Hellion's Reckoning
Chapter 1

Inias had witnessed bloodbaths before, but nothing like the scene spread out before his eyes now. Rising from the ruins of a once-charming village, plumes of smoke rose into the sky. Lifeless bodies lay scattered like discarded dolls, offering a feast for scavengers that dared to approach. This wasn’t just a battle. It was a chilling massacre that left the ground stained with blood and vengeful spirits. His eyes drifted to a young girl who’d had her throat cut. The horns upon her head and fangs peaking from her lips struck him and he knew. “Hellions,” Inias said, kneeling to brush the girl’s hair aside.

Those fae with demon blood, the hellion breed. Legend claimed that the Nightfangs were exiled from their homeland because they dared to unite with devils and demons. Over many thousands of years, the small clan of exiles had grown into many houses and clans. Until they cleansed those devils, they could never return home. Ambriel, the promised land. It was just a legend, an origin story for their people. That didn’t keep the purists from using it to justify their hatred for the Hellions. It was their fault the fae couldn’t return home. Demon blood still ran in his lineage, but it had been dormant for five generations, believed to be bred out, until Inias was born.

His uncle couldn’t have ordered this, not after making an enemy of the Ravenmoons. They were looking for any excuse to rebel and the king had promised to seek a peaceful ending. Slaughtering hellion villages would only bring the two clans closer to war. Ivaran may have been a bigot, but he wasn’t an idiot. War was the last thing the Hallow needed. Inias hoped he could reason with Ivaran and change him. Whoever attacked this village had done so with a sizable army. They came, plundered, killed, and burned it all to the ground. “Vigilantes?” Inias asked Ashryn as he stood up.

“The Magistrate,” she answered, handing him a rolled piece of parchment. Inias recognized the seal, a mighty dragon surrounded by bolts of lightning. “By order of Magistrate Ailog Trebor Emberstone, the enemies of the crown have been crushed. May this serve as a warning to all other…” Rolling his eyes, he crumpled up the paper, throwing it to the ground. “Elkshit!” Inias spat and kicked at the pile of rubble beneath his feet. The Elk beside him let out a wail and Inias brushed his fur, “Not you, Fievel.”

The Magistrate, Sylvis’ father. He’d only met the man once, but all his spirited speeches about the new golden age made his thoughts clear. Another one of his uncle’s followers. Once the devils were cleared, a new golden age would begin and, at the end, they would be welcomed home. Even his uncle found the magistrate to be a little extreme in his methods, but never chastised him. It served his interests, so why stop him?

Ashryn looked to the soldiers pulling rubble aside, hoping to replace some survivors. “Ailog…he’d better have a good reason for this,” she ground out as they walked along a once beautiful street. Inias growled and rested a hand on Fievel’s neck. “There is no good reason for this,” He answered her, thinking of what to do with the magistrate once they reached Dusk Haven. It had once been Caelan’s city, the Rouan clan’s domain. Now with them gone, Ailog was getting bold.

“Any good news?” Inias asked one man, rubbing his hands clean. Twenty-five elite warriors were chosen to accompany him. “Nothing but rubble and bodies, sir,” the raven-haired man answered him with a shake of his head. “Doubt any of them survived, but they sure put up a fight.” He pointed to the many bodies clad in bright red armor bearing the same dragon sigil as the crumpled parchment. “They didn’t bother to retrieve their own dead,” Ashryn snarled and spit towards the pile of bodies.

A woman with deep olive skin dressed in black armor approached them with a quick bow. Styx walked beside her, pulling a small wagon full of swords and other pointy weapons behind him. “Free weapons, that’s some good news, your highness,” she said, lifting her hazel eyes to meet his. The fox yipped to Inias, who knelt to pet him. On their journey Styx had seemed to become everyone’s familiar, eager to help wherever he could.

He brushed a kiss between the fox’s eyes and stood. “Be ready to put them to use,” Inias told the woman, looking at the pile of soldiers as they had poured liquor on them. “We’ll be paying his honor a visit.”

The raven-haired soldier, Ruvyn, stepped forward and took Inias by the shoulder before he could step away. “We should inform Lord Varen first.” He reminded the prince. Inias groaned but nodded and turned. They had a plan to meet with Lord Varen to discern his intentions, then discover what had become of Dusk Haven after Caelan’s fall. Only Ashryn knew of his plan to potentially take Dusk Haven for himself, should the Ravenmoons agree. They were the last great Hellion clan and the only force that kept his uncle’s wrath in check.

“Alright,” Inias answered as he pulled his shoulder away. “We’ll have a feast to honor the dead and for all your hard work. I’ll leave the rest to you and Elara.” The two bowed low as Inias turned and left with Ashryn by his side.

“Another feast?” she asked, narrowing her hazel eyes as Inias mountain his elk. This would be the fourth feast on their journey, not to mention the detour into the hot springs for a night. Every night he’d take turns with them on the night watches. “They deserve it.” Inias answered with a shrug as she mounted her white horse tied to what remained of the village gate. “I want them to like me. Is that a crime?”

As they exited, she couldn’t help but scoff, shaking her head. “You’re trying to buy them off,” she accused him playfully, a sly grin dancing across her pale cheeks. “You figured that out huh?” A soft blush tinted Inias cheeks and pulled his hair to cover it. They were elite warriors; some were veterans of war and others had once been among his uncle’s personal guard. The king had gifted them to him after the battle in Willowberry Forest when he had saved his friends and avenged his father.

“I have no idea what schemes my uncle and Varen are brewing,” Inias confessed as they neared the camp nestled among the lush trees. “If they go to war, I’m siding with Keira.” His uncle was prepared to kill him, to wipe out Keira’s entire clan without a second thought. It was only Aubron and a sign from his father that held him back. His uncle and the Nightfang clan had forsaken him the moment he was born. It wasn’t them who stood by him all his life, believing in him through all his mistakes. If war was on its way, he would stand with Keira, who had stood by him when everyone lost faith.

Ashryn nodded and rested a hand on his shoulder. He winced as the sunlight bounced off her fiery red hair with hints of yellow and orange. “You don’t need to buy them off,” she told him, bringing a finger to trace the curved scar across his right cheek. Inias pulled his face away and growled. He didn’t mind the hand on his shoulder, but whenever she stroked his scar, it left him feeling exposed. The blush on his face, the way he looked away and groaned. She found it adorable. He hated it. “Just show them what a brilliant leader you are.”

“Do you remember the bridge?” Inias asked, crossing his arms. “I’m not brilliant.”

“You’re a better leader than you think.” She looked to the men outside the burned city digging holes to bury the dead. “You’d die for them. Once they see that, they’ll follow you anywhere.”