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Wind and rain lashed against the cloak that Rayce wore, threatening to tear it free as the clasp dug into his throat during one particularly vicious gust. If only it was that simple, he thought bitterly as the city of Toronto fell away below his mount's hooves.

Memories of Sera washed over him like the rain and he couldn't help but cling to each one like it was the last one he had. Everything about her was alive in his mind. The sound of her laughter, the sunlight in her hair, the curve of her body against his. His hands tightened on the reins and he felt an ache in his chest. If he didn't hold onto the memories, he would lose even those. The Hunt would take everything from him.

He could still taste Sera's last kiss, the salt of her tears as she had implored him to have faith and not give up. The storm whipped his cloak sideways and he pulled it around himself reluctantly. She didn't know. Not like he did. She didn't have Gwyn's memories.

She hadn't seen how it had all begun, where all of this had started or why. She didn't understand that Gwyn had worn the cloak for centuries upon centuries, that he had had someone searching for a way to free him, too. Sera wasn't immortal. She wouldn't have centuries to waste looking for a solution that didn't exist. His days would stretch out into eternity now until he was killed and the cloak found a new master. Echoes of Gwyn's past pressed in on Rayce's mind, but he shrugged them away. He had to remember her.

He raced through the night sky, galloping through the clouds as if he could leave it all behind him, but he couldn't. His life was shackled to the Hunt now. He had tried to tell her not to wait for him, not to spend what precious time she had searching for a way to free him, but the fire that burned inside of her had blazed up and refused. Guilt crushed through him as he remembered the bloom of hope he had felt at her promise to find a way or make one. It was selfish. He had to let her go. He already knew how this ended.

The storm faded around him as he outdistanced it and continued to ride the wind eastward, making for Cadair Idris where the Hunters would be waiting for him to come and Turn his own brother. He closed his eyes. Baelerithon.

Gwyn's memories surged forward again at the parallel between them once more, and this time Rayce let them come.

The earth was a younger place, a more simple land of Men where the Fey could still play at the edges of their world and take their pleasures without consequences even if the greatest among them had begun to vanish and decline. Many had made themselves known to the humans and basked in the glory of being worshipped as deities or feared as demons. Idols were raised and the most wicked among the Faeries delighted in the sacrifices of flesh and wealth, watering the land with the blood of the innocent to renew their strength.

Gwyn ap Nudd was not among those malicious enough to prey on the naivete of the humans. He was First Prince to the Unseelie throne, his father's first-born son, and a warrior of great renown. His days were spent protecting his people from the other supernatural creatures that shared their world... and his nights were spent with his beloved Veralysia. They had taken each other as life-mates and sworn to know no other. She would one day rule the Unseelie Court by his side when his father faded from this world. So many of the Greater Fey had begun to do so that Gwyn feared it would not be long before he ascended the throne.

The First Prince knocked softly at the door to his father's chamber and waited to be invited in. At the king's command, he stepped through the doorway to the single room and his eyes were immediately drawn to where his father laid in a stone basin lined with tiny blue-white flames that flickered weakly. The Unseelie King rose from the fire and it died out behind him.

"My son," he greeted him simply. The king's black hair rippled down to his shoulders,held back by the bronze circlet of the Unseelie crown, and Gwyn swiftly knelt to his sovereign.

"My king sent for me, and so I have come. What service may I render you?"

A smile touched the Unseelie King's lips, though it did not bring any light to his black eyes. He touched his son's shoulder, bidding him to rise.

"Your loyalty becomes you, Gwyn. I fear it may be sorely tested after this day." He led them to a simple stone table set against the far wall and took a seat, gesturing for his son to take the place across from him. The king took Gwyn's hands in his own, looking down with sorrow in his eyes.

"Our people are fading," he began slowly, eyes still fixed on his son's hands. "There are only a few among us who know for certain what is happening, and we have kept our silence while we searched for an answer.

"The Courts whisper as the greatest among us fade away or are slain. Gone are the days of Erebus and Anubis, the days when we were gods among Men, and now we are reduced to shadows of our former glory as the earth's power wanes. The Eternal Forest is no longer nurtured by the blood of sacrifices to us. The roots draw on dry soil, the leaves whither and fall, and so too, do we. The humans multiply and spread like a disease across our world, straining the limits of what can be renewed by the Forest. They have disrupted the balance of the earth, but it will be the Fey who pay the price if a solution is not found, for we are bound to this land."

