To Love The Hunters Daughter

Evelyn

Most people feared the woods.

I craved them.

They said the trees were cursed, that shadows moved where they shouldn’t, that monsters with eyes like wildfire and teeth like knives hunted anything foolish enough to cross their path. 

That’s what my father told me every night when I was a child, when the wind howled and I clutched my blanket tighter.

But I didn’t believe in monsters. Not the kind he described, anyway.

The woods were quiet. Peaceful. Unlike the training yards echoing with gunfire and commands shouted. Unlike our home, where the walls breathed my father’s rules and expectations into every room. In the woods, I could breathe, think, could be someone other than Dorian Vale’s daughter.

So, I snuck away—again.

Slipping past the main compound wasn’t hard. Most of the hunters were busy prepping for some new patrol. My father would be gone until dusk, and even if he weren’t, he never checked my room until dinner. My feet knew the path by heart, woven into my bones from years of rebellion done in silence.

As soon as I passed the treeline, something inside me exhaled. The air was crisp and damp, laced with moss and pine. Leaves whispered above brushing against one another like secrets passed through centuries. The deeper I walked, the more the tension in my shoulders unraveled.

This place wasn’t just a hiding spot—it was sacred. It belonged to itself. Here, I didn’t have to train or obey. I didn’t have to measure up to the ghost of the perfect daughter my father imagined. Here, I could simply be Evelyn.

I found my usual spot near a crooked ash tree with bark twisted like ribbons. The clearing was small and tucked away bordered by stones and moss, like a secret room nature had carved out just for me.

I spread out my thin blanket, and settled into the hush and I pulled out the only thing that made sense anymore—books about a girl who became a knight. About courage and kindness in a world that prized brutality. I've read it five times already.  

Still, I opened it again.

As I read, the rest of the world slipped away. Words wrapped around me like a warm cloak, drawing me in, reshaping everything. The birds sang overhead, and now and then, the wind would nudge my hair into my eyes like a teasing friend. I tilted my head to feel the sun on my skin, savoring the brief warmth before autumn swallowed it for good.

The birds sang and now and then the wind nudged my hair into my eyes. I tilted my face to feel the sun on my skin. For a while, there was only the book, the forest, and me.

Time slipped away. I lost myself in the pages until the sky darkened slightly, and the shadows began to lengthen.

That’s when I noticed the silence.

Not peaceful silence. Sharp. Heavy. Like a held breath. No birdsong. No rustling leaves. Just… stillness.

A snap echoed through the trees.

I froze. It was subtle but it pulled me back to the present like a slap. I glanced up, heart thudding. 

“Probably just a rabbit,” I murmured.

But rabbits didn’t step like that.

Carefully, I closed my book, listening. Nothing. But the air had shifted. My neck prickled. Something unseen pressed at the edge of the clearing. I thought I saw movement—a tall, dark flicker—but it vanished.

The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. The air had changed.I stood slowly, book clutched like a shield. “Is someone there?”

No answer.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling—like being watched by something older than time itself. I turned, taking one cautious step back toward the trail.

Then another.

A low growl rolled from the underbrush.

Every instinct screamed to run, but my feet refused to move. I could barely breathe.

Then—

“Evelyn!”

My father’s voice shattered through the trees like a rifle shot.

The presence vanished—like it had never been there.

And suddenly, the forest came alive again. Wind rushed through the branches, birds chirped, and the shadows receded but the pounding in my chest didn’t stop.

He stormed into the clearing, black gear rustling, fury etched across his face. His hand twitched near the knife strapped to his chest.

He grabbed my arm. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I—I was just reading,” I stammered.

“In the forest? Alone?” His voice cracked with fury. “Have I taught you nothing?”

I tried to explain, but his eyes swept the area, body tensed like a coiled spring.

“There were new tracks today. Deep. Clawed. You could’ve been killed, Evelyn.”

“But nothing happened—”

“Yet,” he snapped.

I winced. His grip on my arm wasn’t bruising, but it was firm—commanding. The way he looked at me wasn’t the way a father should look at his daughter. It was how a commander looked at a liability.

“I didn’t go far.” 

He didn’t believe me. I saw it in his eyes.

The fury in his face gave way to something else—fear. “If anything had happened to you…” His voice dropped. “You’re the only family I have left.”

That words struck deep, but the feeling of being watched still stayed with me.

“You are not to come out here again. Do you understand?”

“I’m not a child—”

“No, you’re not. Which means you should start acting like a Vale. This isn’t a game, Evelyn. You can’t run into the woods every time you want to pretend the world is gentler than it is.”

I looked away, biting back the words I wanted to say. Cause what would be the point?

He released my arm and I cradled it against my chest as he scanned the woods once more. “Go home. I’ll follow in a minute.”

I nodded and turned, keeping my head low as I picked my things. 

I got home and climbed the narrow stairs to the attic and opened the window. The air smelled like damp earth and gun powder. The sun had almost vanished now, dipping beneath the trees like it, too, was afraid of the dark.

I pressed a hand to the glass and stared at the forest.

I knew I should be afraid.

But I wasn’t.

Because whatever had been out there hadn’t wanted to hurt me.

If anything… I felt drawn to it.

And worse—some small part of me knew, deep down it wasn’t finished with me yet.