Eldritch Hunter Novels & Stories

But they never came back. When I went looking for them, I found nothing. No bodies. No scent trail. Only the lingering stench of death and the cruel reality that they were gone forever. I searched for years, trying to uncover who was behind it. But the answers remained out of reach. Still, I know one thing for sure. It was a hunter. A ruthless killer who preys on supernatural creatures like sport. He moves in the shadows, striking whenever he gets the chance. I have seen the aftermath of his work, bodies drained of blood, throat slit, and ashes scattered like dust. And I swear on my blood, on my soul, on everything I am… I will find that bastard. And when I do, his death will be slow. Agoniz

I hide my smirk behind my teacup as Dre hurls his glass across the room letting out an angry roar as it shatters against the wall. It was the fourth hunter Dre had brought in this week and instead of looking terrified like the other three, this one carried the similar air of indifference that Gabriel carried. As soon as Dre discovered that he wasn’t able to use the talisman himself, he went on a rampage throughout the house, yelling at everyone to bring him any hunter they could find. So the witch hunt for the hunters began. The other three we saw this week trembled in fear at Dre’s presence, obviously younger and weaker hunters, and had no idea what the talisman even was. The fourth however

Prologue Daniel's POV I went on with my life, not expecting even a tiny bit of happiness to find me, I was just living under the dark side of life. Killing, hunting monsters. No happiness, not even love. Nothing could reach my frozen soul. That is, if I had a soul.

"Another one..." Kael didn't take his eyes off the creature. Fire flared up his arms, licking his skin, casting them both in an infernal glow. "A Hunter," he said. "An old world relic. They are going to keep coming until we die. Or I kill the one controlling them..." The Hunter stepped fully into the ruin, each movement boneles, silent. Shadows silthered from its body, reaching for them like tendrils. The air dropped in temperature, and Aria's breath frosted before her lips.

His blade gleamed silver, and his grin made my blood freeze. Before I could even scream, the hunter went flying backwards, his head cracking against the doorframe with a sickening sound. Derek’s hand was around his throat, dragging him back out into the hall like he was nothing but trash. His face and his eyes, they weren’t human anymore, glowing amber, sharp and wild. The hunter gurgled, spit blood, and went limp. I staggered back, heart racing, then saw it. Derek’s arm. Where the hunter’s blood touched his skin, it hissed. Smoke rose off his flesh. His veins were blackening under it.

As I stepped out of the carriage, the sight spreading across the forest clearing turned my stomach. The summit camp was surrounded by threads of sickly purple light. At the center of the mystical circle, my father, Ryker, knelt chained between two stone pillars with silver bindings that burned his skin. His head hung forward in exhaustion. A few yards away, Chloe stood in a gray robe, holding a ceremonial dagger and chanting in an ancient dialect while an elderly woman with a grotesquely deformed face—the witch of the Dead Lands—poured a black liquid over the chains. Hunter stood beside them in his gray wolf armor, watching the ritual with an arrogant smile. When he heard the thunder of our

The hunters, those shadowy figures who had shattered her world, were an insatiable hunger that gnawed at the edges of her peace, their pursuit a relentless tide that threatened to drown her. They were a hydra, she often thought, a monstrous entity with a thousand heads, each one driven by a different vice or delusion, yet all united by a single, burning purpose: to find her. Some were mere mercenaries, their souls as tarnished as the coins they craved, their loyalty bought and sold with brutal efficiency. They moved through the forests with a practiced disregard for the natural world, their heavy boots crushing ancient ferns, their careless fires scarring the earth. They were predictable in

The door closed. Angry? Did I do anything wrong? Suddenly, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down. There was a dagger in my hand. Symbols began carving on the silver blade. And somehow, somewhere, I knew what they meant. “Marfóir Deamhan,” I whispered. The meaning came to me like a memory that was never mine. My voice cracked, as I translated the words. “Demon Slayer.”

A howl rises, not one wolf but hundreds, wrong, twisted, hungry. “They want the throne,” the High Priestess says. “They want the Luna who killed their witch, they want you, Wren.” Draven shifts, half man, half beast, his eyes pure gold. “Then they come through me.” The first feral breaks the tree line, it’s not a wolf, not anymore, too many teeth, too many eyes. It sees me, it smiles. And it says my name. “Wren Holloway.” My blood goes cold, because the witch is dead, so how does it know the name I almost gave away.

“So, she is part demon? One of Dante’s sprogs that slipped through the net?” “No,” Lucas leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees as a weary sigh escaped him. “Atlas and Amos don’t have wolf spirits remember? Chloe does; Hecate.” “Hecate? What kind of name is that?” “It’s the name of a Greek goddess. As far as we can tell, only the Wolfe line has a wolven spirit with a Greek name. Even Sierra and Alvaro don’t have them. So, how come she has one?” Lucas raised an eyebrow, hazel eyes darkening as the questions piled up. “I think we need to make a call.”