Gwyn was shaking his head minutely, unwilling to accept what his father was telling him, but knowing that it must be true. He closed his big hands over the king's. "What can we do, father?"

"The Eternal Forest must be nourished once more, but it lies deep within the realm of Faerie on the very edge of madness and cannot be safely tended for any length of time." He withdrew his hands from his son's and rubbed his temples slowly as if continuing would pain him. "The others and I believe that we have devised a way to protect someone from the madness of the Forest, but it would require that they sacrifice a part of themselves, that they be changed to withstand the chaos there."

The prince nodded. "Then we must try. It is our duty to save our people."

Black eyes glittered in the soft white Faerie light and the Unseelie King hesitated. "Gwyn... we can only speculate about what may happen if we call upon our power to create this protection for one of our own. We may not have a second chance. Whomever is chosen to bear this burden must be steadfast in their commitment." He paused again. "Loyal."

Gwyn's lips parted as comprehension dawned on him. "You want it to be me."

The king took his son's hands again and he rushed to continue, "I would not ask this sacrifice of you lightly, my son. Ever have your sword and shield stood between our people and darkness, and your great shoulders have carried the burden of protecting the Fey for centuries."

Gwyn bowed his head forward under the weight of what was being asked of him, and when he raised it again to look back across at his father a single tear had rolled down his cheek. "What of Veralysia?"

"You must end what you have with her," the king said as Gwyn's brows drew in. The prince covered his mouth with one great hand as his father held the other. "You will be changed, Gwyn, and the Eternal Forest may change you further. You will not be the same man she fell in love with. For her sake, you must leave her."

The prince squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall. He could almost feel his beloved's thick, black hair slipping through his fingers like silk as they lay together. He could almost hear the echo of her laughter as they whispered nonsense in the glow of their bedroom, her eyes flashing like perfect onyx. He could almost see the curve of her lips as she smiled and told him she loved him more than anything in the world. Could he give up all of that?

The Unseelie King said nothing, silently watching his son's internal struggle and waiting for the answer he knew he would hear. Gwyn lowered his hand from his mouth and gathered himself.

"For our people, father."

Events moved quickly after that, and it wasn't long before Gwyn stood on a tiny island in the centre of a deep cavern within the Unseelie kingdom. The water around the island glowed with a murky light from below, making Gwyn uneasy. The five sorcerers who would assist the king formed a circle around the prince and bid him to remove his tunic. He bared his broad chest and waited.

The Unseelie King rose out of the shadows on the shore, pale face lit by the unholy cast of the waters. He raised his hands and began chanting in the oldest dialect of their language. The sorcerers on the island joined in as one, their movements mirroring the dark king's as he began walking forward slowly.

Gwyn's breathing began to race as his father stepped onto the water and did not fall. The king advanced one step at a time across the surface, and behind him the water of the underground lake began to boil and hiss in response to the conjuring. As he approached, Gwyn felt a flash of true fear strike through his heart at the sight of the spectre before him.

The lake roiled wildly behind the king now, and as he stepped onto the tiny spit of land to join his son in the circle of sorcerers, the waters exploded upward around them and hung suspended in mid-air. Not a single drop of water fell on the island as the sheets began to churn sideways in a funnel that surrounded the group.

The Unseelie King's cold hands reached out to take hold of his son's shoulders as the sorcerers continued their incantation, and he propelled Gwyn to the very edge of the island, inches away from the wall of water spinning wildly around them. He could no longer see the cavern beyond; his world had shrunk down to only the island and the six Faerie lords controlling the awesome power of the earth.

Blue-white light pulsed through the water now and the king's hands slid up to the back of Gwyn's neck, where they began to push his head forward, toward the water. The prince fought back reflexively, trying to pull away, but he was held fast both by the magic and his father. He had time to take one last gasp of air before his face was plunged into the water - no, through the water.

His head broke through to the other side and his eyes blinked open, squinting as the ley-laced water stung them. What he saw made his eyes open wide, pain and fear forgotten.

An endless starry sky had replaced the cavern, inky blackness stretching out infinitely, stars glittering like diamonds. He tried to gasp in wonder, but he couldn't breathe. Veralysia, his mind whispered. His chest convulsed, spasming for air, and he only had a moment more to feel the ache of the night sky before he was pulled back through the curtain of water.

