Defying
DESTINY
OLIVIA DOWNING
Copyright © 2012 Olivia Downing
Cover art by Olivia Downing
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1463764537
ISBN-13: 978-1463764531
Chapter 1
Breath pluming, exposed flesh stinging
in the biting wind, the lone figure turned
up the thick, fur collar of her cloak and
continued through the sleeping village.
Maralee’s boots crunched through the
snow’s icy crust as she patrolled the
deserted roads. The leather gauntlets on
her lower arms protected her from Wolf
bites, but not frostbite. She flexed her
hands to maintain dexterity and blew a
warm breath on her stiff fingers, before
returning her hand to the familiar hilt of
the sword at her hip.
The night was uncommonly quiet, even
for the dead of winter. Wild creatures
dared not venture out on a crisp, clear
night such as this, when the moon was full.
Soon the Wolves would invade the
village, leaving behind a wide swath of
human decimation. Something about the
orb of glowing light ignited a blood lust in
the creatures. The packs partook in a
frenzied feast of human flesh once every
twenty-eight days and so the lady hunter
watched, and waited, and kept her sword
at ready.
Maralee did not know the people of this
village; had never laid eyes on any except
the innkeeper. She had arrived in
Sarbough by hired sleigh only hours
before, having traveled from the distant
village of Relwood. She was not aware if
the people of this village were of strong
character or weak, but this did not matter.
A person was a person no matter their
qualities and a Wolf was, at its very core,
a monster.
A faint crunch gave Maralee pause. She
listened intently, but heard only her own
ragged breaths. A strong presence lurked
behind her and instinct was a trusted ally.
She spun around, drawing her sword in
one fluid motion. Holding the long, sliver
blade before her in both hands at her
waist, she scanned the lane, finding
nothing there but crisscrossing sleigh
tracks and footprints in the snow.
“A dangerous night for a stroll, little
miss,” a deep voice reverberated from the
shadows.
Maralee pivoted in the direction of the
voice, her heart hammering. The man
pushed away from a wall and stepped into
the wide lane. He was tall with midnight
black hair except for a white lock that
draped over his left eye. His long coat
accentuated the broad cut of his shoulders
and chest. With the moon to his back,
Maralee could not make out his features,
but something about him made the hairs on
the back of her neck stand on end. She
took a step backwards despite herself. She
faced packs of vicious Wolves fearlessly,
but human villains were a different matter.
His hand disappeared into a pocket and
Maralee lifted her sword, shifting from
defense to offense.
“I warn you, sir,” she said, her lilting
accent identifying her as native to northern
Dubwar. “I know how to use this.”
“I never doubted it.”
Was he mocking her?
The man drew his hand from his pocket
and brought something to his mouth. A
flame lit his features and Maralee found
him young despite the lock of white in his
untamed, collar-length hair. The flame
died and the tip of his cigarette glowed
red in the darkness as he inhaled deeply.
“Smoke?” he offered, reaching into his
pocket again.
“I do not partake in sinful pleasures.”
He made a sound of amusement and
drew the cigarette away from his mouth.
“Pity.” He took another drag before
tossing the cigarette into a snow bank. It
extinguished with a small hiss. “I don’t
recall seeing you around here before. Do
you have a place to stay?”
“I have a room at Smithy’s inn,” she
blurted, then bit her lip, too late to catch
her slip.
“I’ll walk you back,” he said, taking a
step closer. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Because I didn’t offer it.” She returned
her sword to its sheath with a faint
scraping sound. She wasn’t prepared to
bring harm to a human anyway—she
exterminated vermin, not people. “If
you’ll excuse me.”
She turned to continue her patrol, trying
to convince him, if not herself, that she
found his presence trifling.
The persistent man fell into step with
her. She paused once more, looking up
into his eyes for signs of misdeeds. His
eyes, a pale shade of brown— amber—
had an unsettling, feral quality. Catching
the moonlight, they almost glowed, like an
animal’s. He smiled at her crookedly, and
her heart gave an unexpected lurch. She
became conscious of his height, which
must have been several inches over six
feet, as she did not reach his shoulder. The
aroma of tobacco and oiled leather, along
with the earthy scent of his body,
surrounded her. Was it possible for
someone to smell dangerous? Her
thudding heart believed so.
