CHAPTER ONE

Enya pov

I watch the boys gather around the ceremonial Inferno. This year we are losing our forces, and we have to bring in our children to keep the Alliance alive. It pains me to see so many kids, under sixteen, pledging allegiance to the Alliance. They should be running around being kids, but instead, they are forced into a battle that isn't theirs to fight just because of who their parents are. 

"Do you remember your first time?" My father sits at my side and smirks as the question leaves his lips. Every year as we take in more forces, he always asks the same question. 

"Yes, father." 

He places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it gently. "Cheer up, little one, these monsters tell legends about you. You are our greatest strength, our secret weapon. You should be proud of yourself because I most certainly am. It's you they tell horror stories about; it's you who gives us hope that we can win. There's a fire in your soul and heart, Enya, never forget that. Never forget who you are." I couldn't count the number of times he's told me to remember who I am and never forget it. But what if I don't know who I am? I'm sure he wishes all the best; he repeats the same thing every year to remind me of our goal. Of the battle, we can't seem to win no matter how many we kill. Sometimes I wonder how much more blood I'll have to wash my hands with before it all stops. And when it does, what will I do? I know nothing but how to hunt and kill the monsters that hide in the shadows. What do I get out of life if I lose the only thing I live for? 

I know he must join the other leaders, so I don't hold him back. The all-too-familiar words leave my lips like a scripted line I've learned for years. "I'm happy, father; just look at us, the Alliance continues to grow, and that's all that matters." 

My father chuckles and leans a little closer. "And if we fall," he whispers.

"We will all fall together," I add. We shake hands, link our hand tattoos, and place our foreheads together. It is an unspoken act of mutual respect.

The moment we share ends far too quickly, the ceremony must begin soon, so father nods his head, stands up, and lets go of my hand. My eyes follow him as he joins the four men standing aside. He formed the Alliance with his closest friends shortly after I was born. If one of those monsters hadn't kidnapped and killed my mother, he wouldn't take such a drastic step. He often tells me stories about mother's disappearance, how desperately he tried to find her but always ended in dead ends. To this day, he still holds out hope that my mother is alive, even though everyone else claims she is dead. I can't say much on the subject because I was only a month old at the time.

"Recruits, tonight you will make history," one of the leaders speaks up as the others stand by his side. 

They approach the future warriors of the Alliance and memories of my initiation ceremony assault my mind. As the firstborn of an Alliance founder, I have had my fair share of what they call extras. Though I am a woman, they have never treated me as less than the experienced warriors who have joined them. My gender has nothing to do with my role among them. However, there was one thing that was different for me. I have been trained for the ceremony since I can remember, and I stood at the ceremonial Inferno on the night of my eighth birthday. That was the night I became a murderer. And sometimes, I still wake up from nightmares. Their eyes, those are my nemesis that won't stop haunting my dreams. 

That night I both blew out the candles of the birthday cake and took responsibility for the agonising cries of pain at the border of the beasts' territory. I know it sounds weird, an eight-year-old killer, but I am who I am, and there's nothing I could change even if I wanted to. I have to do this for the memory of my mother. As long as I have a goal, I won't stop. Because if I do, her memory will fade, my mother won't be a timeless icon to no one. As long as we have the Alliance, she is alive - in our hearts. She is our fire.

My father's favourite book has more or less always been "Little Red Riding Hood"; it was the only fairy tale he read to me before bed. And somehow, we both built an unrealistic relationship with this fairytale. Proof of this was the blood-red hooded cape my father gave me for my birthday. I took part in the ceremony, dressed in a white dress, the cloak and entered the woods wearing it.

These boys won't go through the horror I had to create. These boys won't bathe in the blood of their enemies as my father commanded me to do. Today, being twenty years old, I see far too many problems with the things I had to do at such a young age, but at the time, I didn't care. Back then, I wanted to prove myself and make my father proud.

That night I met the man who claimed to live in a gated community. He was a wolf shifter, only they cut themselves off from humans and prefer to live within their territory. The brown-eyed monster was my first victim. I followed orders, pretended to be a lost child and let him follow me deeper into the woods. I couldn't take him out while he was alert and aware of his surroundings, so I told him that I was tired. When he tried to build a campfire to warm me up, I wrapped my arms around his neck, took my dagger, and plunged it into his flesh. If I were older, I might be able to kill him more cleanly, but I couldn't fight off an adult shifter as a child, so I took the safest option and sat by his side while he bled out. I watched his blood boil as it dripped from the silver blade. I watched as he muttered "why" over and over again.

He didn't curse me. The man didn't try to fight for his life; he just gave in. If it were not for the reaction of his blood and silver clashing, I'd think he was human, that I made a huge mistake. I remember staring at the dying creature, wondering if he would shift before my eyes. Father had told me so many horror stories that I expected to see the beast raging, but he just lay on the ground, silently repeating the question. Only when his end was near did the man cry out. He cried out at the top of his lungs, he wept, he called for his brothers and sisters. He cried out to heaven, pleading with their imaginary deity, but no one came to his aid. 

I remember how terrible I felt. The memory repeats itself often, especially before I get ready for bed. My tiny form, hidden behind the tree, trembling and crying as my gaze is fixed on someone dying because of me. It's a sight no man or monster can forget.

I keep thinking about the fragile girl who lured the wolf into the woods to kill it. Sometimes I feel like the whole act was nothing but a play of my father's imagination - he created his own version of the Red Riding Hood. One that would kill any wolf in her way for his own good. My mind almost stops when I hear someone call my name. I look up and notice everyone staring at me. 

"Warriors, you must understand that my daughter has been through a lot over the years, don't blame her if she seems to ignore you. I am sure Enya never intended this; it's only because of the flashbacks our enemies have caused," my father jumps up to help me out of the awkward situation. I lower my gaze and take a deep breath. No matter what the leaders want me to do, it must be a new task or something important, or they wouldn't mention my name. But I have to prepare myself; I can't leave the hideout and join the hunt if I don't focus - that type of attitude would get me killed. I want to ask them what is going on, but my father clears his throat, so I have no right to say anything. If any of the Alliance leaders so much as coughed, you must be silent. Sure enough, a moment later, he speaks up again. "Tonight is a glorious night. Not only are we gaining additional forces for our Alliance, but the boys will be leaving for their first hunt. Have no fear; my daughter will lead you. Enya, the woman from the werewolf horror stories, as they call her- Red Riding Hood," the crowd erupts in cheers as my father gestures in my direction. I stand up, nod my head, and stay in my place. I am just another warrior, and my blood relation to an Alliance leader doesn't give me the privilege of standing by the leader's side. "That's not all. Tonight, before you leave, you will be the witness to another ceremony." My father grins. He looks at me and reaches out his hand, "Daughter, you have earned the mark of the Alliance."