Chapter 33
Kora’s POV
The hunters didn’t waste time. As soon as they broke through the tree line, their arrows flew. The sky hissed with them, sharp and black against the gray light.
“Shields!” Edward roared.
The front fighters raised makeshift barriers, some catching arrows in their arms and shoulders. The sound of wood splintering and metal clanging filled the air. I ducked low, pulling a boy with me as an arrow whistled past my head and struck the ground.
“Stay down!” I hissed, but my voice shook. My whole body was trembling, not from the cold, but from the sheer panic clawing inside me.
Hunters.
I’d heard stories about them since I was a child. The cruelty. The cages. The way they skinned wolves alive for their pelts. My father used to say they weren’t human at all, but monsters in men’s flesh. And now they were here, their boots pounding the earth, their eyes burning with hatred.
Edward was already in motion, blade flashing. He wasn’t just fighting — he was commanding, shouting orders between every strike. “Mara, hold the left flank! Luka, the wounded behind the river—now!”
The pack moved with him, trained and loyal, but they were outnumbered. For every hunter they brought down, two more surged forward.
I clutched the herbs tighter, my chest rising and falling too fast. What use were they here? Against rogues, maybe they had power. But against men? Men didn’t bend to scents and spells.
A shadow fell over me.
One of the hunters had broken through, his sword raised high. His face was smeared with black paint, his teeth bared in a cruel grin.
“Got you,” he snarled.
I froze. My legs wouldn’t move, my throat locked. All I could see was the glint of steel. But before the blade could fall, another struck it away.
Edward.
His roar was primal as he drove his sword through the hunter’s chest, blood spraying across the grass. He didn’t look at me, not even once, just turned and cut down another.
“Stay behind me!” he barked.
I wanted to scream that I wasn’t helpless, that I wasn’t a child. But my voice wouldn’t work, and my hands still shook around the herbs. So I did what he said.
The battle raged on, chaos thick as smoke. I caught glimpses through the madness — Mara’s blade flashing as she cut a man down with a snarl, Luka shielding two injured boys with his own body, blood streaming down his arm. The hunters fought with no hesitation, no mercy. Their eyes burned with something deeper than hate — zeal, obsession.
One of them shouted above the fray: “Take the girl! The one with the herbs!” My heart stuttered. They were talking about me.
How did they know?
Several hunters broke from the fight, charging toward me.
I stumbled back, clutching the herbs so hard the stems dug into my skin. My eyes darted to Edward, but he was too far, locked in combat with three men at once.
Panic clawed at me, but I forced myself to move. I bolted toward the river, splashing into the cold water up to my knees. The current tugged at me, cold and sharp, but I kept moving, my gown heavy with water.
The hunters followed, splashing after me.
“No!” I screamed, flinging the herbs into the water without thinking. The stems burst apart in the current, spreading like ink. The smell hit the air, sharp and bitter, carried fast by the flow.
The hunters froze mid-step.
Their bodies jerked, stiff, like invisible strings yanking them taut. Their eyes rolled back white, mouths twisting. For a heartbeat, they just stood there, trembling. Then one by one, they collapsed into the river, thrashing like fish on hooks.
I gasped, stumbling back to the bank. What... What had I done?
The others noticed too. Mara stared, her blade dripping red, her mouth hanging open. Luka’s eyes widened, even as blood poured down his arm.
Edward’s head snapped toward me. His gaze flicked from the floating herbs to the hunters writhing in the river, then back to me.
His face hardened. Not with anger — but with fear. “Kora,” he said, his voice low, sharp. “Don’t move.”
The battlefield seemed to pause, just for a moment. The remaining hunters pulled back, shock flickering in their painted faces. Some of them whispered to each other, pointing at me.
And then one of them shouted a word that made my blood run cold. “Which!”
The cry carried over the river, over the clash of steel. The hunters’ fear twisted into something darker. Hatred. They weren’t just fighting Edward’s pack anymore. They were hunting me.
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