Fated to Burn

Prologue

DARROC

•ONE YEAR AGO•

The salty sea air mixed with arid winds and a blast of searing heat as the rocky shore gave way to dry lands. The boundary between Wendorre and Anestra was nothing more than a festering wound: a stretch of dead grass and the memory of blood, centuries gone.

A millennia ago, the Ancient Originals used the last of their gifts to create the deadened boundary as a place of remembrance for the Great War’s fallen.

Darroc L’Azare, last surviving member of Warlock Royalty, crossed the dividing line, relishing in the land’s echoes of pain. Knowing that he would soon cause more only spurred him further.

It had been years since Darroc needed to hold his glamour as a normal warlock in place for so long, although he found he rather liked being out of the shadows in the open sunshine. He had taken years to perfect his glamouring spell and knew it to be infallible.

He hadn’t always been the monster he now was.

It was the reason behind all of it; why he dedicated his life to such atrocities for the salvation of his people. Ultimate power would bring back the vitality Wendorre had been missing for so long. It would ensure that his people thrived and that their land would prosper. It would ensure that he ruled the way he wanted and no other would ever step in his way again.

I must be the one to fulfill the prophecy.

Darroc traveled night and day, no longer needing sleep to provide him energy. All those long years of using dark magic had turned him into something else, something other. Perhaps he was not a known race at all.

The thought jolted his blood. To be the first of his own kind, soon to be breeding with the female that would help the prophecy come true.

They didn’t know what he knew. Faria was just a tool; it was the offspring that was important.

Darroc’s offspring.

He hadn’t spent centuries creating unspeakable horrors and planning for the siege of Anestra to be anything but absolutely sure that Faria would bear his child. A child with their combined magic whom, under his direction, would ensure the world bowed to him alone.

Nearly a week passed after crossing The Barren Plain before Darroc came upon them. Warlocks. His kind, if he truly belonged to a kind anymore.

Darroc recognized their scent and hid his sneer as he steered his horse through their fields. He carefully avoided their crops; keeping the disguise was not just about looks, but complete appearance. He didn’t want to cause unnecessary damage to their main source of food and risk suspicion.

A weathered man with a crooked back stood up from where he gathered beans, and a woman with leathery skin came to stand by him, a basket balanced on her hip. They both wore cautious smiles as Darroc jumped off his horse and adjusted his tunic made of deep azure silk.

Hello, Grand-Mother, Darroc addressed the woman in the traditional warlock greeting, placing his right hand over his heart. Sir, hello. I am Darroc L’Azare, Royal Liaison from our home of Wendorre.

The woman’s shocked expression melted into suspicion while a smile spread widely across the man’s face.

Hello, Sir. I’m Jed, this is Nora. The man bowed at the waist but the woman did little more than nod in his direction. What brings you so many leagues away from our homeland?

Anger flashed through Darroc as he heard their human names. "I have important business at Mentage, but I’m afraid I still have such a long journey." The feigned politeness in his voice grated on his nerves.

I wasn’t aware our people had a Royal Liaison anymore, Nora said, staring boldly into his own violet eyes—the one true mark of a royal warlock. There hasn’t been a royal warlock for centuries. The way she challenged him while staring at the one piece of evidence that he might have been telling the truth called to something primal in him. Something that made him want to shred her throat with his teeth.

Swallowing his bloodlust felt like nails clawing his insides. Please, if you can spare little food, I would be more than happy to help with the rest of your harvest.

Jed looked disbelieving at Darroc’s clothes, as if wondering if he had ever done a hard day’s work in his life. He paid particular attention to the silks shining off of the mid-afternoon sun.

These are nothing, Darroc said, noticing where Jed’s eyes traveled to. Really, I don’t mind.

He removed his travelling cloak and outer tunic, revealing plain underclothes and exchanged his expensive riding boots for a pair that were worn with age, before placing his belongings in the pack on his stallion. He led the horse over to a fence and tied her up before facing the old man again.

Jed looked appreciatively at Darroc’s muscles. Okay, then. You can help me finish this section and the next. Time we’re done, we’ll be ready to eat.

