Him

  The scent hit him the moment they turned the corner. Sharp, sweet, and unmistakably new. It sliced through the usual city odors and made a home in his mind.

  He slowed, muscles tightening. The others didn’t seem to notice.

  “What the hell are you stopping for?” One of them barked without turning around.

  He said nothing.

  Another laughed, “Don’t start with your feral paranoia again. Probably just a raccoon.”

  Their footsteps echoed down the cracked street as they moved on, voices fading.

  He stayed rooted, senses sharpening. Something was here that shouldn’t be.

  He let the others drift ahead and turned back, following the scent.

  It wasn’t difficult. The scent seemed to be coming from some odd human. She moved clumsily, footsteps uneven. Panic seemed to make her heavy-footed, too loud for someone skilled at hiding.

  He kept his distance. Didn’t want her to see him. Didn’t want her to know he was following.

  He stayed hidden in the shadows near the corner, eyes narrowing as the girl darted through the alley, her pace frantic, panicked. His nostrils flared; the scent was sharp, desperate, but beneath it, something even more telling lingered.

  Then came the collision.

  She crashed hard into a hulking figure leaning against the crumbling brick. The Ork grunted in annoyance.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  The girl stumbled back, catching herself with a shaky laugh. “Oh! Sorry, young lad, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Clumsy old me.”

  Her voice cracked, nervous but trying to play the part.

  The figure stepped closer, and the girl’s breathing hitched. The space between them shrank fast.

  “You don’t have a mark,” The Ork said.

  How odd. A human without a mark, it's nearly unheard of. He had never seen one himself before. In fact, no one had in many years. Was it even possible?

  He watched as the Ork pulled out a small device to seemingly log the encounter, and heard her give the most ridiculous name that a human could come up with.

  The girl’s heart pounded, and she blurted, “Petunia. Petunia Pumpernickle. Just passing through.”

  The Ork grunted but didn’t press further.

  She broke away and ran, the crooked wig slipping half off her head, flopping over one eye.

  She then turned and disappeared into the shadows, unaware that a pair of keen eyes observed everything from a few yards away, hidden beneath a pile of rubble.

  His mind clicked, understanding falling into place with a slow, cold certainty. No mark. Unclaimed. A ghost in their world.

  What a wonderful mystery.

  He did not follow her past the treeline, not tonight.

  But he did memorize her scent.

  · ─ ·?· ─ · ·· · ─ ·?· ─ · ·

  When he caught back up with his group and told them of his intentions, the others looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

  “You’re chasing ghosts,” they said. “One stray won’t change anything.”

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  “You’re clueless, and your damn nose is broken.” He replied, shaking his head.

  Leaving his friends, he stayed near the woods beneath the crumbling radio tower, the moon weaving light through broken clouds.

  He didn’t sleep, instead, he watched the tree line, breathing in the scent of the woods, pine and moss, tangled with sharp fear and something smelling faintly of apples and cinnamon.

  Her trail was a chaotic blend of desperation and clumsiness, yet beneath it all burned a fierce, unwavering determination that caught his attention and quietly earned his respect.

  By the time dawn began to pale the night sky, he had slipped back into the city, moving with a silence as soft and inevitable as ash drifting down from the distant mountains.

  Inside the dim confines of his quarters, he shrugged off his heavy coat and lowered himself to the cold floor, drawing his knees close as the lingering scent clung stubbornly to his senses, sharp, vivid, impossible to forget.

  There was no name to attach to it, no clear face to paint in his mind’s eye, only the memory of that crooked, half-tumbled wig, the frantic, stumbling scramble through shadowed alleys, and the relentless pounding of a terrified heart.

  He couldn’t shake the weight of one troubling thought: the Ork said she had no mark. Not a single sign that bound her to anyone, no brand of allegiance or claim. If that was true, it meant she was unclaimed, dangerous and rare. It was a challenge he hadn’t expected, a spark that ignited something deep inside him. The thought of claiming what was so rare after all these years of hunting, of making her his, stirred a hunger he hadn’t felt in a long time. She was out there, untouched, and that made her more valuable than anything else. He would find her. He had to.

