“She’s new.”

Cassian lowers his hood and the thick scarf covering his face, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see that he is neither half-wolf, nor has any other sort of beastly features.

In fact, he’s…handsome. Very handsome.

He’s broad-shouldered, tall, with sharp, angular features and a wide nose. He has dark skin, a deep reddish-brown, and his inky black hair is in thick twists, framing his head and accentuating his strong jaw and muscular neck. A cord-like scar runs across the right side of his head, cutting through his right eye, as if someone tried to oust it with a blade and failed.

And it’s this eye that I can’t look away from.

One eye—the one on the unscarred part of his face—is as black as midnight. So dark I can hardly see the pupil within it. The other, surrounded by thick scar tissue, is the palest white, like fresh snow.

He’s striking, almost impossible to look away from, and yet I clear my throat and cast my eyes anywhere else but at him. I don’t want the commander’s first impression of me to be someone who ogles and stares at handsome men.

“This is my daughter, Nyria,” my mother says. “She will take over my duties when I become the Red Mother.”

He furrows his dark brows, scanning me up and down as if assessing me.

“Not Draoi Nyria?”

It seems even Hunters place value on the title Draoi.

My mother grimaces. “No—”

“Not yet,” I say, glaring at him.

He steps closer, so tall that he towers over me by at least a foot. “Then how do I know I can trust you?”

He speaks with a rasp that is low and deep, like a wolf’s growl.

“You can trust—” my mother begins.

He interrupts my mother: “I asked her.”

I shoot him a cold glare. “You can’t.”

Suddenly, his face slackens, his mismatched eyes widening. “I can’t trust you?”

I tilt my head at him, narrowing my eyes into daggers. “Trust is earned through actions, not words. You can’t know that you can trust me just by me saying it.” I pause for a moment before continuing: “Unless you’re a halfwit who only values empty words. Then, sure. You can trust me.”

Cassian is silent for a long moment. My mother and Ailís are holding their breath, likely horrified that I’ve just given the Cassian Gray a heaping serving of sass. But, instead of looking offended, the corner of his mouth pulls into a grin.

And all he says is: “Smartass.”

I let out a soft scoff, surprised by his amusement, even though a poorly controlled grin is sprouting on my own lips.

His gaze lingers on me for a long moment.

“You’re…” He pauses, brows furrowed.

“I’m..?” I ask.

His brows twitch into a furrow, as if he’s trying desperately to figure me out.

“...Interesting,” he murmurs.

I blink. “Am I?”

He takes a step closer. His gaze is filled with so much intensity, I don’t dare to look away.

Then, he does the last thing I expect. He bends down toward my neck, close enough that I can feel his breath on my skin. After a pause that feels all too long, he inhales deeply.

Cassian Gray has just…sniffed me.

Wait.

Cassian Gray just sniffed me?

“Commander,” my mother speaks sharply.

There’s another moment of hesitation, then Cassian lets out a soft growl.

“Sorry,” he says, voice low. He steps back, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck, as if what he’s just done has thoroughly embarrassed him. As if sniffing me wasn’t his own decision.

“It’s…alright…” I manage to say, still half-stunned.

He looks away, trying to avoid my eyes. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbles.

He takes a seat in the lone chair in the middle of the room. My mother and Ailís approach to stand in front of him, and I join them at their side. Only then do I notice that there are shackles attached to the legs of the chair, and the arms, and that the wood has been molded into the ground, as if specially crafted by a Coeden witch.

I can’t exactly outright ask what Cassian expects us to do to him, or why my mother and Ailís are snapping the shackles shut around his ankles and wrists, so I try my best to discern the situation with what I do know.

There are many kinds of witches in the Graywoode, though we are all distant children of Celanedd, the first witch. A Cyg witch can mold, meld, and sculpt flesh like clay, stitching the sinew to be as good as new, or rip it apart with a twitch of her fingers. The Adaigh witches, though they no longer exist, could befriend the beasts of night, see through the eyes of beasts, and even transform into beasts. Then there are the Coeden, who can speak to the Graywoode itself, see through its eyes, sculpt wood with their hands, and track beasts by the whispers of the forest, and the Asgurn, who can bend and break bone, utilizing its properties to imbue themselves and objects with powerful abilities.

