’s trail, but it’s always stayed just out of reach. This whole time he’s been tracking something that’s tracking him in return.
Arsene scans the blocky shadows of rock surrounding him. He sees nothing, of course. He’s seen nothing for days, only a trail in the dusty scrub that never led to his quarry. The creature fooled him.
Once again he’s been blind—stuck on trying to figure out how his invisible enemy slipped past his watch and killed one of the humans in the caravan. Frustration sticks in his throat like a thorn. What kind of creature is clever enough to lure him away from the caravan? Definitely not a chimera—but it could be a demon.
Show yourself,he wants to shout at his invisible foe.
The feeling of being watched grows stronger and the hair on his arms slowly rises. He holds himself still and breathes shallowly. For several moments he doesn’t move, listening, watching.
Then the feeling is gone.
Arsene waits a heartbeat longer, hoping he’s mistaken. But no. The night is utterly mundane again, free of the presence of his mysterious beast. Disappointment sours on his tongue.
He tucks the knife away and lies back on his bedroll, but he can’t sleep again.
In the morning he stalks the perimeter of his camp. Surely the creature left evidence. The knoll is surrounded by knee-high sawtooth grass, and anything approaching his camp would leave a trail of bent and broken blades. But he finds nothing, not even a single pebble out of place.
Arsene picksup the trail again mid-morning. Now that he’s looking, it’s obvious how deliberate it is—crushed grass, overturned stones, and broken scrub branches, all leading straight up the mountain. If he’d been paying closer attention he would’ve realized it sooner. But this assignment got into his head from the start.
He’s a skilled soldier who belongs on the battlefield, not playing bodyguard to a bunch of humans. Yet one mistake made him a non-entity in the army.
He was on the Seraphim Wall guarding a tunnel and a demon company attacked. He guessed left, the demon went right. It impaled itself on Arsene’s sword willingly, stole one of their grenades, then blew up the tunnel. Five infantry died. All nulls—there was no sentinel primus with them that day, for which he’spathetically grateful. If he’d been found at fault for the death of a sentinel, it would have meant more than just a black mark and an undesirable mission. The Seraphim Council would never allow him to re-enter the sentinel program himself.
Impulsive. Thoughtless. Incapable of following orders.That was the testimony at his disciplinary hearing in front of the Council.
For that, they sent him to the wastes.
Fuck that. I can plan ahead.He straightens from his crouch.
He backtracks along the trail until he finds the perfect spot, a hump in the hill that’s obviously sheltered. Once the creature realizes he’s not following along with its game, it’ll come looking for him. He’ll be ready.
He works quickly, lashing together rope from his pack to set up a snare trap—a big one. Stones the size of his fist lie all over the mountainside, and he ties them into the corners of his canvas tent to make a weighted net. There’s no need for bait, because, well…he’sthe bait. Even if he’s not sure why.
In the army, it was drilled into them that the key to predicting an enemy’s moves was understanding their motives. He’s never been great at that. How should he know what motivates a Hell-born thing like a demon? He can’t look into their minds. In the end, surely thewhydidn’t matter as long as he beat the enemy back.
As long as I catch the thing, the reason it’s after me in the first place is irrelevant.
As he settles in, the sun sinks through the dusty haze of the horizon and brilliant streaks swallow the white plain below. The first time he saw a sunset in the wastes it was breathtaking, but now he’s sick of the sight. On the Seraphim Wall the days were rarely clear, and sunrise and sunset passed greyly and without fanfare. He liked it that way. Rote. Predictable. At least on the battlefield he knew how to be a good soldier. Deep in thehuman lands with only the humans themselves for company, the disorder of the realm wears him down and he feels adrift. Clinging to this ridiculous mission like it’s a purpose instead of a lead weight.
Still, he shouldn’t have been so lax he let the creature slip through his watch.
Barely breathing, he crouches out of sight and waits. The sunset flares out and Earth’s stars prickle into being across the velvet sky.
His patience is rewarded.
The first sign is barely a shadow in the corner of his eye. Then tripwire goes off and the rock weight tumbles off the boulder and yanks the snare tight. The shadow resolves into a figure that tumbles ass over heels into the dust—a figure on two legs. Arsene throws the weighted canvas at the writhing creature and pins it to the ground, but it doesn’t go down easy. A guttural snarl rips through the air. Talons tear the canvas like it’s silk, scoring his leather breastplate.
He fumbles for the snare rope, but letting go of the canvas with one hand is a mistake. The creature—demon? Human?—throws him off with surprising strength. The canvas flies back to reveal a pale face twisted in animalistic rage, horribly scarred. That’s all Arsene glimpses before the creature leaps at him.