Nora quickly excused herself and the men worked in silence until the sun drew long shadows on the ground. Darroc didn’t mind the grunt work as much as he thought he would. After centuries of hiding away, it was almost cathartic to perform manual labor in the sunlight and it gave him time to begrudgingly appreciate the land of Anestra.

The land that would soon be his.

A child darted out from behind large stalks of corn a few feet away, no more than seven or eight years old by the look of her. Dirt streaked the girl’s face. The sight of the girl gripped Darroc with surprise; warlock children were rare. He hadn’t heard of a warlock child surviving into adulthood in nearly twenty years and this girl seemed relatively healthy.

My granddaughter, Moira. Jed motioned the girl forward. Her mother, my daughter, died from sickness two summers ago.

Darroc stared harder at the child, subtly trying to scent the air to see what else she was. Her appearance was not typical of pure-blooded warlocks. She had the sun kissed coloring and bright blue eyes known among their race, but her curly red hair gave her the appearance of being on fire. She had some warlock, yes, but something else, too. And the father?

Never knew, Jed replied. We hadn’t known our daughter was pregnant until she came home with a child.

D-dinner is ready. Moira curtseyed before running away.

Strange, Jed said. I normally can’t get her in at night.

The two warlocks walked toward the little cottage that Moira ran into, and Darroc mused on how much personal information he should share to learn what he needed to. It had been a long while since he’d needed to prove himself trustworthy, and he decided to use this as an opportunity to test his deceit before arriving at Mentage.

The inside of the cottage was little more than destitute. A few shelves lining the back wall held broken pots and well-used dishes, and the chairs at a worn-out table looked barely able to hold his weight. An adjacent room held two beds—or rather, straw and blankets on the floor. At least it was clean.

Darroc’s blood boiled, thinking of where his people were now. Centuries ago, it would have been unheard of for a warlock to be taken by sickness. If he hadn’t spent so much time hiding and experimenting across the realms, he might have been better attuned to the squalor his people had fallen into.

They were once a wealthy, revered people. They used to hold huge markets where people of all races would trade rare fabrics, fine jewelry, and nearly impossible-to-find spices. Now, they had nothing. Granted, Jed and Nora chose to leave Wendorre, but he could hardly fault them for it. They weren’t the only ones to do so. This was arguably a better life than what they would have had if they stayed, and that thought only increased his anger.

I should have killed my father sooner.

How dare the queen not take better care of his people? Did she even know his subjects were this far out on her land?

She had much to pay for.

Nora poured bits of stew into each of the bowls laid out on the table and bread was divided amongst them. He almost felt sorry for eating their food, because along with no sleep, he did not require sustenance in the traditional sense. He needed information though, and had already asked them to share their meal.

Jed motioned Darroc to the seat at the head of the table; a sign of respect. He gloated inwardly at the gesture. Avoiding eye contact with Darroc, Moira seated herself as close to Nora on the side opposite him as she could get. Jed took the remaining chair and sat with a grunt.

We follow no deity here, but if you need to say prayers or offerings, please feel free to do so.

Darroc almost scoffed at the absurdity. The only offerings he needed were the ones his minions laid before him, not the other way around.

No, thank you, he replied, taking a modest bite of stew. It was only a few root vegetables, but it was flavorful enough, not that he cared either way. Tell me, Jed, do you often hear news out here of what goes on up north?

"Well, we are a week out from Mentage and the capital, so we usually hear of things several days after it has passed, when travelers come out this way."

Darroc nodded, figuring out how to word his next question. Anything…unusual?

Jed shared a quick look with Nora and swallowed. Unusual in what way?

Anything out of the ordinary. You see, I have particular business with Queen Amira and her daughter. Darroc stared hard at Jed before continuing. "Business that would have a direct impact on Wendorre, and its people. If there is something amiss, I would need to prepare before making my final leg of the journey to Mentage."

Ah, Jed stared back down at his bowl, tapping his spoon against the bottom of it. Well, we have heard several strange rumors of late.

Nora choked on a sip of water and glared at him, her ire coming off her in waves.

Please, I have been traveling nearly three weeks already and you are the first of our kind I have encountered. Darroc paused a moment before subtly shifting his voice to a command. Tell me.

