There are many names I have called the monstrous waira.

But I never thought I'd call one my mate.

The waira are nightmares. No one thought they were real.
Until our hunting party went out…and didn’t come back.
What came back instead was an evil that was older than even the dark elves.
His name is Mael. And his kind turned our camp into a butcher block.

From this carnage, Mael took me and carried me away.

I was brought to his cave to serve him.
Terrified. Heartbroken. Furious.
I never thought I'd find comfort in the arms of this monster.
But I did.
He nurtured me and protected me.
Healed me. Fed me.
And made me realize that he may have taken my brother.
And his kind may have taken my people.

But I had taken his heart.

Chapter 1

Asra

Sweat beads on my brow, chilling immediately in the brisk air. Some of the leaves on the trees have finally started to change,
turning to vibrant oranges and reds and signaling the coming autumn.

The goal is to have the wall around our village complete before winter sweeps in so that we can have more permanent structures for all of the families in our makeshift village. The thought of happily smoking chimneys and families bundled together in their homes gives me a second wind, and I sink my shovel into the earth at my feet again.

“Asra’s got the right idea!” I hear Grim shout from above my head, the sound of his cane thunking against the ground as he
walks toward me. I smile as I pitch the dirt out of the trench, going for another scoop.

Many of the other humans working alongside me,
most of them men, have begun to tire as the day draws to a close. Especially as a child, I was always self-conscious of my taller build and the unladylike
strength that resides in my muscles. It wasn’t until after Clay and I lost our parents and that strength saved us more times than I can count that I truly
began to be grateful for it.

My thoughts turn unbidden to my parents, to the day we lost them in Orthani. I’d grown up happy, by human standards. I was 8 when Clay was born in the small shack we called home on the edge of the Mirsiths’ property.

My father worked as an animal tamer and groundskeeper, and my mother was the gardener. I’m not entirely sure why, but
we were allowed to live as a family in relative privacy, something that I learned was exceedingly rare when I recounted Clay and I’s story to Cecilia and Grim for the first time.

I was about 13 when Master Mirsith caught me playing outside with Clay. It wasn’t unusual for us to do this, so I never really understood the danger of being in plain sight. I learned that lesson quickly, however, when he took a liking to me, claiming I was his property to use as he saw fit.

Everything after that is a bit of a blur. I remember his hand in my hair as he dragged me away from my crying baby brother, 5 at the time. I remember screaming for my parents, trying to fight against him uselessly.

And then I remember my father- his rugged face twisted in rage as he came barreling out of the gardens, tackling Master
Mirsith to the ground, my mother hot on his heels. My mother dragged me away from Mirsith as he and my father fought, gathering Clay up and pushing us into the woods, telling us to run as fast as we could.

No amount of running could have driven the sounds of my father’s death from my ears, or the way Mirsith laughed and promised he’d find us no matter where we ran to.

My mother managed to keep us hidden for a few days, and now in hindsight, I realize she was trying to get us to the docks,
probably to flee the continent and get somewhere new, somewhere safer. The guards found us hiding out in a warehouse, and that was where I made my final promise to my mother- a promise to keep Clay safe, and to find a life worth
living.

Then I ran, with Clay in my arms, while my mother tried to hold off the guards. Clay and I were nearly caught, and I had my jaw
split open by one of the guards as I slipped through their hold, but we got away.

After everything that’s happened, we deserve a place to call home. And I’m happy to build one for us.

The sun begins sinking through the tops of the dense trees, the temperature dropping and the light growing sparser by the
second before Grim finally calls it a day.

“Bah, go home,” the grizzled older man says dismissively, the men around me quickly beginning to clamber out of the trench we’ve dug. I pull myself out after them, wiping the dirt off of my hands and onto my pants as Grim offers me a water skin.

“You put those men to shame, I’ll tell you that much,” Grim grumbles, though he gives me a wink. I grin back at him, downing
the contents of the skin as I survey the work we’ve managed to complete so far.

