CHAPTER ONE
FRANKIE
Iclasp my hand over the vicious wound in my side, then wince in dismay when blood bubbles up between my fingers and spills to the ground, leaving a trail that a blind wolf could follow, much less the elite kill squad tracking my ass. I might as well be wearing a blinking neon sign above my head that points to my location.
Refusing to admit defeat, I stop only long enough to yank my shirt over my head, then wrap it around my waist and cinch it tight over the gaping slashes. Despite black dots dancing in my vision, I grit my teeth against the pain and begin my long trek through the forest.
The quiet of the woods would almost be eerie if it were a normal forest, but it’s called the Dead Forest for a reason.
Nothing that enters ever returns.
Some people claim vampires live here, others say demons.
All anyone knows is that it’s cursed.
The origins of the myth have been buried in the mists of time. Anyone who knew the truth died a long ago, taking thesecret to their grave. A pack of hounds bay in the distance, the distorted melody revealing they aren’t real hunting dogs but beasts summoned from the Underworld, and bound to do their master’s bidding.
And that is to find and kill me.
Fun times.
I pick up my pace, doing my best not to touch the trees and brush, leaving as little trace of me behind as possible. While I’m normally in excellent shape, the injury is slowing me down, the blood loss weakening me and draining my stamina faster than normal. Sweat and blood cake my tank top, and my pants are torn in more than one location from where claws tried to rip me apart.
I won’t survive much longer, but damn if I will make it easy for the bastards to kill me.
The lore are ancient creatures who survived in a time when teeth and claws were the only form of law, many of them hundreds of years old or more.
The fae like to think they’re the first to civilize the world, but they’re just a different type of vicious. Only a small colony remains in Kyperian, but that doesn’t stop the snooty assholes from acting superior to everyone else.
Though they might try to deny it, their shit stinks just as much as everyone else’s.
The most powerful lore are now the magical beings who rule Kyperian through an ironclad dictatorship, and they have hunted my kind since the beginning of time. They call us unnatural, abominations who taint the earth by our very presence.
We can’t be allowed to live.
In truth, we’re hunted for our abilities. Not only are we resistant to magic, which means we can’t be bespelled, but we can also absorb it with a touch. In rare cases, we can eithermimic others’ abilities for a short period of time or temporarily transfer them to others.
I am kismet, one of the last of my kind, one of the few beings left who can alter the course of fate. And if the lore get their grubby hands on me, no one will be safe from their tyranny. With my gift, they will be able to bend anyone to their will.
They will destroy my mind, twist my reality until I become nothing more than a minion to do their bidding. I’ve seen it often enough. When others have been summoned to the tribunal, they never return the same.
They’re conditioned.
Brainwashed.
Any kindness or sympathy is stamped out.
The lore believe they are superior to everyone else, that they deserve to be treated better and that anyone below them is lucky just to breathe the same air as them.
I refuse to allow that to happen to me.
I won’t let the greedy assholes alter other people’s fate for their own personal gain and private amusement.
I won’t be a weapon at their disposal.
I would rather die first, which is a very real possibility.
The deeper I burrow into the gnarled woods, the more the world around me changes. The sunlight disappears through the heavy canopy of rustling leaves. A few rays dapple through the forest, the slow strobe light effect disorienting. The branches overhead are so thick that I’m unable to see the lavender dome they use to protect our city from being discovered by humans.