Then, there’s my people, the Gwaed, who can warp and twist blood. We can boil it, freeze it, imbue it with strength or healing, sculpt it to be as sharp as blades, changing the very properties of it to suit our needs.

Which means there is only one thing Cassian Gray could want from us.

To change his blood.

“Are you watching, Nyria?” Ailís asks.

I give her a dutiful nod.

“You say it’s getting worse?” my mother asks Cassian. She roughly grabs his face, turning his head to examine his eyes. The way he peers at her, as if he doesn’t mind her treatment at all, makes my insides twist.

“The urges are getting harder to control. I think your magic might be weakening, witch.”

My mother shoves his face away. “Nonsense. I am the only reason you are not a beast yet, diabhail.”

Ailís retrieves a runed bone dagger from the table next to the chair, approaching Cassian once more.

“Ready?” she asks him, wiping the dagger with her rag.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he says, voice low.

Ailís holds the dagger up, and with no hesitation at all, slits Cassian’s wrists. He lets out a sharp groan of pain.

“Wait—!”

Though I don’t fully understand our agreement with the Hunters, I really don’t think it includes murdering the most important one!

“Quiet, Nyria!” my mother hisses at me. “Watch carefully.”

I suck in a sharp breath, realizing that the blood pooling out of Cassian’s wounds is not red, but black.

The blood of a beast.

Cassian lets out an inhuman growl, so deep it strikes fear in my bones. His face is twisted in pain, or maybe rage, and he yanks his hands upwards.

The shackles bend and crack beneath his strength.

Cassian Gray is…

A monster.

Ailís raises her hands and twitches her fingers, and the blood pouring out of Cassian’s wrists twists and wraps around him, holding him in place like a black snake. He closes his eyes, brows knitted. My mother raises her own hands and as she does, the black blood transforms into a bright crimson before my eyes. Then my mother locks her fingers together, and the crimson blood seeps back into Cassian’s body in a blink. His face slackens, the tension in his body dissipating.

When he opens his eyes, they’re as black as night.

Ailís unshackles him and hands him a rag to wipe the sweat from his brow and a mug of warm water.

There’s only one question burning in my mind witnessing this.

“Why?” I ask. “Why does he have beastblood?”

He winces at my question and a pang of guilt stabs into my chest, but I have to know.

My mother sighs. “Excuse the questions,” she says, directed at Cassian. “She has much to learn.”

“Yes, I do,” I say. “So tell me.”

My mother, wiping her hands clean, turns to look at me as if I have asked a very stupid question. “He’s been cursed by a vampyr.”

A vampyr.

A vampyr is an extremely rare beast, created by the Graywoode when a dying person has a strong unrealized wish. In return, the Graywoode grants them more time to achieve their desire.

But the forest does not give freely, and it always exacts a price.

In exchange for their immortal state, the vampyr is unable to remember the very wish that was powerful enough to make them immortal.

Cursed to walk the lands endlessly, searching for an answer that will never come.

I struggle to think of a fate worse than that.

“But, the king’s law—” I begin.

“The king is dead,” Cassian cuts my words short, and my gaze flicks to him.

“—states that you must be put to death,” I finish.

“Is that so?” Cassian asks, grinning, and his cockiness grates on my nerves. I grit my teeth, open my mouth to retort, but my mother’s sharp sigh stops me.

“Nyria, I’ll explain everything later, once you pass your Test,” she says.

“Mother—”

She raises her hand and waves me off as if I am a disobedient child before turning her attention to Cassian.

“I believe you have what you came here for. Leave the coin and get out.”

Cassian lets out a low, dark laugh, rising from the chair. He reaches beneath his cloak, pulls out a very large cloth bag, and throws it onto the floor. A few gold coins spill out and roll away. Cassian moves to walk out, stopping to lean down and whisper in my ear.

“I look forward to seeing you again, smartass.”

Then, he strides out, the door clicking shut behind him.