  Who she was remained a mystery, but something ancient and dark stirred within his blood at the thought, a flicker of awareness long dormant finally igniting.

  · ─ ·?· ─ · ·· · ─ ·?· ─ · ·

  The next day, he returned to the alley where she had appeared. Dust lay thick over the cracked concrete, but faint traces remained, a scuff on the pavement, a torn thread caught on rusted nails. Her trail was fading, but it was still there, real and undeniable.

  The market buzzed with whispers about the outsider. No one had seen anything, no one ever did. He said nothing, letting them gossip and pretend their watchfulness was enough. But he knew better. He wouldn’t let this go, but first, he would give her some time to lull herself into a false sense of confidence.

  · ─ ·?· ─ · ·· · ─ ·?· ─ · ·

  The night after she slipped away, he didn’t hesitate. Her scent still burned in his nostrils, sharp and urgent, guiding him like a beacon through the tangled woods. The city’s fading glow disappeared behind the trees as he pressed forward, moving silently over dry leaves and broken branches.

  Eventually, he found her. A small, weathered cabin sat nestled in a clearing, smoke curling lazily from its crooked chimney. Inside, through the cracked window, he saw her: sitting in a worn chair, a book open on her lap, a chipped mug cradled between her hands. She was blissfully unaware of how close he was.

  For a long moment, he watched. The softness in her features as she sipped her tea, the way the firelight flickered across her face, everything about her screamed vulnerability and quiet strength. It was a sharp contrast to the wild, desperate girl who had fled only hours before. She looked so peaceful. It had to be the same person - she smelled the exact same, but without the ridiculous wig. She had long brown hair, and he was entranced.

  Then he moved.

  He circled the cabin, checking for loose boards and unlocked windows. The door gave way with a soft creak under his touch, a sound far too loud in the thick silence of the night. Heart pounding, he slipped inside, the scent of old wood and burning tea filling his senses.

  She didn’t notice until his shadow fell across the room.

  The moment she looked up, panic flared in her eyes, but he was faster. His hands closed around her arm, firm but careful, pulling her away from the chair. The book slipped from her fingers and thudded to the floor, forgotten.

  “Don’t scream,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  Her breath hitched, but she struggled, twisting in his grasp. He tightened his hold, fingers digging in just enough to remind her resistance was useless.

  “You’re coming with me,” he said, eyes dark with something fierce and ancient. “And you’re going to listen.”

  She froze for only a heartbeat before panic exploded in her eyes. “Let me go!” she demanded, her voice sharp and urgent, trembling with fear. “You don’t understand, if you take me, Bagel will never recover! She will be heart broken! Please, just let me go!”

  He tightened his grip, his voice low and unyielding. “You’re not going anywhere without me. Not tonight. Not ever.”

  Her breath hitched, desperation spilling over. “Fine,” she snapped, struggling against him, “but I need my bag. I’m not leaving without it.”

  For a moment, he hesitated, weighing her words. Then, without loosening his hold, he nodded, a small concession in the dark. “You have one minute.”

  She scrambled across the room, heart pounding as she threw together the essentials: a dull knife, a spare costume that looked even worse than the first, and then, carefully, her cat carrier. The soft meow inside broke the tense silence.

  She added a pouch of cat treats on top, zipped the bag shut, and turned back to him, eyes wide and frantic.

  He didn’t say a word at first, but as he hauled her to her feet, his grip firm but controlled, a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That’s two bags,” he said quietly, amusement threading through his voice. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight.”

  She didn’t reply, eyes wide and darting, but she didn’t argue either.

  He headed for the door.

  Outside, the night waited, silent, patient, and full of unspoken promises, as he disappeared into the woods with the girl who no longer fought to run.

  Thank you for reading! Please vote :) Updates will be posted on Fridays.

  This book is complete on my Patreon!! Subscribe to my Patreon to read ahead: