One Week Earlier
Moira:
I was alone with The Hunter. His presence was unfortunate, no matter how necessary it had become. I had hoped to never rely on a man again after Godric had died. The feelings coated my tongue with a slick and oily displeasure, but I made sure there was not a single hint of this on my features as I turned to him and gestured for him to stand in front of me.
He complied, but every step was reluctant, his posture dismissive. He believed we were equals in this, saw himself as indispensable. I relished the day I would prove him wrong.
“Well? Have you found her yet?”
“Her trail is difficult to follow. She has no destination, no discernible pattern to her movements. Her scent is quick to become tangled or disappear entirely.”
“And yet, you have been called The Hunte