Wide, heavy wooden posts line the completed half of the trench, branches and other forest debris woven onto them to help
disguise the gates. We chose to settle at the base of Kirrane Peak, living in the shadow of the massive mountain at our backs to help keep us safe from the
dark elves.

The entirety of our village is little more than a group of escaped humans trying to carve out a place for themselves in Protheka.
Every person here has a horror story, some way they escaped from one of the surrounding dark elf cities, and we all managed to stumble on one another.

Between the strength in our numbers and our decision to settle in the shadows of Casadurna Peak, where no dark elves ever dare to go for fear of the King of Orthani and his monsters, we finally decided
to stop roving the continent and create a home of our own.

I couldn’t be more excited to finally have a more
permanent settlement, to be able to offer my brother some sort of stability and
normalcy, but plenty of the other members of our camp disagree. I can’t say
that I blame them.

“Grim!” A familiar voice chides from over my
shoulder. I’m grinning before I even turn around, already knowing what’s about
to happen as Grim rolls his eyes dramatically.

“It’s far too late for the two of you to be out
here like this, you’re going to work poor Asra to death!” Cecilia cries as she
hurries toward us, her round cheeks already rosy from the nip in the air.

“Asra’s fine,” he gripes back, moving toward his
wife and brushing a kiss to her cheek. Cecilia’s brows pull together as she
swats at his arm, the bunched coats in her arms swaying at the sudden motion.

“Don’t you try to butter me up, old man,” she
retorts, although the twinkle in her eyes gives her away. “Come on you two,
inside before you catch your deaths!”

Cecilia throws a jacket over my shoulders before I
can protest, giving me a soft shove back toward the gates. She and Grim fall
into their usual banter, lobbing light ribs at one another as we walk through
the village.

Between Grim’s injury and he and Cecilia’s age,
their house was one of the first more permanent structures we erected within
the village walls. A couple other houses dot the space in various forms of construction, while makeshift structures line the base of the mountain to help
keep out the elements while families huddle there and wait for their homes to be completed.

People of all ages rove about, fulfilling various tasks and speaking happily with one another. Our village square has never stopped amazing me, even after being with our band of humans for nearly 10
years.

Before finding them, I’d never seen so many humans
in one place, free to chat and do what they please. Hope blooms in my chest as
I watch them work. We deserve this village, a home, free of dark elves and all the miseries they bring.

I’m so lost in thought that I nearly miss Clay trying to slip by me with a group of hunters, his shaggy brown hair hanging
slightly in his face.

“And where do you think you’re going?” I demand as I step in front of him, halting him in his path. Clay huffs and rolls his eyes
as he looks at me, and I’m suddenly reminded of just how much he’s grown. Clay
has become tall and lanky in his teenage years, a hint of stubble gracing his chin as he looks down at me.

“Asra, relax! I’m just going on a hunting expedition with some of the other men,” he says, puffing up his chest slightly.

“But it’s already nearly dark out! How are you going to catch anything when you can’t see two feet in front of you?” I
protest, propping my hands on my hips.

“Anserinae are nocturnal,” Cain, a handsome hunter
I’ve spent more than just a little time with, chips in from over Clay’s
shoulder. I level a scathing look at him, and he recoils, giving Clay an
apologetic look.

“I’m going to be fine, Asra. I’m not a baby
anymore, I’m a man. Besides, the village needs all the help it can get if we’re
going to get everything done before winter,” Clay retorts, knowing full well
what bringing up the wellbeing of the village will do to me.

I sigh, crossing my arms across my chest as I look
at him. I know there’s some truth to what he’s saying, but I can’t help but
feel protective over him. It’s not as if I think Clay is incapable of taking
care of himself, but he’s the only family I have left.

My promise to my mother rings in my ears as I look
him over, and I realize Cecilia and Grim have stopped short, watching the
exchange between Clay and I. Not wanting to embarrass him in front of the rest
of the human men or in front of our newfound family, I relent.

“Okay, just be careful please. There’s a reason
even the dark elves don’t come out this far.”

Clay gives me a lopsided grin, pulling me into a
crushing hug before quickly releasing me to catch up with the rest of the
hunters.

