Alliance of Shadows, Book 3: HUNTER

Protector of Innocence

Holding my hand tightly in hers, Diana pulled me toward the exit, her small fingers warm against my skin. "Come on, Hunter. Let's go pack my stuff!" Her enthusiasm was unshaken, despite the tension swirling behind us.

I could hear Ariel putting up a fight over it, her sharp protests cutting through the air like brittle glass. Simone, however, was far from finished with her sister—her voice carried a force of finality, unwavering in its determination. Their argument twisted around us, a tangled mess of frustration and stubbornness.

Not wanting to leave a child in the middle of a conflict, I let the girl lead me into the fading sunlight, its golden glow slipping across the worn earth. Dust kicked up with every hurried step, catching in the warm breeze that carried the scent of soil and drying leaves.

She kept her grip firm, tugging me forward toward an earthen dwelling that blended seamlessly with the landscape. That was when I truly understood how they survived. They conjured their homes from the earth itself, shaping shelter out of raw material only to collapse them when it was time to leave. The simplicity of it struck me—not just for convenience, but for survival. No burdens to carry. No lingering traces left behind. The land was both their refuge and their disguise, a tool as much as a home.

Blissfully ignorant of all the stares we were getting, she pulled me inside and eagerly showed me the house. Her “room” was little more than a sleeping bag and blankets on the floor, the fabric slightly rumpled from restless nights. A single duffle bag, packed with clothes, rested nearby like a well-worn travel companion.

I scanned the space, noting the stark absence of toys—just one small stuffed cat, edges frayed from years of quiet comfort, nestled among her belongings. The sight stirred something deep within me. She had so little, and yet she carried herself with such unwavering enthusiasm it was damn near impossible to deny her existence.

The urge to spoil her rose sharply, flooding my thoughts with visions of a childhood untouched by hardship. One where laughter filled bright rooms, where stuffed animals didn’t need to double as a security blanket. I could almost hear the echoes of my own past, the difference between what I had and what I lacked, the choices I made because of it.

Obviously, these people felt the need to travel as light as possible. Their world demanded mobility, survival hinging on their ability to leave at a moment’s notice. Not that I could blame them in the slightest.

As I helped her gather everything that had spilled from the duffle bag, she chattered excitedly, her voice bubbling over with energy. When it came to the Ruby Fang, her curious comments and questions began tumbling out faster than she could string them together.

She fired off question after question, and I found myself answering without hesitation, giving her everything I could in the moment. Because if there was one thing I understood, it was that knowledge—stories, lessons, even fleeting conversations—was something that couldn’t be taken away.

Her eyes found mine, and a flicker of confusion settled there. “Um, you know, you look like every other person in the world except that you’re a bit more pale and your fangs sometimes peek out.”

I raised a brow, my lips twitching slightly as I let out a slow breath. “I see. Was there anything else that you noticed in our short time together?”

“Yeah, that red circle in your eyes,” she muttered with a shiver. Then, in a way only children could, she shrugged. “But you didn’t hurt me, and that means you’re good, so I’m going to trust you to protect me.”

My throat dried, heat pressing at the edges of my vision, though I forced a smile. That clear, untainted innocence every child has before life hands them the How to be Jaded book and shows them the worst of the world.

The wind howled across the desolate terrain, sweeping up loose dust and brittle fragments of rock. What I now recognized as the Carpathian Basin stretched around us—vast, empty, its once-thriving lands now reduced to dry, cracked earth and skeletal remains of trees that had long since given up their fight against time. The sky above was a hazy shade of gray, the kind that never quite committed to storm or sunlight, suspended between bleakness and indifference.

Diana reached up, her small fingers brushing against my cheek. For a moment, I thought she was reaching for nothing, just some absentminded movement—but then, with careful precision, she wiped something from my face. I exhaled sharply, realizing she had caught the single tear I hadn’t even noticed had fallen.

Her expression didn’t change. She didn’t question it, didn’t demand an explanation. She simply accepted it, as if my pain was as natural as the dust in the wind.

