Eldritch Hunter Novels & Stories

she asked. Karen had so many questions, and I didn't know how to answer her. I wished I had the answers, especially now, but I didn't, and it kind of made me feel bad. I knew I had to explain things to her a bit. "The Hunter family are supernatural hunters. They are human beings with special abilities to locate and identify people like me. They also can match our skills and kill us. They are the most dreaded bloodline of all the supernatural hunters. It was all fair initially. The Hunters made sure everyone followed the rules, and no one cheated anyone. We saw them more like judges, juries and executioners. Whenever there were issues, the Hunters would solve them. They could tell when we wer

I see the way he touches her, the way he looks at her. I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Silvia," says Darius, his voice so low I have to lean toward him to hear, "All is not over. Trust the Goddess." Then he straightens, becomes a more imposing figure. Darius the Magician? His imposing silence draws everyone's attention. "I am Darius Eldritch," he says. "Introduce yourself unknown werewolf."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing myself to remain calm even as my mind screamed at me to run—and it wasn’t like I could. “What does it matter to you?” I asked, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. I hated that he could make me feel this way, but I needed to know. “Why are you doing this?” Orin paused, looking at me for a long moment, before chuckling lowly. “Why? Because I’m doing the world a favor. Silas—our family line is full of hunters, men who rid the world of filth—and Silas? Well, he’s a failure. Always has been.” He wiped his hands on his apron, the bloodstains soaking into the fabric, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He moved back to the table, smoothing out the skin

the man said as he stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, like most dragonkin with Sire blood were, I reckoned he was in his mid-thirties or so. He had light blue eyes and dark brown hair that hung down to his shoulders. His clothes were expensive and his hands looked like they had seen plenty of fights. “The infamous Ryder Grey, elite hunter of the supernatural world, we meet at last,” he said as he sat down on the chair that Clifford had placed in front of me. “I assume you’re Carlson,” I said to him and he smiled at me.

"We cannot allow him to continue his reign of terror unchecked. We must take him down, and soon." A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, and several hunters nodded their assent. "But who among us is best suited to the task?" Van Helsing continued. "Drake is a formidable opponent, and we must choose our hunter carefully." The room fell silent as the hunters considered their options. Finally, a young woman spoke up. "I will hunt Drake," she said, her voice firm and unwavering. Helena's declaration was met with a mix of surprise and admiration from the other hunters. She was young and relatively inexperienced compared to many of the others at the table, but there was a fire in her eyes

Tonight, she needed answers that lived beyond reason. At the base of the final stair, she found the heavy door. She pushed it open slowly, the hinges creaking like a groan from the earth itself. Inside, the librarian was waiting. He was impossibly old — his hair long and white as bone, his eyes dim but alert. His name was Eldritch, the keeper of the archives, said to have served three Alphas before Kilian. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. “I wondered when you’d come,” he rasped, his voice echoing softly off the stone. “They always come when the world begins to burn.”

A ripple of darkness seeped from the shattered entrance. Not a creature. Not a person. A void. It crawled across the snow like living shadow, stretching, reaching, twisting into form. Or rather— Forms. Three Hunters emerged, towering, skeletal figures formed from shadow and frost. Their limbs were long and jagged, like broken branches. Their skull-like faces had no eyes. Only gaping holes that screamed hunger. Elle whispered, terrified: “Morana awakened three. I hoped… I prayed… she would only risk one.” Zander snarled, stepping protectively in front of me.

He was growing up so fast, he was a teenager now, looking at him reminded me of Micheal. My eyes drifted to the stamp on his hand, an Orchid. Only one person possessed that mark, he loved to label those he claimed. Cedric followed my gaze, his eyes landing on the stamp on his arm. He sneered at it in disgust. "When are you planning to kill him?" he demanded, his voice dark. I looked at him in shock, and he laughed mockingly. "I know, Luke Hunters," he said. "Your intentions have always been clear." He looked up at Rachael, who was still watching us from the balcony. "They all know. She is your handler, right?" he asked.

“He was a pawn.” Alessia’s heart hammered. “Then—who is the real assassin?” Ariadne unrolled the black-ribbon scroll. On the parchment was a crude drawing—charcoal strokes depicting a tall figure cloaked in black, face hidden beneath a smooth stone mask marked with a spiral symbol. Seraphine gasped. “That… that looks like the assassin from two nights ago—” “No,” Kael said. “Different mask and different aura. This one is stronger.” Ariadne nodded. “This priest is named Morthos. One of the highest-ranked hunters of the old gods.”

He is – “The nail in your coffin,” the man says and pulls the trigger, blasting Zion’s once-loyal follower to smithereens. Alec Winters, the Hunter. He is a legend among all packs for never having lost a fight with an incubus or succubus before. Is he here for Alisa? He stretches out his hand and I decide to take it, allowing him to pull me up. If he’s not against me, then I can assume that he is with me.