Gwyn inhaled desperately and then choked, coughing out lake water as his father's hands released him. He fell to his knees, still fighting to catch his breath. The great, swirling vortex of water collapsed back into the lake around him, once again failing to dampen any part of the island. The chanting had ceased, and the sorcerers had retreated to the opposite side, leaving the king and his son alone.

The Unseelie King dipped his right hand down to tilt Gwyn's head up. The prince was breathing weakly, and his eyes fluttered open to look up at his father. Where once his son had had the black eyes of his father, now one was a pale blue that reflected the light of the ley magic lying under the surface of the lake. Marked. Changed.

"Now you have seen this world and the next, my son, and will tread in both and neither," the king told him quietly. "The protection and blessing of our people goes with you now."

From that day forward, Gwyn ventured forth from the Unseelie Court to travel the world in search of the dead, gathering the fallen to ferry them back to the Eternal Forest. His father gifted him with a mount made from smoke that vanished or appeared with only a thought, and he rode the winds of the world in solitude. The night sky pulled at his heart, but so, too, did a black-eyed beauty in the life he had left behind.

Thoughts of Veralysia would surface from time to time as the desolate years passed, but Gwyn was savage in crushing them. He could feel the change in himself. The Otherness that had taken a hold of him behind the veil of water. She couldn't love him now. He had already let her go.

His loneliness wore at him, though, as he kept himself carefully apart from those he had once protected. The Gatherer of the Dead had no family, no home. But sometimes he could remember what those things had been like.

And so it was that he found himself in the Unseelie Court, desperate for the company of the living. He entered quietly and stood near the very back of the great cavern that served as his father's throne room. A trial for treason was taking place by the sounds of it, his father standing in judgement. Gwyn edged forward cautiously, moving his massive frame slowly through the gathered courtiers until he could see the king.

His heart twinged and he felt a flash of longing. Homesickness burned through him as he gazed unseen at his father. He was so enraptured by the feeling of home that he almost didn't hear the king sentence the accused to death. Snapped out of his daze, Gwyn turned his eyes to the condemned Faerie.

Matias. One of his own brothers. Medium-length silver hair fell into Matias' black eyes as his head drooped forward in resignation upon hearing his fate. Gwyn felt his mouth go dry. This was such a waste! How could the king throw away one of his own children like this? He lurched forward, no longer caring who he jostled.

"Father, wait!" he called out, sparking off a wave of murmurs in the crowd as he pushed through the front ranks to stand revealed to the king.

"Your place is with the dead, Gatherer," the Unseelie King said harshly when he recognized his son.

Gwyn pointed at his brother. "He will be dead if your sentence is carried out." His mismatched eyes fixed on the king's, imploring him for mercy. "Spare him, please. Let him come with me, that he may continue to serve the throne in exile."

The courtiers waited with baited breath for the king's reaction, and his eyes flicked across them, taking in their response to his son's foolish outburst.

"Come." He led Gwyn away from the main cavern and it's whispering watchers, taking him to the warded War Room where they would not be overheard by prying ears. The great stone table was familiar under his hands, a memory from his life before he had been Changed. He had spent a great deal of time in this room.

"You dare to speak out against my judgement for all the Court to see?" the king seethed at Gwyn.

"Father, please," he held up his hands as if he could stay the king's anger. "I am lonely. A brother would ease the passing of the years and lighten the burden I carry. Can you find mercy in your heart for him? For me?"

The king's eyes were calculating as they observed his first-born. "You would spare his life only to drive him mad in the Eternal Forest? None may walk your path, save you, Gatherer."

Gwyn took a hesitant step forward. "I am Changed, it is true, but he and I share the same blood. Perhaps he may be spared with mine. If it fails, then I... I will carry out your sentence myself."

His father turned his cold, black eyes on him.

"Take him."

Gwyn felt a flush of hope in his breast as he bowed his way out of the War Room.

He swept Matias into an embrace, elated, but he felt his brother flinch away from him. He drew back, bifurcated gaze searching Matias' black eyes.

"I may be able to save you, brother, make you like me, that we may ride the winds of the world together."

Matias' expression was unreadable, and for a moment he did not answer. Then a small smile spread across his face. "Ever have you watched over us all, Gwyn. Would you allow me to say farewell to those I love before I join you?"

Gwyn felt relief wash over him. "Of course, Matias. I will take you when you are ready."

But Matias vanished that night, and Gwyn could only feel a crushing sadness in his heart when he beheld the empty bed. The king's wrath was terrible when he summoned his first-born to the War Room once more.

