Chapter 1 — Scars in the Bloodpine

Alana Mercer

The world inside the Bloodpine Forest breathed with the kind of silence that wasn’t quiet at all. Twigs snapped underfoot, though never hers. The damp earth creaked, and somewhere in the airless depths of the undergrowth, something exhaled. It always exhaled. Alana Mercer crouched low, the frayed edge of her wolf-fur cloak brushing the dirt, her fingers splayed against the coarse bark of a tree. Its blood-red veneer flaked off under her touch, and the faint, metallic tang of the air only intensified.

She could feel the forest watching her.

The shadows here weren’t passive; they moved, stretched, recoiled. She imagined the gnarled trees bending closer when she wasn’t looking, their skeletal fingers reaching for her. Her pale amber eyes cut through the gloom, glinting faintly with an unnatural glow that she had learned to suppress among her kind. But here, in the shadows of the Bloodpine, it didn’t matter. There was no hiding from the predators that called this place home.

She adjusted her grip on the hilt of her dagger, its silver edge catching faint patches of moonlight that pierced the suffocating canopy above. Tonight, it felt heavier in her hand—a weight that wasn’t merely physical. A reminder of what she carried, of what she’d lost. Of what she might become.

Ahead, the faintest ripple of movement broke the stillness. Not sound—nothing in the Bloodpine gave itself away so easily—but a shift in the shadows, too smooth, deliberate. Her lips pressed into a grim line. She was being hunted.

Good, she thought. Let it come.

Her ashen blonde hair, streaked with threads of silver, clung to her sweat-dampened face, a small rebellion against the tight knot at the nape of her neck. She leaned forward, easing her weight into the balls of her feet, her body taut with readiness. The scars crisscrossing her shoulders and abdomen burned faintly—not from pain, but from some deeper instinct. Here, in this cursed forest, it felt as though the marks themselves were alive, attuned to the danger threading through the air. Her heart pounded with a deliberate rhythm. Not fear. Focus.

The shadows shifted again—a darting blur between the blood-red trunks, impossibly fast. It circled her now, testing. She inhaled slowly, her fingers tightening on the dagger’s hilt. A low growl drifted from the darkness, guttural and resonant. It wasn’t a wolf—something taller, leaner, and far deadlier.

“You won’t wait long, will you?” she murmured, her voice low but edged with challenge. The forest swallowed her words, as though it approved.

The beast lunged.

It came from her left, a blur of claws and teeth, its form humanoid but grotesquely warped. Alana pivoted sharply, her dagger slicing through the air. The blade bit into flesh—a brief resistance before the creature howled, its cry a piercing, fractured sound that seemed to reverberate through the trees. It staggered, giving her just enough time to roll forward and find her footing. She spun to face it, breath sharp in her chest—but what she saw stopped her cold.

It was one of them. One of the cursed.

The creature loomed half in shadow, its body a grotesque amalgamation of man and beast, though neither fully claimed it. Its joints jutted at unnatural angles, its silver-flecked eyes burning with a hunger that wasn’t entirely primal. Its claws, slick with blood, twitched with an unnerving rhythm. The curse had taken root deep within it, twisting flesh into something unrecognizable yet painfully human.

A stab of pity pierced through Alana, its edges jagged with guilt. She clamped down on the feeling. Pity had no place here. She could not save it. She could only survive it.

The cursed lunged again, claws raking through the air inches from her face. She ducked low, her dagger slicing upward in a sharp arc. The beast twisted faster than she anticipated, its claws grazing her arm. Pain flared hot and sharp, but she didn’t falter. She couldn’t. Not here.

Not again.

The memory rose unbidden: another cursed, another hunt. Her packmate’s scream, a sound that tore through her louder than the forest’s silence ever could. The way his blood steamed in the cold air, pooling at her feet. She could still smell it, coppery and thick, a memory that clung to her like her scars. And worse—she could still feel the weight of her failure, etched deeper than any wound.

The cursed roared, snapping her back to the present. She shifted her stance, planting her foot into the soft earth, and drove her dagger straight into the creature’s chest. Silver met flesh, and the beast’s howl turned to a wet, choking gurgle. Its clawed hand lashed out one last time, raking across her ribs. Pain seared white-hot, but she held her ground. She twisted the blade deeper, forcing it past bone and sinew until the cursed staggered back and crumpled into the dirt.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of her breathing, shallow and uneven. The creature twitched once, twice, then stilled. The oppressive weight of its presence lifted, but the air remained thick with blood and decay. The curse would linger here, in the soil, in the air. It always did.

Alana crouched, wiping her blade clean on the edge of her cloak. The motion was automatic. Pain rippled through her side, but it was nothing new. Pain was a companion now, as familiar as her own shadow. Her amber eyes lingered on the body, narrowing. The cursed were becoming more frequent, their forms more twisted—something tied to the Skulls, she was certain. This wasn’t random. It couldn’t be.

Her gaze drifted upward, seeking the faint sliver of moonlight that filtered through the gnarled branches. Her hand brushed the scars on her abdomen, their jagged edges a constant reminder of the price she’d already paid. The forest had claimed so much from her already. She wondered, not for the first time, what it would take before it claimed the rest.

A faint rustling behind her snapped her back to the present. She spun, dagger raised, her senses sharp, ready for another attack. But what emerged from the shadows wasn’t a cursed one. It was something worse.

A figure stepped into the clearing’s edge, half-obscured by the gloom. Broad-shouldered, cloaked in darkness, and familiar in a way that made her stomach twist. His eyes caught the faint light, reflecting silver like a predator’s, though they burned with something deeper—something broken.

“Kael,” she breathed. The name tasted strange on her tongue, like a memory she’d tried to forget.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. His presence pinned her in place, as though the forest itself conspired with him. This wasn’t possible. It wasn’t right. And yet, there he was, standing as though the Bloodpine belonged to him.

“Was it worth it?” His voice was low, gravelly, laced with bitterness and regret. His eyes flicked to the dead cursed at her feet, then back to her. “Do they ever stop screaming?”

Her grip on the dagger tightened. “What are you doing here?”

Kael stepped closer, the faintest limp in his gait. His dark, unkempt hair framed a face sharper than she remembered—lean, angular, and shadowed by something heavier than time. His clawed hands flexed at his sides, the faint tremor in his fingers betraying the curse’s toll.

“I could ask you the same,” he said. “But I already know.” His gaze lingered on her scars, visible even beneath the bloodstained leather. “You’re chasing ghosts. Or do you think killing them will make the scars fade?”

Her jaw tightened. “You don’t know what it cost me.”

“Don’t I?” His voice softened, but his expression remained unreadable. The air between them felt taut, stretched thin under the weight of unspoken words.

She forced herself to hold his gaze, though it felt like facing a reflection she didn’t want to see. The doubt that had clung to her since she found the first Skull stirred again, insidious and cold. But she shoved it down, burying it beneath the iron resolve that had carried her this far.

“We’re done here,” she said, turning sharply. “Stay out of my way.”

“Alana.” His voice stopped her cold. She didn’t turn. Couldn’t. “The Bloodpine doesn’t forgive. You know that.”

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the dagger’s hilt, then stepped into the shadows, letting them swallow her whole. The forest exhaled, and somewhere in its depths, the promise of another hunt awaited.

And so did the Skull.