“Are there kids like me?” she pressed as we walked back to the center of the camp. Frowning, she brushed her hair from her face again, the strands catching in the breeze before she tucked them behind her ear.

“Your age or Witches? In what way do you mean?” I asked, glancing at her.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, her pace slowing as she mulled over the question. Around us, the camp stirred with quiet urgency—bags hoisted over shoulders, scattered belongings secured in bundles. The worn earth bore the signs of constant movement, footprints stamped into the dust, the remnants of temporary dwellings already fading into the landscape.

“I mean my age, silly,” she giggled lightly, her brief amusement cutting through the weight of the moment. Her eyes flicked over the faces of those nearby, searching for familiarity, for reassurance that she wasn’t the only one.

I remembered Lorne, and my lips curved into a small smile. “I know a little Werewolf boy who is about your age, and there are several small Vampire, Druid, and Witch children as well.”

The mention of the others seemed to settle something within her, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. The world she knew was shifting around her, but at least she wasn’t alone.

Chalking it up to being a complete mystery, I could not figure out why the little children we came into contact with were so drawn to me. It wasn’t as if I presented myself as an approachable person—my demeanor was far from warm, my expression rarely inviting—but it didn’t seem to matter. They latched onto me all the same, their small hands gripping my sleeve, their wide-eyed trust unwavering.

Just like it was with all the other little ones I had taken care of throughout my lifetime, Diana didn’t want to be far from my side. She lingered close, her presence a quiet but persistent reminder of the innate trust children placed in those they felt safe with. It wasn’t spoken, wasn’t questioned—just accepted, as naturally as breathing.

I allowed it to happen, knowing that I had the power to save them if I needed to. If it came down to it, I would. To me, children were the most precious thing in the world. They held the innocence that life had yet to tarnish, the light that time hadn’t dimmed. Their laughter, fleeting as it was, carried something fragile—something worth protecting.

Knowing that the potions I created in my lab could potentially save their young lives, I used their images as my driving force. Their faces, their smiles, the way their small fingers grasped onto hope even when the world told them not to—all of it fueled my work. Every formula, every precise measurement was shaped by them.

It was more than science. It was a promise.

She brushed her long, curly hair out of her face and groaned when the wind blew it back at her again. A frustrated sigh slipped from her lips as she tried once more, only for the strands to twist stubbornly in the shifting breeze.

“Stupid hair. Stupid wind,” she whispered, scowling as if the elements had conspired against her.

“Here.” I pulled an elastic from my pocket and knelt down to put up her hair for her. Without hesitation, she turned her back to me and giggled softly, the tension in her shoulders easing.

Gently twisting the strands into a braid, I knotted the elastic at the end before giving her hair a light tug. “All done.”

The faint rustle of footsteps and hushed voices drifted through the camp as more children began to gather. Their small, eager faces lit up as they pulled at my sleeves, insisting I join them. Their excitement was contagious, and I found myself nodding, giving in without much resistance.

Ariel finally emerged from the cells, anger evident on her face. Her narrowed eyes scanned the group, and when they landed on Diana, they widened in shock. For a brief moment, uncertainty flickered there, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Without hesitation, she rushed forward and yanked Diana away from the group with a scowl, her grip firm, possessive.

I was sorely tempted to roll my eyes at her but didn't want to make a scene. Instead, I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to remain composed as the tension between us thickened.

“Mother, everyone is ready to leave,” her oldest daughter said as she approached, her voice steady despite the charged air between them.

Diana fought against her mother’s grasp, her small hands pulling at Ariel’s fingers. With an abrupt twist, she broke free and darted toward her sister, wrapping her arms around her waist. "Akenehi, help! Mama's being mean to Hunter again!"

Around us, the atmosphere remained heavy. Several Breakwater people were still staring, their gazes sharp with suspicion as they watched me occupy the children. Their expressions were unreadable, but none of them moved—too scared to speak against me, too afraid to challenge the unspoken truth lingering in the air.

They feared that my brothers and I could change our minds. That at any moment, our patience might wear thin, and we would kill them off without hesitation.