Well, these are just rumors, of course, we won’t know the truth of it until later, Jed hedged. It seems as though young Faria has started to come into her gifts.

And what do we know of these…gifts? Darroc tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. If Faria proved powerful, then their offspring would be, too. He would mold their daughter into the weapon he would need on his way to total domination.

To save his people, of course.

Only rumors, but something strange happened in the Forest of the Dawn, as we heard it. Some foul magic was there, burning that ancient forest.

No! Feinting shock and alarm were almost as difficult as being polite and maintaining the glamour.

Yes. The queen could not stop it, and from what we hear, Faria flew out to the fields and she poured her essence into the land, creating water and fire where there was none. And was able to douse those strange flames.

Flew? Darroc had already suspected that Faria’s powers had begun to overtake his, but this confirmed it. He’d felt when she stopped the black flames from consuming the forest. It was how he knew it was the right time to accept the queen’s invitation.

Oh yes, as a bird in flight as we heard it told, Jed whispered conspiratorially with a wink.

Elves cannot fly.

Yes, strange rumors we heard. Jed sat back in his chair and took another bite of stew. Nora stared hard at her untouched food.

And what about you, Nora? Have you heard anything else?

She clenched her jaw shut. For a moment seemed as though she wouldn’t answer, before pushing out the word, No.

Oh, come now, Jed said. There is one other bit of interesting news.

I’m sure this man, Nora spat the insult toward Darroc, does not care for more rumors and false stories.

Darroc didn’t know whether to laugh or sneer. Nora was bold in her obvious distaste of him, though he couldn’t imagine where it came from. Neither of them was old enough to remember him. No one alive should remember who he used to be.

Well, we don’t know how false they really are, Jed said.

No, Darroc cut in, trying to keep the desperation and anger out of his voice. On the contrary, I care very much indeed of what you have to say, truth or not. I am here for Princess Faria. The queen has struck a deal with me, offered me a chance to court her daughter. I intend to make Faria mine.

Silence hung in the air, sticking to the walls, quieting the fire. No one moved.

Interesting.

Ha! Nora’s barked laugh broke the silence. I’m afraid that won’t be happening.

Darroc stilled, the challenge in her voice calling to that primal place in him, and his control was quickly slipping. Sweat broke down his neck as he tried to keep his glamour in place. This would not be the time to unleash his claws. What, he squeezed the word out with visible effort.

"Well, Darroc, Nora sneered. It seems as though our Faria has chosen her partner already. So, I’m afraid you came all this way for nothing."

Nora! Jed said, slamming his hand on the table. Moira flinched at the sound. Show some respect!

There is something not right about this creature sitting at our table! Nora said. Moira felt it, and so do I. She took a breath before continuing, fire in her eyes. You may once have been a warlock, but you are no more. I don’t know what you are doing here or what you really plan, but you cannot have our Faria. She is the Chosen One and she has chosen who is hers. It is not you. I suggest you leave and don’t come back.

Darroc’s glamour slipped, anger and hatred spitting out of him. How dare she say Faria was hers? His face elongated, his unholy canines coming loose from their hidden prison. The world around them shook with violence while clouds gathered outside, and thunder rumbled menacingly over the shack.

Moira screamed as Jed pushed back from the table, horror staining his features. Nora’s face blanched, but she held her ground, refusing to avert her eyes.

Darroc could almost admire her foolishness. After several deep breaths, he was able to control himself enough to change his face back but the damage was done and a storm still threatened the air.

Who has she chosen?

Jed only shook his head, his mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land, his voice lost to him. Moira cowered under the table, as if that could save her if Darroc really meant her harm. No, his wrath was all for Nora. Women were precious to his race, which was the only thing keeping him from tearing her heart out.

A triumphant smile slid over her face, her eyes shining with victory. A. Human. She said each word distinctly, making sure Darroc heard her clearly.

The words echoed in his ear, barely audible above the sound of his blood pumping furiously as the pressure in his body rose. Darroc took a moment to process that impossible information. He let out a roar, his glamour completely disintegrated. He felt freer than he had in weeks, but the ease in his body did nothing to calm the rage that overtook him.

