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~ Prologue ~
Chancemont LeBlanc
Present day
ALL AT ONCE—he was on her! The Dark Prince Pestale had the Death Sword across her throat, and if her brother moved another step toward her, it would only end in getting her killed.
Chancemont LeBlanc stood rigid and filled with fear for his young sibling, Lana.
And then, right before his eyes, the Dark Prince, grinning all the while, slit young, sweet Lana’s throat, and she was forever lost to them.
Thunder rolled through his body then—rolled through it still. His sword vibrated in his hands, feeling his need.
He wanted blood, the Dark Prince’s blood, and he wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything else in his life.
Fury took over his despair and buried the pain of grief with the hope that he would soon have the Dark Prince in his grip and torture him before he put an end to the Dark Fae’s miserable existence. Sorrow—deep, haunting sorrow—filtered through to his heart and blinded him with the all-consuming need to avenge his young sister’s death. Guilt shouted out his faults and blamed him for her death—but guilt was a waste of time. He replaced that guilt with purpose and became centered in his goals.
Find Pestale, capture Pestale, and drag him to Dravo, where he and his father could inflict pain and punishment on him before putting him out for the buzzards to feed upon.
Thoughts of his father off alone and mourning in silence made him cringe. His father would never get over this loss. He was the Milesian leader, Morgan LeBlanc, a big man that his people on Dravo relied upon.
His da—who he could have passed as his brother, so young was he in appearance—was lost to drink and self-inflicted solitude. Who could blame him?
His da, who had always been a force in Chance’s life, was broken by this final loss. And rage filled Chance as he made his plans. Milesians were an immortal race—not born that way, but created by the dust from the Fae World of Danu when that world was destroyed. The dust had come through the portal that brought the Fae to the Human Realm.
Now, their joint loss of Lana would hurt them through eternity.
She was the only daughter, a reminder of the great love his father had for Chance’s mother, lost so long ago. Sweet Lana, his bright-eyed baby sister who had not yet reached maturity, with her entire immortal life ahead of her—until Pestale.
Revenge? Someone once told him revenge could be sweet. He wasn’t certain that was true, but he shouted to the winds, “Revenge canna bring back her laughing eyes, or her dear voice …” His own voice trailed off, because he needed revenge, for without it—without revenge—he could not attain justice. To Chance the two walked a straight and parallel line.
His father had stopped drinking when he realized what Chance was going to do. He had grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him. “Do ye think I can lose another? Doona go, Chance …”
“Da, he must not be allowed to live.”
“Chance, me own best hope … doona go …”
It had nearly stayed him, the distress on his father’s face, but the need to avenge his sister’s murder was greater. “I must, Da, ye know that.”
His father had sighed with acceptance and had talked to him for hours. He told him to be cool-headed in his pursuit. He said with tears in his eyes that revenge and justice were two different things.
Are they? Chance asked the sky, “Are they different? I doona have the answer to that, but I do have my immortal skills, m’magic, and my Death Sword. It will take all those things to find the devil, and to lay hands on him. He is a Dark Fae Prince, the eldest of his brothers—the most cunning of them all, and I will have his blood,” he vowed to the heavens and himself.
Two days had passed since they had lost Lana to Pestale’s death weapon. Two days since they fought beside the Seelie Fae to bring down Gaiscioch and the Dark monsters. Two days, and Pestale remained alive.
Chance’s thoughts were violent as he spoke to Pestale as though he were there. “There is nowhere ye can outrun me. I will track ye to the ends of the earth, and beyond if necessary. I have shouted it to the heavens, I am Chancemont LeBlanc, and I shall have yer filthy Dark Fae blood!”
Young Seelie Prince Trevor had joined him in this mission, and they would soon make tracks. He couldn’t deny the Seelie Fae his place with him, because of Lana’s memory. How he had objected to her little romance with the Fae prince, in no small part because Trevor was the younger brother of Prince Dante. Chance and Dante had fought on opposite sides of the war thousands of years ago, and though Fae and Milesians were no longer enemies and had in fact joined forces recently against the Dark Fae, Chance held no love for his former foe and no wish to see his sister falling for a member of the Royal House of Lugh, Dante’s brother no less! Now he wished she were with him … flirting up the lad once again. Och, but he could hear her laugh …
He berated himself. If only he had kept Lana on Dravo … in chains—it would have taken chains to keep her from the fight, for she had been too headstrong to listen. He should have foreseen this; he should have spelled her home.
The war with Gaiscioch was over. The Human Realm was safe for the time being. The two remaining Dark Princes had been returned to the Dark Realm, where they would forever remain imprisoned with Queen Morrigu.
Gaiscioch was dead—his evil but a recent memory—but Pestale had escaped and was somewhere in the Human Realm.
It rode him hard and drew blood that Pestale was free! Chancemont’s determination went beyond purpose, beyond thought, and took him to a place where all he knew was his need for justice.
So then, Chance had become a hunter.
He would capture the evil prince, and he would make his demands before he put him out of his misery—for he would keep him there, begging for death until he said Lana’s name.
And so it began.