“I won’t be gone long, but don’t wait up! Love you!”
he calls over his shoulder as he breaks into a jog toward the gates. A small
smile plays on my lips as I watch him go. I know our parents would be so proud
of who he is. I wonder if they’re still keeping an eye on us from the great
beyond- if they’d be proud of me, too.

Chapter 2:

Mael

The morning cold barely registers with me. All I can
feel is the hunger burning deep in my gut. It dominates my other senses until
all I can think is about the need to kill, to feed.

There is much lore among others of my kind how we
ever came to wander.

Some say it is the Hedonist who cursed his
followers for indulging too much. Creating the constant hunger.

Others believe we are gods ourselves.

Still others are too far feral. They have no
thought.

Just in front of me are crimson spatters, stirring
my bloodlust into a frenzy. My mouth waters as I lean in, burying my face in
the dying grass to inhale the scent. Adrenaline pulses through me as I snap up,
my hunger holding me by the throat – just like it always does.

It’s all I can think about, now and always. Even
after I feed, it doesn’t diminish, and I keep hoping for something that will
quell this desperate urge I have.

I cock my head as I hear something, my whole body
pulsing with the urge to charge forward and devour. I’m wiser than my baser
needs – just barely – and I know that I need to wait to find where my prey is
before I go after it.

A soft rustle gives it away, and before I can make
the conscious decision, I’m flying forward. My eyesight is better than most of
my kind, and I spot the animal, a four legged beast with green and brown
splotched fur that would fool a lesser predator.

But I am designed to be unescapable.

“I’ve been looking for you,” I breathe.

The little thing’s head snaps up as I close in.
Its three horns, much like the ones adorning my own skull, should provide
protection, but with a snap of my wrist, they’re gone. No longer able to
puncture me, not that it would stop my bloodlust if they did.

It mewls, crying out, but I can barely hear it
over the pounding in my ears. Its heart rate is increasing, only stirring me
into a deeper frenzy. Gripping its skull, I jerk its head to the side and
inhale deeply.

The blood sings a sweet song to me, and I can’t
stop myself as my jaws clamp around its neck, snapping straight through. I rip
back, a chunk of warm meat sliding down my throat. Blood dribbles down my chin,
and the second the coppery taste floods my senses I’m gone.

My teeth and claws shred through skin, flesh, and
bone like they are water. My vision blurs, my scent and touch taking over. My
whole body burns with the desperation to consume, feast. No matter how much
blood coats my tongue, it’s never enough.

I’m gasping, huffing as I rip apart the last of
the little animal, and I realize that it’s not enough. It never is, but now
that I’ve had one taste, I am dying for me.

I’ve dropped to all fours, hunched forward to run
on my hands and feet like an animal. It’s only after I eat that this happens,
when my baser needs and my prey take over my body. I’m too easily influenced by
what I feed on, if my head is any indication. My skull marks the first thing I
ever preyed on, a feline creature that put up quite a fight.

Conscious thought does little for my instincts as
I catch the scent of another animal. Something is lurking closer, something
drawn by the scent of my fresh kill. I cock my head, excitement flooding my
scenter as I hear the pads of a heavy beast fall.

This is going to be fun.

“Let’s see who wins,” I mutter.

I let out a vicious roar. I’m no longer in the
mood to eat. I want to run, to chase, to hunt.
And if this predator knows what’s good for them, they will lead me on a good
one.

The soft ground does little to hide its footsteps as it takes off, and my body hums with the thrill of the chase. Nothing sets me off like my prey running. I’m eager to taste the fear tainted blood, and I take off.

My body moves without thought, so well created to kill that I don’t have to register the trees to go around them. And soon I’m landing on top of another feline beast, it’s roars doing nothing but driving me further into madness.

Its claws snag at my skin, and I laugh as it shreds through me. It will find that no pain or fear is within me. Only hunger. Only the need to kill.

I rip its head from its shoulders, swallowing it down before its body even crumbles, and just like with the thin little creature before, I pull it apart swiftly, devouring it all.