Before realizing what he was doing, Darroc reached for an obsidian bone knife hanging from his belt, sliced his palm down the middle, and allowed the blood to flow out on the table.

Black.

You-you are the evil one? Jed stammered as he pressed his back against the front door, as if he had anywhere to run from the predator Darroc was.

Yes, he replied simply before turning back to Nora. He watched as his blood drifted slowly toward the old woman. She was rooted to the spot, her face contorted with a scream that would not free itself from her body.

Once it reached her, the blood lifted into the air, hovering inches from Nora’s face before lazily entering her mouth as a snake to its den. Within seconds she changed from pale to purple, her eyes pleading for mercy.

There was no mercy to be had.

With a flick of his wrist and a brief exhale of breath later, Nora’s body exploded. Pieces of her rained down around them, oozing down the walls, and landing in a bloody pool on floor.

Nora! Jed cried out, but it was too late.

You understand, Jed, that you know too much now. Darroc stalked closer to his latest prey. I could have liked you. Tolerated you, he amended. I am doing this for our people. They must be saved and this is the only way.

Jed’s painful cries were the only reply he could give.

I’ll make this merciful, for the kindness you have shown me. Swifter than light, Darroc slashed Jed’s throat, stepping back as his body thumped to the ground.

Wiping his knife on the back of Jed’s tunic, Darroc’s ears perked at the mewling noises coming from under the table.

Ah, yes. Moira.

Darroc knocked the table over without preamble, pieces of Nora flinging to the walls and sizzling in the fire. The scent of cooked meat and boiled blood pervaded the air.

Moira was curled in the fetal position, vomit spread around her. Darroc inhaled deeply, savoring the moment before considering his next move. To kill Moira would be unfortunate, as there were hardly any warlock children anymore. Besides, if he killed her, who would help to spread fear among the people of Anestra?

Decisions, decisions.

Darroc threw a gold coin at her feet, landing in a puddle of sticky fluids.

"I will have mercy on you, child, because you are precious to our race. Contrary to what it seems, I am doing this for all of us."

Darroc stepped back toward the door. I will be setting fire to this shack soon. I suggest you leave. He turned the handle before glancing over his shoulder to give her one last demand. "And if you survive the trip to Mentage, you tell them what happened here. Tell them what I will do to all of Anestra if they do not heed me."

Darroc stepped out into the open air, taking in a deep breath to clear his nostrils of the stench of fresh death. Then, he called a simple fire spell and set the roof in flames.

Darroc’s horse pawed nervously at the ground at the sudden appearance of fire. Easy, girl.

He climbed onto the beast, urging it forward. He had little more than a week to make it to Anestra, and if those rumors were correct, he could already be too late.

He was hardly worried, though. A mere human was nothing compared to Darroc, but he would have to play it smart. Faria was the future queen of Anestra, and while she was not the Chosen One as everyone believed her to be, she was still an essential piece in his game.

The most important piece, if his plans played out the way he intended.

Galloping off into the distance, leaving the smoldering shack behind, Darroc made his way toward the heart of Anestra, forging each piece of his plan as the leagues closed in.

Soon. I will have what I want, soon.

•PRESENT DAY•

Begin.

Screams rent the air, echoing off the trees whose leaves shook in the breeze as if they were laughing, entertained by the sight laid out before them. Darroc smiled to himself. Yes, even the nature of this land recognized what needed to be done and gave its approval.

He took a deep breath, savoring the flavors of the screaming shapeshifter bleeding out at his feet. If only the shifter had not disagreed with Darroc…but alas, now he got to appreciate the tantalizing bouquet of fear and sweat as the screams of terror clanged throughout his mind.

Again, Darroc commanded his second. He watched as the young man selected a long, thin blade from the selection of weapons. He walked over to the shifter, running it under the prisoner’s fingernails.

The sound was a sweet harmony that sang through Darroc’s blood. He longed to sink his teeth into the traitor, but that would be a mercy.

And he wasn’t feeling merciful.

The screams of the shifter sent shivers of ecstasy down Darroc’s spine. He looked down at his second’s handiwork, satisfied by what he saw, but he needed to make sure the message was driven home.

