The Boy Who Never Hunted
Amelia's POV:
“No—please—I swear, I can’t run anymore!” I cried aloud, as my knees struck the ground hard and mud caked the hem of my thin gown.
The forest was never-ending, and so was the hunt.
I could still hear their voices behind me—the guards, the princes, the dogs. They called me ‘Mutt,’ like I was filth.
"Get the cursed one!"
"That bitch has a price now—Klaus’s orders!"
I crawled behind a fallen log, bile rising in my throat even though I hadn’t eaten in days.
My hands trembled as I brought them to my mouth, pressing them firmly to stifle any sound.
I didn’t know how long I’d been running. Maybe hours.
“Please.” I whispered again, to no one in particular. “I’ve lost everything already. What more do you want?”
A howl split the air. It wasn’t the kind that made a girl shiver in wonder—it was the kind that told her death was no longer a possibility, it was inevitable. I clutched my knees tighter to my chest and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. I couldn’t let them hear me.
Another girl had screamed right before the arrow tore her throat open.
The sound she made when she fell like a ragdoll dropped from a child’s hand, couldn't stop echoing in my head.
Run, I had told myself then. Even if your legs betray you. Even if your heart wants to lie down and die. Run.
“No, not again... please, not again.”
As I ran, I stumbled over a tangle of roots, barely catching myself before I collapsed headlong into the earth. My lungs were on fire. My throat scratched like I'd swallowed thorns. My legs were soaked with sweat, caked in blood and dirt.
And yet I ran.
I ran not just out of necessity, but because I felt like the most hunted prey in this whole forest.
At first, it had only been the Princes—the cruel one with his blade, and the smug one who liked to grin when he fired an arrow.
But now... now even the guards had joined. I heard them behind me, howling and barking, calling out bets on how long I’d last.
“Twenty coins says she doesn’t make it to dawn!”
“The cursed one’s got some legs on her! Slippery little mutt!”
They laughed. Laughed like I wasn’t a living, breathing soul. Like I wasn’t someone’s daughter.
As I moved, I crashed through a thicket, thorns tearing into my arms. I winced loudly as I ducked behind a crumbling stump, and pressed my back against it, trying to be small.
God, I was so tired.
I closed my eyes, just for a moment. Just to rest them. I could still hear the cries of the girl they caught before me. I would never forget the sound she made as she fell.
I pressed my knuckles to my lips and fought the sob clawing its way up. "Not yet.” I whispered. "Don’t fall apart just yet."
Suddenly, a twig snapped and I froze.
I crouched lower, ready to bolt.
“Easy.” A deep voice rang out.
I turned sharply, heart hammering against my ribs—and there he was. A man, tall and dressed in black, standing a few paces ahead.
“Don’t move.” He said again. “You’re bleeding.”
My hand flew to the torn skin on my arm, still oozing from the thorns. “Who are you?” I rasped, stumbling backward.
He stepped forward, and I took another step back.
“Don’t come near me.”
“I’m not here to hurt you.”
“That’s what people like you say!” I snapped.
He paused, something unreadable passing over his features. “I’m not one of them.”
His face came into view now—pale, with storm-gray eyes and black hair that curled at the collar.
I narrowed my eyes to make out the crest of a stallion embroidered on his collar, then whispered. “You’re a prince.”
“I am.” He admitted. “My name is Damien.”
‘Damien.’ I whispered silently to myself.
Then it clicked. Damien—the oldest of the triplets, the one they said never joined the hunts.
So why was he here now?
I stepped sideways, ready to run again. “I don’t need your help.”
“I know.”
“Then leave.”
“I can’t.”
Something in his voice made me stop.
He took a step forward and held out his hand. “You’re safe with me.”
I shook my head. “No. No one’s ever safe here.”
We stared at each other for a while. Then, without thinking, I backed into a root and tripped—falling forward.
He reached to catch me, and when our skin touched—just fingers brushing fingers—I felt an invisible pull in my gut.
My wolf stirred restlessly for the first time in months, and my eyes widened. “No.” I gasped, ripping my hand back like he’d burned me. “No, no—not you.”
Damien’s gaze narrowed slightly. “You felt it.”
“I don’t want to feel anything!” I snapped, my voice shaking. “I don’t want this!”
“Why?”
“Because I would rather die than be a property to people like you!” I cried, fists clenched at my sides. “I’ll never belong to anyone again.”
His jaw ticked, but he said nothing.
“You don’t know what they’ve done to me. You don’t know what I’ve lost.”
And then... I remembered the night my parents and I were captured by Regan's men.
I remembered how my father fought them off with nothing but a hammer, and how my mother threw herself between me and the blade.
Yet, despite their efforts, we were dragged to the Packhouse and I was locked away while they were burned alive. For days, I remained chained and endured their lashes, until finally, I was cast out like a wild animal.
I vowed in silence to destroy every soul who had wronged me. Blinking back the tears that threatened to fall, I turned to meet Damien’s gaze once more.
“I reject you.”
He raised
a brow.
“I reject you.” I said again, voice hoarse. “And I reject this bond. Go back to your castle and let me die peacefully.”