Prologue of ‘Hunter’ (an imaginary story that will never be written)

A demon from the clutches of hell. He didn’t mind the title, not even as the guards muttered it in soft whispers. At least not until one hissed at him, his stare defiant. Impressive. He leaned in menacingly, baring his teeth in a terrifying smirk. The guard cowered back, fear swirling in his wide eyes. He hissed. The poor guard seemed close to fainting now, his legs trembling at a speed that was shocking to watch. He straightened up swiftly and continued to walk nonchalantly down the hallway. Let them spread the rumours – he liked them. They gave him a sense of power, the power to do more than any human could ever imagine, the power that flowed abundantly through his veins. A demon from hell. Indeed.

Walking down the crowded hallway was thankfully easy; the ladies and noblemen in their fancy dresses and suits darting out of his way with alarmed yelps at the sight of the red swirling in his eyes. A Hunter. That was what he was. He could feel the guarded whispers following him, though he pretended not to hear them. He descended down the velvet-covered steps, onto the shiny ballroom floor, and for a moment, he allowed myself to take in the beauty of the scene before his eyes; vibrant shades of blue, green velvet sprinkled with pastel silks as people streamed over the floor. Dresses twirling, blooming like flowers; the chandeliers, hanging from the ceiling as magnificent stalactites… He shook his head sharply. No, beauty was not for Hunters - one of the many life lessons his father had beaten into his brain.

There seemed to be many advantages to having people fear him, such as being able to choose the best stake-out spots. Even the deadly venom-witches on guard in the main hallways allowed him past after seeing his eyes. He must have looked a sight – he hadn’t bothered to clean himself up after his latest chase, not that he cared. The rafters, while being infinitely dark and cramped, were a perfect place to view the entrances as the palace guests filtered in. He sighed resignedly and lifted his bronze spyglass to his eye once again, watching just as he had been paid to do. The money he was making was real after all.

The Hunter named Adrian was exceedingly bored. There was only so much finger-flexing and wrist-rolling that he could do to keep his temper at bay. This stakeout was pointless, so pointless that even his thoughts couldn’t keep away the boredom that threatened to put him to sleep. Nothing was going to happen, truces of peace made people lazy and unambitious in a way that war prevented. He didn’t mind war, having survived at least ten of them in his long useless existence. Adrian was irritated, so when he heard the first strains of a four-step, he crawled out of the rafters, sliding down the fragile rope ladder at an inhuman speed.

By the time his boots clattered to the floor, the second movement had already begun. He recognised the high reaching voices of the violins, a light clatter of heels accompanying the beat. Adrian himself knew the steps to the four-step, having been forced by his mentor to learn it. Not very well though, as he would rather gut himself over a roasting spit than ever engage in it. But he did know the moves.

When at last Adrian reached the edge of the crowd, the third movement had arrived. His eyebrows shot up. There were two dancers in the centre, and while they danced the practised moves with graceful efficiency, he had never seen such disdain in one’s expression as he did in the girl’s. A swirling wind erupted wildly, much to the gasps of the gathering audience. One of the dancers obviously possessed some sort of wind magic. A circle around the centre of the ballroom floor was opening, pushing the crowd backwards as the girl’s eyes shone with a terrifying fury. The dancers clattered past stormily, the hate in the girl’s eyes as evident as the round full moon outside.

Mildly entertained by the skill with which the girl strove to challenge the other dancer, Adrian leaned casually against a pillar. Yet, an itch began to grow in his nose. Instinctively, he scanned the faces nearest to him and sniffed the air. What he detected sparked a thrill in his blood, the thrill of an unfinished job. A sharp blood scent – one that reminded him of untamed winds, wildfire and an undying fierceness. He looked carefully at the girl’s face, her stormy grey eyes. His eyes reeled back in shock. That elusive wind-witch was right here at this ball.

He could feel his heart keenly accelerating in excitement, the same heart she had impaled only yesterday. Oh, the Hunter named Adrian was no longer bored, and now he had work to do.

Thank you for reading XDD