The Hatred
834 Words
Xayvier Kash Voss
The first trial was always a game of blood and pretense. I lounged at the highest seat in the obsidian palace hall, sipping wine far older than half the bastards in the room. Surrounding me were the born Hunters—Black-blooded, brutal, blessed with the Goddess’ favor. The rest, lesser Hunters who didn’t even have prey-bonded mates, sulked in another chamber like fleas pretending to be wolves.
They were already celebrating—too early, too loud. Laughing over prey deaths like they were party tricks. The Purge was meant to last a year. They’d barely made it a week and were already breaking their toys.
“Rook and Wren are still alive,” Zlane from Blackmint muttered, lazily dragging a ceremonial dagger across the table. “Those freaks somehow slithered through the last Purge without a mate. Should’ve drowned in their own fear by now.”
Eyes shifted to me.
Always to me.
Then her hand, smooth and familiar, slid into mine. Ezzira. Royal, radiant, dangerous. On paper—perfect.
“Did you spare someone?” she asked with that voice. Low. Calculated. Just enough for everyone to hear.
Inside me, Vaik stirred.
Not for her.
For the girl I should’ve ended.
The girl with fire in her blood and thorns in her voice. The one who didn’t beg. The one whose scent was carved into my lungs like sin.
My mate.
Artemis.
No one could know. Not her. Not Vaik. Not even the moon above.
A prey. A joke. A dust-speck in the court of gods.
And the Goddess still had the audacity to bond me to her.
“I don’t spare filth,” I replied coldly, sipping the wine that suddenly tasted like ash.
They laughed. Monsters, all of them, wearing skin and sin like silk.
“Some of them were cute,” Ezriel snorted. “I let one live just to watch her sob next time. Drama’s the best seasoning.”
Then Draven spoke.
And the room fell still.
“I saw her,” he said. “She survived you, didn’t she? Artemis. Pretty thing. Feisty.”
Her name from his mouth snapped something in me.
I didn’t give her name. I hadn’t even said it aloud. Yet he spoke it like it belonged on his tongue.
Like he tasted it.
Ezzira laughed, but it was tight, bitter. “Since when do you memorize the names of trash?”
Draven didn’t flinch. “Since I found one worth hunting. She’s beautiful. Feral. I think she’ll be fun to break.”
My grip on the glass cracked.
“She’s nothing,” I said with a flat growl. “A slip. I caught her at the last minute. She’ll cry better next time.”
Ezzira’s nails dug into my wrist, sharp and territorial. I didn’t even flinch. I deserved the pain.
“Since when did you spare crybabies?” she snapped, voice sharp. “You always said they were boring. Weak. You kill them first.”
My smile didn’t reach my eyes. “She told me she’d kill me. That confidence deserves an encore.”
That made everyone laugh—except Draven.
Bastard.
“She’s mine, then,” Draven said, eyes fixed on me. “If you’re not interested.”
I froze.
He had never claimed anything. Not a prey. Not even a prize. And now, he dares speak mine like that?
“You’re welcome to her,” I lied, biting the rim of my glass. “She’s beneath me. You’ll be disappointed.”
“She’s hot though?” Jax cut in, smirking.
“You can’t thirst for peasantry,” Ezriel barked, and the room howled in amusement.
We toasted. Ezzira’s smile was tight.
But my eyes—my traitorous eyes—searched the monitors when they rolled in. Preys gathering like starved rats. And there she was. Laughing.
Laughing?
With another man. She was glowing. Smiling like this place wasn’t hell. Like I didn’t exist.
I gripped the edge of the screen so hard my knuckles bleached.
She was mine.
To play with.
To unravel.
Not for him.
Suddenly, a warm hand touched my chest. I hadn’t even sensed her. Ezzira.
That’s the thing. I never did.
Because I never marked her.
She wasn’t mine. Not really. Just... convenient.
“You’re distracted,” she murmured. “She really told you she’d kill you? After surviving that?”
I didn’t answer.
“You think she’s stronger than she looks?” she probed, narrowing her gaze. “Maybe she’s more than she pretends to be—”
I covered her mouth with two fingers. “Don’t raise her like that. She’s dirt.”
“Even Draven thinks otherwise.”
I stepped closer, tilting her chin to mine. “He’s delusional.”
“You didn’t even deny it. You think about her.”
“I didn’t even know her name,” I whispered. “Not until he said it.”
But it burned into my brain now.
Artemis.
And I hated it.
- Writer