“If you insist on taking a midnight stroll
on the night of the full moon, then I insist
on escorting you,” he said.
“I have neither need, nor want of an
escort, sir.” She picked up her pace again.
“I’m Nash.” His hand touched the small
of her back to direct her around a deep rut
in the lane.
At his light touch, her heart faltered and
began to race. She glanced up at him
again, puzzled by this unwarranted
reaction. He graced her with another
mischievous smile. A blush crept up her
throat and spread over her face like fire.
She ducked her head and rushed forward,
moving beyond his bewildering touch.
“You are a particularly obstinate
female.” He easily caught up with her
again, as his stride was longer than hers.
She stopped abruptly and glared up at
him. How dare he insult her!
“Will you just leave me be?” she said.
“Once I have returned you safely to
your lodging.”
Maralee growled in frustration. “See
here, you—”
“Nash.”
Her eyes narrowed. “See here, Nash,”
she said. “I am not the da
msel in distress
you take me for. I came to this village for
a reason and nothing you say or do will
dissuade me from my purpose. I am well
aware of the dangers that befall villages
on the night of the full moon. I am a Wolf
Huntress by trade and you needn’t concern
yourself with my welfare.”
This seemed to ruffle his calm. “Wolf
Huntress? You kill Wolves?”
“Yes. I have come to protect this
village from an unusually large pack and
my job would be a lot easier if you would
just go away. I require strict concentration
and do not wish to be responsible for your
safety during the slaughter.”
He took her by the arm, his touch no
longer gentle, but punishing. He turned her
in the direction of the inn and forced her to
move forward.
“Let go!” she demanded.
She pulled on her arm and tried to plant
her boots in the crusted snow, but he
dragged her along as if she were a
ragdoll.
“You’ll not be killing any Wolves
tonight, Nameless Lady. It is my duty to
protect this village.” He didn’t even slow
as she continued to struggle against him.
So this was the reason he persistently
tried to ensure her safety? She infringed
upon
his
territory?
The
undoubtedly paid him handsomely to keep
the Wolves at bay. She knew from
experience a single Wolf carcass of a
particular species returned a hefty bounty.
His reasons did not excuse his bullying
however. Maralee refused to submit to his
tyranny.
“I said let me go!”
A long howl in the distance drew a gasp
from Nash. He paused and listened to the
answering howl seconds later.
“They’re coming,” he said, his grip
loosening.
In his distraction, Maralee managed to
pull free of his grasp. She dashed forward
in the direction the Wolves’ calls without
a backward glance. She drew her sword
as she ran, her cloak flapping like an
ominous, black bat.
At the edge of town, Maralee halted
between two wooden houses, readying her
sword, listening, watching for any signs of
motion. The Wolf pack emerged from
between the trees at the end of the lane,
their shining eyes glazed with madness in
the light of the full moon. There were at
least thirty of them—the largest pack
Maralee had encountered. These weren’t
typical wolves. They were nearly twice as
large and much heavier, with a keen
intelligence Maralee knew was their most
dangerous asset.
When the Wolves caught scent of her,
they stopped their progression, wicked
teeth bared, hackles raised. Growling and
snarling, the lead Wolf charged forward.
All four paws lifted from the ground as he
leapt for Maralee’s throat. She slashed the
beast across its middle with her solid
silver blade. It dropped to the ground,
instantly dead. More Wolves charged.
Maralee lifted her sword, preparing for
the onslaught of what promised to be a
difficult battle.
An arm grabbed her from behind and
dragged her across the road. Her assailant
shoved her into a shed and barred the
double doors from the outside.
“Hey!” she cried, banging on the door
with the palm of her free hand. “Let me
out of here! I demand to be set free this
instant!”
A snarl on the other side of the door
answered her plea for freedom. Persistent
claws scratched the door. A sniffing snout
pressed against the crack at the base of the
door. Maralee stabbed in that direction,
but found no mark. The bar holding the
door closed rattled. Soon, they would get
into the shed. Little things like doors never
stopped them. Maralee took a step
backwards and held her sword at ready.
At least, they could not sneak up behind
her while she was inside.
