Tempting the Huntress

Chapter 3- The Obsidian Order Academy

“Lilith,” Zane repeated under his breath, letting the sound linger like smoke. Something about it, about her, scratched at the edges of his composure in a way nothing ever has.

Why wouldn't it? She was the only one in the world who could do that to him.

“She got to you, didn’t she?”

The voice came from behind him.

Zane glanced up to see Marco, the owner of Turbo & Co., shuffling out from the shadows with a rag draped over one shoulder. Marco was local through and through, eyes lined with too much salt air and laughter. He smirked knowingly as he caught sight of the name glowing on Zane’s phone.

“Careful with that one,” Marco said, chuckling as he leaned against the doorframe. “Girls like her? They’ll chew you up, spit you out, and you’ll still thank them for it.”

Zane shook his head, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m not so easy to chew.”

Marco snorted. “That’s what they all say.” He slapped the doorframe and disappeared back into the clatter of tools, still laughing.

Zane looked once more at her name, the electric memory of her hand in his replaying against his palm. A jolt that hadn’t been an accident. Not random. Something deeper, something old. He had his guess, but he wanted to live in the bliss a bit longer.

“I’ll see you soon again, Lilith,” he murmured, slipping the phone into his pocket.

–

Lilith’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, her knuckles pale against the leather. She hated that his face, his voice, even the briefest spark of his touch lingered in her mind. Well, hate was overexaggeration, but it annoyed her to no end.

Zane.

She didn’t even know him, didn’t want to. But something about him clawed at her composure, dragging her thoughts in circles when she should’ve been sharpening them into blades.

By the time she pulled up outside her apartment, the sun was already beginning to sink, throwing Ravenshore’s streets into long, sharp shadows. She climbed the narrow steps to her flat, her boots thudding against the wood, only to freeze the second she opened the door.

On the table sat an envelope. Heavy. Cream-colored. Wax seal pressed deep with the insignia she’d known her whole life: the crest of the Obsidian Academy.

Her heartbeat shifted, steady, colder. Thoughts of Zane scattered like dust.

Lilith peeled the letter open with care, scanning the crisp lines of text. Orientation. Rules. Quotas. Dress codes. Training schedules. All of it is set in stone. No excuses, no exceptions.

The weight of it sat in her palm, heavier than parchment should ever feel.

And before she knew it, Monday arrived.

She parked her car in the parking lot outside the wrought-iron gates. Beyond them, the Obsidian Order Academy rose against the cliffs like something carved out of Ravenshore itself. Towers pierced the low clouds, their stone blackened by centuries of rain and secrets. Windows gleamed faintly golden in the mist, like watchful eyes.

The gates creaked open, slow and deliberate, as if measuring whether she deserved to pass through.

The grounds were sprawling, tangled with manicured hedges that hid narrow, twisting paths. Statues of hunters past stood at attention, their stone eyes cold and unyielding. The air itself seemed charged, thick with power, rules, and ghosts.

Lilith kept her head high, her steps steady. Despite all the burden on her shoulders, she was looking forward to training among the best of the hunters at the academy.

Inside the grand hall, it was worse, magnificent in scale, cathedral-like in design. Vaulted ceilings dripped with chandeliers of wrought silver, each candle flickering unnaturally bright. Portraits of hunters, alive, stern, forever judging, lined the walls. The scent of steel and incense clung to the air.

A voice called out.

“Lilith Rothwell?”

She turned to find Francoise waiting by the grand staircase. Tall, elegant, with a sharpness in her posture that spoke of discipline, Francoise already looked every inch the perfect Academy guide. Her hair was sleek, her uniform spotless, her expression polite but edged with curiosity.

“You finally made it,” Francoise said, with a smile that was just a touch too knowing. “Shall I introduce you to the others?”

Lilith’s jaw tightened. She nodded once.

Francoise led her through the hall, past clusters of students, some bright-eyed and eager, others lounging with an arrogance that made Lilith’s teeth grit.

There was the unmistakable gleam of privilege here. Designer boots polished to perfection. Voices that carried too loudly. Laughter too brittle, as if the concept of survival had never brushed against their skins. Lilith comes from the same privilege, but she definitely believes that she is different.

Brats, Lilith thought, already imagining how tedious the next weeks would be.

Still, her hunter’s instincts pricked as she scanned faces. Some of them, beneath the polish, were dangerous. Competitors. Rivals. The Academy wasn’t just a playground; it was also a proving ground, and everyone here knew it.

And Lilith Rothwell? She wasn’t here to play nice.

She never plays nice.

-

She was barely through her first set of forms, pen scratching across, when that voice cut through the hall like a blade.

That voice.

“Oh, wow, Rothwell. Finally, someone for the competition. Otherwise, I was beginning to think this year was going to be painfully dull.”

Lilith’s head snapped up. And there he was.

Harry Sinclair.

Tall, immaculately groomed, uniform pressed to perfection, his posture radiating the kind of arrogance only centuries of legacy could breed. A lock of dark blond hair fell artfully across his forehead, and his smirk was already infuriatingly in place.

Somehow, she feels Zane’s smirk is less annoying now. She cursed at herself for thinking about him again. She hated that thought. Hated it more than Harry’s smirk. Since when was she comparing one infuriating man to another?

Lilith exhaled sharply through her nose. “Of course.”

Harry’s grin widened at her tone, as if her irritation was the exact reaction he’d been hoping for. He strode closer, voice carrying across the hall without shame.

“I was beginning to worry the Rothwells had lost their edge. Imagine my relief, you walk in, looking like you’re ready to start a duel at orientation.” His gaze flicked over her, deliberately taking in her outfit, very professional and handy to keep her weapons hidden but ready to use. “Good to know some things never change.”

Memories sharpened at the edges, family gatherings, formal banquets, endless talk of alliances and hunts. The Rothwells and the Sinclairs, two families bound by history and duty. Harry had always been there, hovering at the edge of her world, equal parts nuisance and rival.

Behind the easy grin, his eyes sharpened, predatory, calculating. For all his posturing, Harry Sinclair wasn’t just a nuisance. He was a skilled hunter, a threat to the werewolves. And worse, he knew it.

Lilith met his smirk with a steady stare, her voice flat. “If you’re so desperate for competition, Sinclair, you should probably work on being worth it first.” She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of ever accepting that he was good.

A few nearby students turned at that, whispers starting to hum, but Harry only laughed, low and easy, as though her barbs were entertainment rather than insult.

The Academy had just opened its gates, and already, the games had begun.

Lilith didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. But in her chest, her pulse ticked sharper.

“Yes,” he said softly, leaning just close enough to make it personal. “This is going to be fun.”