"You will find him," he hissed at Gwyn. "You will lay down your mantle as a gatherer and become a hunter, now. You will hunt him to the ends of the earth and every corner of the Faerie realm to bring him back!"

Gwyn had no choice but to return to the skies and begin hunting for his vanished brother. Months passed in a blur as he searched, until he finally cornered Matias in a dizzying labyrinth of tunnels that led to a hollow peak under a mountain.

Green lichen spotted the walls, and Matias backed away from Gwyn, stopping just at the edge of a natural spring that rose from the floor.

"It's over, Matias," Gwyn said softly.

His brother's eyes were wild, filled with the hunted look of prey that has finally run out of room to flee from a predator. "I don't want to be like you, brother!" he yelled at Gwyn, tears streaking his face. "I don't want your curse!"

The Hunter shook his head sadly. "It's too late for that."

When Gwyn returned to the Unseelie Court with his unconscious prisoner, he found that his father had not been idle in his long absence. The king brought out a heavy black cloak, the shoulders draped with matted fur, and he held it out for Gwyn to inspect.

"A compromise," he explained. "If your blood can be used to Change your brother, to make him like you, this cloak will bind to you those who follow your path." He fixed his hard gaze on the still form of Matias laying prone at his feet. "You will have no trouble commanding their obedience in the future."

Gwyn looked down at the cloak apprehensively. "Bind... what do you mean to make me now, father?"

"Your loneliness weighs on you, but none would choose your path willingly. I will ease your solitude, but I must know that your companions will be loyal and serve. The Eternal Forest must not be forgotten. I would make you a leader."

"You would make me a warden," Gwyn said quietly.

"Yes," the king answered simply. "The cloak must always have a master to hold those of your blood. For so long as you live, you will hold the reins of those who follow you, then they will pass to your successor, and then to his."

Still, Gwyn hesitated. The king made one last push. "Fill your lonely nights with the voices of brothers, ease your burden, and watch as the Eternal Forest flourishes under the care of many," he gave his son a considering look, sensing the need in him, and lifted the cloak in his arms once more. "Save and serve your people, Gwyn."

The once-prince of the Courts closed his big hands around the cloak and drew it slowly across his shoulders. The clasp closed with a sense of finality and the weight of the material felt as if it was pulling him down when he knelt next to Matias.

Gwyn drew his sword and sliced across his palm until a line of red welled up. He held his wounded hand over his brother's mouth and watched as his blood trickled down, waiting. His blood scarred the blade where it stained the metal, blackening it as if it had been burned.

Long moments passed, and then his brother shot upright, choking on the blood. His eyes were wide open and staring in horror at Gwyn as his right eye began to Change, the black bleeding away to leave silver in its place.

Terror shot through Matias, and he felt as though his soul was breaking in two as his brother's blood raced through through his veins, burning a new identity into him. Even as he stared in panic at Gwyn, his vision doubled and showed him an endless night sky, cold and eternal. Its call whispered to him, inviting him, embracing him, but he recoiled and tried to pull away from the vast unknown.

Matias leaped to his feet to run for the doorway, and Gwyn felt a rush of fear. "Stop!" he cried.

And to his surprise, his brother stopped.

The king clapped a hand down on the matted fur over Gwyn's shoulder and squeezed. "I want your oath on this, my son. Serve your people. Gift some of your takings to the Courts. Take only men into your service, that you will not be distracted from your duty," he paused and turned to face Gwyn properly. "And do not interfere with the workings of the Courts again."

Still staring in horror at where his brother remained trapped by the compulsion of the cloak, he numbly made his vows to his father.

Where one Gatherer had worked before, now two laboured, and the Eternal Forest slowly began to reflect the change. Gwyn and Matias grimly fed the bodies of the dead to the monstrous trees, the great roots sprinkled with the blood of the fallen. Ley energy began to creep upwards again as the balance of the Forest slowly tipped back in favour of the Fey.

The Unseelie King could feel the power returning to the earth as the Forest fed, his strength returning as he pulled back from the edge of fading. As the years passed, he sentenced others to join his sons in their work, greedy for more power. Criminals from both Courts found their way to Gwyn, swelling his ranks.

Although they were bound to obey him, they found other ways to circumvent his leadership, many of which led to 'accidents' as they hunted down those who had not yet passed into the realm of the dead. They were wild and feral, Changed by his blood, by the pull of the next world that left this one feeling all too empty sometimes.

