Ruin (Rhodes #1) by Rina Kent

                             Apparently, the only reason I should visit Mae is to draw her blood.

                             Is this why I had the darkness memory? I was once afraid of the dark, too, but not enough to become a weakness. Not enough to kill me.

                             I fit into the horse riding clothes and secure the hat over the wound. After stacking hunting knives in my jacket, I leave my wing to the stables.

                             The first lights of the day try to beam through the clouds, but thick grey denies them access. What a great day to hunt.

                             Our horses are held by two stable boys. The hounds, however, surround Dylan in a tight circle as he throws them meat. He’s wearing similar clothes to mine, except his jacket is night blue, mine is black. He has a rifle over his shoulder.

                             I stop a short distance away. “We’re going to hunt, why are you feeding them?”

                             He shrugs.

                             “Get the Dobermans,” I say to one of the stable boys.

                             “The bloodhounds and the foxhounds are better trackers,” Dylan says as the boy disappears at the back of the barn.

                             “I trained most the Dobermans myself. They’re more fun.”

                             My Thoroughbred nickers in greeting when I take his reign from the stable boy. His shiny black neck reaches for my chest, and he nuzzles his muzzle into my shoulder. “Ready for a hunting round, Jet?”

                             His hoofs stomp the grass, and he takes a quick inhalation through his nose in an excited ‘yes’.

                             With a pat, I mount him and clutch the reigns. His hoofs stomp once more.

                             “Easy, Jet,” I whisper, caressing his poll.

                             As if on cue, Wind, Dylan’s Arabian brown horse, stomps his hoof and snorts.

                             I laugh. “It looks like Wind learnt to be a sadist too.”

                             “Missed me, my friend?” Dylan leaps atop of it, and we both signal our horses to canter.

                             The hounds keep up with us as we move out from the habituated part of the estate to the open forest. Long trees decorate the sideways, their fallen leaves crunch under the horses’ hoofs. Humid air sticks to my face, before weighing on my lungs.

                             “Find us some meat, little beasts.” I signal my hand forward. “Run!”

                             The hounds’ barks slice the silence of early morning hours as they spurt towards the narrower paths. Dobermans follow close behind.

                             These moments before the actual kill are always thrilling.

                             Blood rushes quicker into my arteries as we advance further. The bent trees are like servants welcoming their masters.

                             The hounds run in the same direction, their barks intensifying.

                             With a sharp kick of my boots, Jet sprints, catching up to the hounds in no time. When a deer appears, jumping left and right, trying to elude the hounds, Wind manages to speed ahead of us.