Page 201 of Huntress

For the first time since she’d ripped apart the tether between herself and her mate, she felt something close to hope. She’d follow that tattered bond back to him and beg his forgiveness. She’d spend her life making it up to him if it’s what he wanted, even getting on her knees to grovel as she’d never done before. Elsie would do anything for a second chance.

The weight of a thousand regrets lifted, vigor returning to her body and joints. She bounced in place, the first smile she’d had since he’d left tugging at her lips. Finally, she had something to look forward to.

Once clean, she used a dryer to speed things along, then got dressed. Strapping on every weapon but the swords, she pulled on the last item she’d taken from her room. One of Saint’s hoodies. It still smelled of him, and the hem fell just above the bottom of her shorts.

She pulled the front of it up to her nose and breathed deep, pretending for a second that he was still there. She’d be with him again soon.

Slipping straps onto their swords, she slung them over her back with the pommels angled for easy access. She glanced into the mirror, then practically skipped out the door and down the hall.

Marley and Trenton were together around the next corner, intent on speaking with her, but she put a hand up to stop them.

“Not a word. Morgan told me that not all of squad one sent Saint to that fucking torture chamber. I know that he and Perrie were willing to take responsibility for him until I healed. His and Clairemont’s deaths are on you. I guess I should have taken your hands after all.”

“Elsie!” Marley said sharply.

She walked away with a jaunt in her step that had been missing since even before the centipede. Her whole body was lighter with anticipation, almost as though she could fly. She was finally free.

She’d return to the family who would remind her of what kind of person she was supposed to be. People who would release the seal on her magic and teach her to use it properly, and she’d have her mate at her side the whole way.

She hit the doors with a grin spreading across her face, greeting the sun with a joy she hadn’t felt in ages. Even the air tasted better. Cleaner, fresher.

Elsie didn’t quite run to the barrier; she hadn’t completely lost her dignity, but she’d probably never walked faster in her whole damned life. She crossed through the barrier and traversed the uneven ground of the dead zone. It wasn’t until she drew closer to the massive old oak tree that she slowed, trepidation creeping in for the first time.

She loved her mother, but now she realized that Saint had been right all along. She didn’t even know the woman. The goddess. How different would her relationship be with Stolas, who had once patiently tolerated her only because she’d been a child who didn’t know any better? What of the terrifying shadow wolf whom Santa Muerte forced to stay at her side?

What if her mother was disappointed in the woman she’d become? What if the goddess wouldn’t accept her anymore? Her steps slowed the more she thought about it until she tiptoed through the woods, creeping closer to the tree.

Santa Muerte sat on a fallen log, face turned to the side, speaking to a raven twice the size of the one Elsie killed. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of her. The goddess was everything she remembered and more.

Dressed in an elaborate gown, with a crown of flowers in hair that shifted color like a restless prism from blue to purple, then black, and back again, the woman was stunning. From the bronze of her skin with red undertones to her voluptuous curves and sultry lips, Santa Muerte’s entire body made her appealing and inviting to those who would meet her at the end of their lives.

Elsie saw no sign of the Shadow King, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lurking somewhere out of view, skulking and waiting for his next chance at making another attempt on her mother’s life.

Santa Muerte laughed, a light, musical sound, then glanced over and saw Elsie. Her smile softened for a second before growing brighter and wider, flashing perfectly white teeth.

Stolas hopped around to face her. He ruffled the feathers on his wings and let out a deep croaking sound in greeting.

“Mija,” her mother said softly, reaching out a hand to beckon Elsie closer. “Ven, déjame mirarte.”1

Her mother spoke in a language Elsie hadn’t heard spoken in sixteen years, but she still understood perfectly. She closed the distance between them and took her mother’s offered hand, allowing the goddess to look her over with a discerning eye.

“They have not taken good care of you.” Santa Muerte’s eyes were sharp, but her tone quickly turned loving. “But you have become lovely despite their neglect.”

She took Elsie’s other hand and squeezed it. “You have power, child, even more than I expected. I’m pleased. You will be capable of doing your duty well.”

Elsie assumed her mother spoke of her duty as a reaper, but she’d never been entirely sure what the deity meant. She often spoke in what may as well be riddles.

Santa Muerte stood and brushed her fingers along the visible lines of the seal at Elsie’s throat. She froze, thinking this must be it! The moment the seal would finally come off and she’d be given full access to her magic.

She was mistaken.

“I am sorry to say that your father still lives, and he has not relented in his quest to find you.” The goddess rested her hands on Elsie’s shoulders. “However, you are ready to learn to fight and protect yourself, should he come for you in the future. I would have put off our reunion further, but the seal is fading, as it was meant to do.”

Elsie took a step back, her whole face furrowing into a frown. “You’re going to reseal it?” she asked. She didn’t dare ask the other question plaguing her mind. Was the seal fading the only reason her mother had come?

“No, mija. Estar tranquila.2 I am going to bring you to the one place where it can be safely removed. It is a planet in another dimension, called Molta. It is where you will train and take the first steps toward fulfilling your destiny.”

Destiny. Elsie brushed it off, remembering how often her mother brought up such nonsense in her childhood. “I have to find someone before we leave. He’s–”