He pretended not to hear when the courtiers whispered, 'Wild Hunt' as he passed through the Courts to collect the condemned. Instead, he quietly asked that his new brothers be sent into the Mortal world above to await the Change in the lonely place where he had cornered Matias all those years ago.

And so the legend of the Wild Hunt had grown. They had been known by many names. The Cŵn Annwn, the Hounds of the Underworld, the Wild Hunt; the name may have changed, but the work remained the same, and they continued to bring the dead to the Eternal Forest.

Centuries passed unmarked, and although Gwyn was surrounded by his new blood kin, he had never felt so alone. He slept apart from them, kept them at a distance. Some, he had felt a kinship to. His distant half-brother, Kieran, protected by the Unseelie King's orders. A young half-Shadowhunter, Mark, unwelcome by the others and made to suffer for it. But these companions were few and far between, and he felt the loneliness seep back in during the decades when he did not have Hunters like them.

And sometimes, when the stars were especially bright and the air was cold in the north, the night sky would be just right. He would look up at the darkness to mark the shining stars, eyes searching, heart reaching for the wonder he had glimpsed on the other side of the water. That was when he would exhale softly and allow himself to whisper her name.

Veralysia.

Rayce shook away the haunting memory of Gwyn's love, his own pain at losing Sera too great to combine with this ancient grief. His mount had carried him to Cadair Idris while he had been lost in the swirl of Gwyn's recollections, but he was still shaken by the weight of the Hunt's history. He circled past the opening in the hollow peak and set down at a smaller entrance. He would need time to gather himself, to pull his own identity closer around him and push away the dead man's past.

He passed a broken-down automaton rusting quietly into oblivion as it stood watch over the entrance and he felt again the weight of centuries he hadn't lived press down on him. He wrenched a torch from behind the silent sentinel and sketched a quick rune with his stele to light it. The twisting corridors below Cadair Idris held no secrets from the Lord of the Hunt, and his black-cloaked form slipped quickly through the darkness toward the central chamber.

Sera. He held her close in his mind and armoured himself in memories of her. Her playful smile in the rain the night before they had entered the Rift. How she had looked in the werewolf den with twin seraph blades blazing in her hands, shifting and slashing through the melee, fearless. The vulnerability in her sleeping face as she lay in a bed of moss, unaware of his impending betrayal. Black hair sliding through his fingers like silk... No! He howled at Gwyn, You're dead!

Rayce broke away from the path he was following, close now to his destination, and he doubled over in a side chamber, gasping.

"I won't let you win, Gwyn," he whispered, voice rising as anger crept in around the edges. He shouted into the empty room, "Do you hear me? I won't let you win!" Only the sound of his own breathing answered him.

He closed his eyes and dropped the torch, covering his face with his hands, trying to push away the memories of Veralysia that stained Sera's golden eyes black and faded the glowing sheen of her skin to alabaster. Rayce lost track of how long he stood alone in the dying light of his torch, eyes closed, heart racing as he savagely hunted down errant memories to force them back, locking them away. He had already lost his body and soul; he refused to lose his mind.

A feather-light touch brushed the side of his neck, skimming slowly down to the hollow of his throat, and Rayce froze, eyes still closed. The trail continued back up the other side, soft and soothing. His heart ached for the memory of Sera's touch, and he surrendered himself to the sensations, lost and alone.

Shivers raced down his spine as he felt the cool touch slip to the back of his neck to trace a slow circle on the delicate skin there, reassuring and gentle. Rayce bowed his head forward as he sighed with pleasure, Gwyn's memories temporarily banished, his own already scattering. He felt some of his burden lift as he stopped fighting and just let himself go.

The hand slid up into his hair patiently, nails lightly raking along the base of his neck, both calming and exciting him in the same motion. A second hand pressed tenderly against his chest before gliding down to trace the hard lines of his abdomen though his shirt, and Rayce gasped softly in surprise. It was just enough to rouse him from the addictive seduction, and he lifted his head slowly to find black and silver eyes looking back at him knowingly over a half-smile that curled up perfect lips.

Rayce was still dazed by the encounter, his mind still too clouded to remember the betrayal. All he could think of was how good it had been to let go. "Kieran...?"

"You don't have to do this alone," the Hunter whispered. "I can help you forget." The hand on Rayce's abdomen slipped a few inches lower and he closed his eyes again as his body fell back under the spell.

Kieran pulled himself closer with the hand that was caressing the back of Rayce's neck, and he exhaled softly as he brushed his lips across the Shadowhunter's throat. "I can be everything you need," he breathed.

