Prologue
The Wilds of Montana
Running through the forests of Montana, the young male ducked under low branches as he fought to stay ahead of his pursuer. His feet crunched the snow under his boots as they carried him as fast as his legs could move.
He had to get away. Had to get as far from his home as possible or they would find him and make him admit to everything he'd done.
His mind flashed back to his beloved cabin. Seeing the ruined truck, the path of blood leading from the big vehicle up his porch and into his house, where the tortured and gutted remains of his friends lay about the wooden furniture. Parts of them hung up like animals because of him, slit open and tortured because he just couldn't get enough.
As he rounded a tree, he stopped to catch his breath, and keep the vomit in his stomach, when he heard the snapping of branches next to him. Pulling a knife out of his coat, he swallowed and jumped out around the heavy slab of bark.
A large elk bellowed at him before trotting off into the snow covered distance.
The male sighed, tension thrumming through his body, "Damn wildlife."
A throaty growl echoed from behind him, making his body tight and kicking his senses into overdrive. Shouting in fear, he swung his blade at the assailant only to howl in pain when his wrist was gripped firmly. The vice squeezed tighter and he dropped the knife before his wrist snapped under the strain. Gnashing his teeth, he gazed up into the eyes of a being he never thought he would ever come face to face with.
He stared, wide eyed in shock at the killer before him, "You, you are...please don't kill me," he begged, "Please, I didn't know what else to do. They wouldn't let me do anything else. They wouldn't let me go. I've wanted out for so long." He shook his head as he began sobbing, "Please don't do this. I won't do it again, I swear it."
The cloaked being regarded him calmly, coldly, "Who are you working for?"
That voice sent chills coasting over his skin and he shook his head, sobbing worse, "He never showed his face. I just get letters in the mail, unmarked, with instructions. They never gave me a choice, please."
The figure pushed weight against his injured wrist, forcing him to kneel in the freezing snow. The other hand of his executioner lifted and pushed back the cowl on the robe, letting him see the face of his fate.
As he stared into the crystal blue eyes he had heard stories about as a child, he couldn't stop his body from quaking with fear and grief.
"I'm sorry," he breathed into the air, the sobs wracking his body.
His executioner reached out, running the backs of leather covered fingers over his chilled cheek in a way that seemed at odds with the coldness of the ancient in front of him. "So am I," the voice said before everything went black with the snap of his neck.