Again.

PART I

Chapter 1

HUNTER

The scent of fire and ash permeated the thick air, blanketing the trees, the ground, any life form unfortunate enough to be hit with the blast of dark magic. Silence kissed the branches, its stillness worse than death, worse than the broken promise of infinity.

The unmaking of light and life was the first sign of his awareness. The emptiness, the lack of almost everything save oxygen reminded him of what happened in that forest. Of how he died.

Waiting for his vision to return, Hunter felt the charred earth against the exposed parts of his back beneath him, felt the skin of his fingers brush against the ground as it sewed itself back together. No scars would be visible. Ravenous hunger raked through him as his body healed itself, though he knew he wouldn’t have time to eat for hours yet, maybe more.

His hearing faded in and out, and it wasn’t until he thought he heard an anguished scream rent the air that he tried to yell back, but his vocal cords weren’t ready. The precious minutes it would take for him to heal would be too long to get her attention, to let her know that he was fine.

If only the Elders hadn’t prevented him from telling her more about what he was, about his healing ability, that the only way for him to die would be for someone to unmake him. The thought of having his muscles tear away from his bones as his cells popped out of existence one by one would have made his heart race, if it were ready to beat again. It was a long-kept secret of the Val, a spell known only to a select few, and able to be wielded by even fewer.

Shaking hands tore at him, searching for the secret pockets where he held his daggers. He thought of all the ways he would tease her, if he could, for robbing him blind. He willed her to look closer at him, to see that his neck wasn’t twisted an impossible way, that the burns on his thighs were now surely just angry patches of skin. He knew she wouldn’t look at his injuries any more beyond confirmation of his death. He could already feel her walking away from him.

Wait! He wanted to yell. I’m still here, Princess.

He was trapped inside himself, at the mercy of his healing body and the forces of fate.

The connection the Elders had put in place as her protector was still there and he felt her fade away as the minutes went on. The blast from Darroc had taken away everything in the clearing, including the light from the moon and stars. He was grateful, at least, that he would find her quickly. Finally, his vision returned, though if he had been human, he still would have felt blinded.

But thankfully he wasn’t human, he was Val—a race of people created by the Fae millennia ago to be protectors of their elven children. He used to be Prince and sole heir of their race—a mighty soldier—and would have been king, if everyone were not wiped out after the Great War. Now, with him the last of his kind and the Fae virtually non-existent, the Elders had seen to it to give him the status of protector to the Elven Royal Bloodline.

It was absolutely forbidden to fall in love with a charge or to have any relations at all. But when it came time to protect Faria, he felt something he had not in years. He felt a kindred spirit, both chosen ones in their own way, both the only ones of their kind, both knowing what it felt like to be trapped in a cage of expectations and responsibility, when they wanted to be anything more than what they were destined to be.

For months, he did what he could to hold his feelings at bay. He knew the role Faria would play in saving not just her race, but all who lived in Anestra. He knew the bigger picture, of how the human realm would be involved, how the humans would eventually depend on her to do her part. He couldn’t jeopardize his position and more than anything, he couldn’t begin to try to change fate.

But the Fates had another plan, one no one could have foreseen when They encouraged him and Faria to be together, when they cleared the path for them to be unable to deny each other, to finally lay together as lovers.

It was then that he knew they were mates. He felt the cord of his connection to her settle deep within his bones, as if it were written within his soul, and perhaps it was. He hadn’t known, or hadn’t remembered any Val mated with elves, but surely that’s what it must have been. But the Elders had forced him away to the human realm. They didn’t know what had happened. They couldn’t see it and he was grateful for that. It would have been his unmaking day for sure. But they knew it was something. The entire realm heard the gong of fate play and fade out.

He needed to catch up to Faria. He had to let her know he was still alive and would do what it took to protect Anestra. He still wore his heavy armor and though his skin had healed, the armor had seen better days. He thought about removing it so he could run quicker but still didn’t know what he might run into. The pull of his protector’s bond led him in the direction of the Gate. He willed his body to heal quicker so he could see her before she left this realm.

A twitch in his leg was good enough indication that his body was ready for him to