Sometimes I choose not to eat the fur. I don’t like the way it coats my tongue and it can provide some protection from the cold, but in this moment, I’m too eager to consume it all. I tear through the thick exterior, the tough meat, and hard bone all the same.

With each tear I make into the beast, I find I lose myself a little more. The scent of its blood coats me, and I clamp my jaws around the torn body, lapping at the warm liquid as it spurts.

My body wars with what it wants most – to eat or drink – and soon my need to destroy kicks in. I scarf down the second half of the beast in record time, its blood so strong that I lick the forest floor to claim the last drops.

This beast is more aware than my prey before, and it eases my bloodlust a little. I manage to stand, to think clearly for only a second. And the only thought that crosses my mind is that I am so, painfully
bored.

The only thing that even brings me joy anymore is
hunting. It gets out the anxious energy in my body, the very energy that, if pent up too long, leads to infighting among my group. None of us care for each other, and while I’ve stayed with those of my kind out of convenience and protection, I’ve grown tired of them, too.

“But not of you,” I whisper as my eyes catch on a copper colored creature in flight.

Softly, I pad after it, watching in wonderment as its wings beat. It sees me, calling out, but even its panicked song is
beautiful.

“I would never hurt you,” I call to it, trying to keep my voice soothing. But I am not designed for such calm nature and it beats
its wings faster, trying to get away from me.

I keep some distance between the bird and I, but I never take my eyes off of it. I’ve always been fascinated by things that can
fly, and I often wonder at the freedom that it provides. Maybe I wouldn’t be so eternally bored if I could take the skies like that.

But I already learned that eating the winged creatures won’t give me those abilities. I’ve tried it before, and all that it did was turn my skin sensitive to the sun, which greatly annoys me.

It’s in the blood of my people. I am an apex
predator, and I do not expect anything to restrain me from doing as I please.
My body has little limitations and nothing can stand up to me. To have a prey
pass on such a defect sent me into a rage when I first discovered it.

My eyes are still on the copper feathered bird, my
feet following it. The soft fluttering of the wings don’t entice me the same
way as my prey running, and I’m able to keep my instincts at bay.

Until I hear the whistle.

My whole body goes stiff as I turn my head slowly
in the direction I heard it. I tip my skull back, inhaling deeply as the
whistling continues. On the air is the thick scent of a new prey, one that makes my mouth water. I’ve encountered so few of this kind and they don’t seem to realize that they are calling us straight to them with that sharp sound that
is so easy to locate.

I take off toward the sound, dropping to all fours
to move faster. The soft whispering of footsteps crowds me, and I know others
are headed in the same direction. But I want the first pick.

As I crest the hill, I spot the group still whistling. It’s a small pack of fleshy creatures that walk on two legs. Man, I think I’ve heard them called. They’re easy to overpower.

They are not like the other animals I normally prey
on. They seem to have more conscious thought, the ability to plan and coordinate. They don’t think we do, but what they do not know is that the more of them I eat, the more like them I become.

Maybe if I eat enough, the sun won’t burn me anymore.

I creep slowly down the side of the forested hill, the slope going to where the treeline stops. They think they are safe in these woods. They do not even look around as I descend, and I spot one, toward the
back, that calls to me.

Bloodlust claws at my throat, and I want to rush forward, to throw myself at the creature, but I wait. This group will scatter, and though the chase will be fun, they stand to be more capable of outrunning
me.

But with each step I take, I’m eager to sink my teeth into the one I’ve picked. My jaw works, eager to clamp it around him, and as I start to get close to their level, I see other shadows moving around me.

Not everyone around me can see them. In fact, most can’t. But they do lift their faces to the air, inhaling the scent, and I see the moment that the tension breaks just before it does. The lesser of my race is unable to withstand their baser needs.

Not wanting to lose
my prey, I charge forward just as his head whips toward me with wide, bright eyes. His mouth opens on a scream, and the sound is like music to my ears as I launch my body forward, closing the distance between us before he can muster the courage to turn and flee.