A long, loud howl sent a shiver down
her spine. Holding her breath, she
lowered her weapon and pressed her ear
against the wooden door. That man, Nash,
was out there amongst the monsters. And
just who did he think he was? Locking her
in a shed. Who else could be responsible
this madness?
There was no way the man would
survive a battle with a pack that size. With
fangs longer than her fingers, Wolves
inflicted mortal wounds. Maralee wore
gauntlets when she fought them for a
reason. Circulating anecdotes suggested if
bitten by a Wolf, a human would transform
into one of the mad beasts. Maralee knew
better. Multiple scars on her right arm
proved these rumors false.
Another howl. Wolves panted and
sniffed beneath the shed door, but the
scratching stopped. Another howl, a yip,
and the beasts moved away.
What was going on? Had the Wolves
overpowered Nash? Were they invading
the villagers’ homes even now? That
couldn’t be the case. Things were too
quiet. No screams of terror and pain. No
growling, snarling chaos. None of the
sounds of slaughter that had haunted
Maralee’s nightmares for fifteen years.
She had to get out of this shed before it
sword. The blade was too thin and the
metal too soft to do more than scratch the
wood’s surface. Using the hem of her
cape, she wiped the blade clean of blood
and sheathed it before searching blindly
around the pitch-black interior of the shed
for a more effective tool.
Her hands found a rake in the darkness,
followed by a hoe. A shovel. An ax. With
a self-satisfied smile, Maralee took the ax
in both hands and approached the door.
She lifted the ax over her head and struck.
A board splintered, leaving a crack. A
band of moonlight crossed the floor. She
pulled the ax free and hit the same
location. The board broke off, leaving a
space large enough for her arm. She
dropped the ax on the floor, stuck her arm
through the opening and lifted the slab of
wood barring the double doors.
Maralee pushed the doors open and
rushed out into the frigid air. She drew her
sword, searching for signs of the Wolves.
Other than paw prints in the snow, all
traces of them had vanished.
Maralee caught sight of Nash kneeling
over the Wolf she’d slain. Long fingers
stroked the dead animal’s fur and eased
the Wolf’s blank eyes closed. The man
lifted the animal into his arms and sto
od,
cradling the Wolf’s massive body against
his broad chest. Its head lolled against his
shoulder.
Nash headed for the woods. He glanced
back at Maralee just before disappearing
into the trees and she recognized the
shimmering on his cheeks as the
moonlight’s reflection on the paths of his
tears.
Before the cursed full moon set, Nash
buried his older brother, Cort, beneath the
colossal tree that marked the graves of his
father and grandfather. Their mother, a
pale gray wolf, and his brother’s tawny-
furred widow, leaned against one another
for comforting support. Cort’s two young
sons, both purest white, and his only
daughter, the same gray shade as her
recently deceased father, howled forlornly
as they watched their uncle complete his
unsavory task.
That woman! Why hadn’t she just
listened to him? Cort would still be alive
if she had simply done what Nash had
asked of her. And what kind of wicked
sword did she possess that could slay a
powerful being so effortlessly? It couldn’t
be the same one used to murder his father
and grandfather. The last of the Wolf
Hunters had died fifteen years ago. How
could another have arisen to prey upon his
pack?
As soon as Nash smoothed the rich soil
over his brother’s grave, his mother
approached and looked up at him, her
large, amber eyes full of questions and
pain. She whimpered and Nash sank to his
knees to wrap his arms around her broad
neck.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he whispered. His
fingers burrowed into the thick fur at the
back of her head as he tried to comfort
her. “I was able to control the pack, even
in their frenzied state beneath the curse of
the full moon, but that woman…” Nash’s
eyes narrowed as he remembered her
wide, innocent-looking silver eyes, so
contrary to her true monstrous demeanor.
“There was no controlling her at all.”
As the moon sank behind the distant
horizon, his mother’s fur became smooth,
warm skin and her arms moved to circle
her youngest son’s waist. “You know who
did this?” she asked.
“I do not know her name, but I spoke
with her. She couldn’t be dissuaded.”
“But how did she do it? Nothing but
silver can kill one of us.”
“It only makes sense if her blade is
silver. She claimed to be a Wolf Huntress,
but I don’t see how she can be,” Nash
said. “The Hunters are all dead. Our