Alliance of Shadows, Book 3: HUNTER

Diana

I woke to the immediate realization that I was bound to a post with my hands tied securely behind my back. A dull ache radiated from my shoulders, the strain of being held in place forcing a stiffness into my limbs that I hadn't noticed until now. The rough texture of the bindings scraped against my skin as I instinctively tested them, tugging gently until a sharp pain lanced through me. A burning sensation spread along my wrists where the magic embedded in the ropes flared against any attempt to loosen them. They were magically blessed, which meant I would need someone to untie me. If I attempted to free myself, I would likely trigger whatever trap was tied to them.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my fingers against the coarse restraints, forcing myself to focus on something other than the discomfort. Panic would get me nowhere.

Glancing around the room, I noted that it had been carved directly from the ground itself, shaped and strengthened through magic. The walls were uneven but sturdy, the deep grooves in the earth serving as a silent reminder of the power wielded by those who built it. This wasn't just some hastily thrown-together holding cell—this was deliberate, controlled magic. These were not amateurs I was dealing with—not if they were powerful enough to erect a structure straight out of nature’s foundation.

A cool breeze drifted in through the wooden bars, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh air. I inhaled deeply, testing the air for anything familiar, but none of the scents registered. There was no trace of home, no lingering presence of anyone I knew. The isolation sank in, pressing against me with an unsettling weight.

The painted symbols and ancient markings surrounding me confirmed my suspicions—I was on Witch territory. Damn my impulsiveness anyway.

I clenched my jaw, letting my head drop forward slightly. My body wanted to react—to fight, to strain against the bindings—but I forced the impulse down. Thinking of Maria, I sighed, a slow exhale that did nothing to ease the tension knotting in my chest. Regardless of what they did to me, I promised myself that I would not retaliate.

The next thing I knew, a woman was standing in front of me with a poison-dipped knife. The scent of Belladonna coming off the blade was unmistakable—a thick, bitter undertone that clung to the air like decay. Even from where I sat, I could feel the latent danger radiating from its edge, an unspoken promise of pain should she decide to use it.

“Oh, goodie, you’re awake.” Her tone was mocking, laced with an edge of satisfaction.

Shaking my head, I said, “This is all a terrible mistake. I promise you that I mean no harm. Please untie my bonds, and I swear I will leave in peace.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, her grip on the knife tightening ever so slightly. “You have got to be kidding me. A mistake? Gutting you would do the world a favour, you blood-sucking bitch.”

I held her gaze, forcing myself to remain still despite the tension coiling in my muscles. She wasn’t bluffing. The raw hatred in her voice carried the weight of experience, of wounds not yet healed.

“Mama!” The same little girl from before suddenly threw herself into the woman’s arms, her small frame pressing against her protectively.

The woman turned at the sound of her daughter’s voice, and that’s when I saw it. My breath hitched as my gaze locked onto the child’s face. Carved into the skin of her delicate cheek were two thin scars that looked like fangs.

Something I recognized as my father’s calling card.

There was no reason for him to have done this, but now I had a new reason to hate him. He was targeting children with his hate-filled warmongering. It was something that my brothers and I despised with a passion. The realization settled heavily in my chest, deepening my resentment as I stared at the mark carved into the child's skin—a permanent reminder of my father’s cruelty.

Heavy footsteps approached from behind, their deliberate pace cutting through the tense silence. “The boy is not his father, Ariel.”

“They're the scourge of the earth!” Ariel stated defiantly, her voice brimming with unshaken conviction.

The older woman shakily knelt before me, her movements slow with age but precise with purpose. Her fingers, rough and weathered from time, reached out to grip my chin, tilting my face upward. “You are a Valencia Lord, yes?”

I nodded, swallowing against the uncomfortable weight of her scrutiny. “I arrived here by mistake. When I approached the child, it was only to ask where I was.”

“Diana, stay away from him,” Ariel cried, shoving the girl behind her roughly enough that I felt a surge of protective anger rise within me. My jaw tightened as I watched the child stumble slightly, her small frame jolted by the force of her mother’s fear.

I glared at the woman as she snapped at the child, gripping her arm and pulling her back yet again. “I'm not going to harm your daughter. Please, release me."

The old woman studied me with quiet scrutiny before speaking, her voice measured but firm. “I am Elder Freida. Were it not for one of your brothers—I believe he claimed his name was Harold—we would have moved weeks ago when Nikolai himself marked the child.”

Shame washed over me at her words at the same time that understanding took root. Harold had finally found them, finally touched base with the clan we'd sought for so long. Holding his silence only meant he was unsure if they would remain in one place long enough to allow us a chance to save them. That hesitation spoke volumes, and I couldn't fault him for it.

“I cannot speak for my brothers,” I replied. “I can only speak for myself.”

Ariel and Elder Freida exchanged glances before slowly rising to their feet. As they exited the room, something about their departure unsettled me. They had confirmed the reason for their fear, had acknowledged the mark on the child—but despite this, they left her behind with me.

My gaze shifted to Diana. She stood in place, her expression unreadable, her hands clasped tightly before her as if bracing for something. The tension lingered, thick and unspoken, leaving me questioning what their departure truly meant.

“I won't hurt you,” I told her gently, keeping my voice low so as not to startle her.

Her green eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Mama told me that we shouldn't trust Vampires.”

And yet they left you in here with me? I thought as I sighed. Their actions contradicted their warnings, though I knew better than to point that out. Instead, I kept my focus on the child, watching the way her hands twisted together in nervous uncertainty.

“Will you talk to me then?” I asked, careful not to push too hard.

“What do you want to talk about?” She asked, hesitant at first but suddenly interested.

Smiling, I said, “We can talk about anything you wish.”

She studied me for a moment, then tilted her head slightly. “What's your name?” she asked, curiosity creeping into her tone.

“I am Hunter Valencia,” I replied. “And you? What’s your name?”

Giggling, she told me her name was Diana. By the end of our talk, I learned that she was only ten, though she was tiny for her age. She brushed off the observation with quiet confidence, but the reason behind her small frame weighed on me. Decent food was getting harder to come by the further my father chased them. The thought of him starving out an entire clan—including its children—twisted something deep in my gut.

I would have to fix that for these people. If my brothers and I wanted them to live, we had to be ready to supply their basic needs.

She grinned as she drew a crosshatch on the floor and begged me to play Tic-Tac-Toe with her. I agreed but told her that I had to use my hands. Her small fingers tugged at the knot, careful yet determined, and it wasn't long before the rope fell away. I flexed my wrists, the relief washing over me in waves, before offering her a smile and picking up another stick.

“Shall we play?” I asked, tapping the twig against my boots. The gesture was small, but the significance wasn’t lost on me—she no longer feared me the way she did at first, and that realization settled deep in my chest.

She dropped to her knees and picked up the other stick. “Do you know how to play?”

There were rules for this sort of thing?

“I could use a teacher,” I told her, recognizing that the situation had shifted in a way I hadn’t anticipated. The women had left the child in here with me for reasons unknown, and now, rather than eyeing me with hesitation, she was eager to teach.

Diana giggled. “It’s easy. There are two letters—one for each player. The letters are X and O. I'm going to be the X, so that means you have to be the O. The first one to get three in a row wins.”

“Alright. Why don’t you go first,” I said.

She leaned forward and drew an X in the center box. Her light, airy giggles filled the cell, taking a minute amount of despair off my shoulders as I continued to entertain her.