His other hand circled around to slide up under Rayce's shirt and drift across the smooth skin of his lower back, fingers pressing gently across the muscle there. Rayce's head was spinning from the assault on his senses. He could smell the alluring, wild scent of the the Hunter as he pressed closer, threads of gold showing through his lightening hair. Kieran's hands were setting off shocks of pleasure throughout his body, and the Hunter's voice mesmerized him, spinning him deeper into his thrall.

Kieran slowly grazed the smooth skin of his cheek up the Shadowhunter's neck until his lips were at Rayce's ear. "I can give you forever," he sighed as his other hand came up and pulled Rayce's lips to his own.

Shock flooded through Rayce, but Kieran took control of the kiss swiftly, his mouth firm and demanding as he tightened his embrace. The Shadowhunter felt helpless, unable to control himself, and a soft moan escaped him as his lips parted to give himself over. Kieran's tongue teased expertly at his own and then Rayce was falling, falling, lost.

Kieran's heart soared as his hands roamed across his beautiful Shadowhunter's body, drinking in the hard muscles, getting drunk on the glory of Heaven returned to him at last after all these years. His body ached with need as Rayce explored tentatively, still so inexperienced, and he dreamed of the nights they would share together, the things he could teach him.

He stole another kiss from Rayce's eager lips, their mingled breath hot as he broke away to whisper fiercely, "You'll forget her, I promise. Then it will just be us."

Rayce's mind jarred to a halt, the spinning swirl of pleasure forgotten. Sera.

He pushed back hard from Kieran, breaking their embrace, still panting from the desire that was quickly draining away. His mind began to clear as he held on to the image of Sera, using it to shatter the haze created by the Hunter. He felt his rage at being ensnared once more begin to build.

Kieran drew back defensively, watching as Rayce's body tensed. "There's nothing you can do, Rayce. My father's deal protects me within the Hunt." He paused and spread his hands, lips curving up into a now-familiar smirk. "You may as well take pleasure in your exile."

The flickering rage in Rayce's eyes lasted a few more seconds before his shoulders relaxed and he looked down in defeat. Kieran's smile widened triumphantly and he closed the distance between them once more. He reached up to twist his fingers possessively back into Rayce's hair, and his lips brushed across his Shadowhunter's. "You're mine, now."

Rayce accepted the kiss, his mind working darkly as his body responded, and he gently knotted the fingers of his left hand into Kieran's hair. He tugged at it lightly, playfully, and broke the kiss, breathless and smiling coyly at the Hunter. "I have to tell you something first," he whispered.

Kieran closed his eyes as Rayce nuzzled into his neck, tongue tracing a path up to where it flicked out to tease the Hunter's earlobe, teeth nipping tantalizingly as his breath sent thrills of pleasure down Kieran's spine.

Rayce paused in his play to whisper almost inaudibly, "Your father didn't make any deals with me."

His right hand whipped up, palm snapping back to strike hard at Kieran's face. He heard cartilage crack as the Hunter's nose broke, and blood spurted between them. He dropped his grip on the back of Kieran's neck as the stunned Faerie staggered back from the unexpected attack.

He slammed his hands against the Hunter's chest and bore him to the ground, straddling his hips to pin him down. Kieran was still stunned, but he raised his arms to defend himself as Rayce pulled back his right hand and curled it into a fist.

The Morgenstern ring on his finger drew more blood from the Faerie as the first blow fell, and Rayce felt a wild darkness swell within his breast. The forgotten torch burned weakly where it lay on the floor, but the light was enough to cast his shadow across the ceiling, stretching and distorting it.

Some of the skin over his knuckles split as he viciously beat the Hunter, adding his blood to the mix, and he felt a savage pleasure as Kieran's defense crumbled. He stopped then, chest heaving as he looked down at where his bloodied rival lay unconscious.

Rayce's mind flashed back to what Kieran had said to him after the cloak had taken a new master. He leaned back and closed his right hand around the hilt of a familiar enchanted dagger at the Faerie's belt. He remembered how their last fight had ended.

Sliding the blade free from its sheath slowly, his eyes travelled down Kieran's body. Without another moment of hesitation, he jammed the blade down through the palm of the Hunter's right hand, steel and magic biting into the stone floor. He felt the cold satisfaction of what would soon be twin scars for the Unseelie, and then he leaned over to whisper in a low, dangerous voice,

"Maybe I am just like you.