Long Live The Hunt

You aren’t in charge of me.

No. He wasn’t. He knew that. That wasn’t the point.

He exhaled slowly through his nose and made himself stay where he was, made himself keep his hands loose at his sides even though everything in him wanted to close the distance, wanted to take Orion in his arms and make him understand through sheer physical proximity what words apparently weren’t doing.

Of course it would always be part of Orion. Silas had stood at Eve's side for centuries. He'd seen what the powers of the Underworld could do to a person. He'd watched Eve fight them every day and still refuse to become them.

“You keep saying that like I don't understand danger.” His hands were sharp now. Precise. Almost severe.

“I know what you're saying. I know this could happen again. I know next time it could be worse.” His jaw tightened. “I know you could kill me.”

A faint sting still lingered beneath his skin where Orion's darkness had nearly drained the life from him.

He welcomed it.

It kept his hands from shaking.

“You're not a threat I have to endure.”

The words came easily. The next ones didn't.

“You're my—”

The word caught. Hard.

“Fuck, Ori.” His voice broke around the name.

“You're my everything.”

“Until now,” she repeated. “Try that again with actual information.”

My problem.

The phrase hit harder than the near-mauling had.

A laugh almost came out of him. As if Silas had any idea how to stand in the same room with him and keep his own heart out of it.

You aren’t in charge of me.

No. He wasn’t. He knew that. That wasn’t the point.

He exhaled slowly through his nose and made himself stay where he was, made himself keep his hands loose at his sides even though everything in him wanted to close the distance, wanted to take Orion in his arms and make him understand through sheer physical proximity what words apparently weren’t doing.

She could feel it in the way her fingers curled at her sides until her knuckles ached. I said I would come back. Like that was supposed to be enough. Like a promise scrawled on a piece of paper and left on a pillow was the same thing as actually staying.

"You don't get to walk away from me. I don't care about the flames, or your eye color, or even that your bloodlust almost made you kill me. I couldn’t care less if you hurt me. Just don't lock yourself away from me. You come to me, understand?"

My problem.

The phrase hit harder than the near-mauling had.

A laugh almost came out of him. As if Silas had any idea how to stand in the same room with him and keep his own heart out of it.

"I love you. I’m in love with you. My heart only beats as long as yours does. So you disappearing on me with nothing but a note left behind is some fucking bullshit, George!"

She could feel it in the way her fingers curled at her sides until her knuckles ached. I said I would come back. Like that was supposed to be enough. Like a promise scrawled on a piece of paper and left on a pillow was the same thing as actually staying.

“It’s happening to him, George,” she said, her voice breaking. “I need to take him away, teach him to control it before it controls him.”

Eve looked between her husband and her son, gratitude and guilt twisting together in her chest. George’s steadiness grounded her, but this was her doing.

Eve hesitated. The Wild Hunt was her domain, but not a place for the uninitiated. The battles, the bloodlust, the endless cycle of death and rebirth. All of it would overwhelm Orion before he ever had a chance to learn control.

Even when Orion was born and he didn’t seem to inherit those traits, they kept holding their breath. It was a matter of it, not when.

“When do you leave?” He finally asked as he closed the distance between them and rested his chin over her head with full body sigh

You. Not we.

Eve turned away from her son’s questioning gaze, her decision pressing down on her shoulders. She couldn’t meet George’s eyes either. Not yet. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sound of the twins playing downstairs.

“We need to tell the girls,” Eve said, her voice steadier than she felt. “They deserve to know why their brother is leaving.”

She moved toward the door, needing space. Air. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before her, each step slower than the last. How would she explain this to Freya and Nyx? They were too young to understand the darkness in their bloodline, too innocent to comprehend the sacrifices their family would have to make.

Eve stopped at the top of the stairs, her hand tightening around the banister. The home they had built together suddenly felt fragile, as if it might crumble around them. She had fought so hard to create this sanctuary. To shield her children from the legacy of blood and battle that had defined her own childhood.

“You know,” Silas signed, his hands moving with practiced ease as he worked the carburetor, “I think I prefer you watching me work to criticizing me.”

“You’re right,” he signed, his movements deliberate, unhurried. “I wouldn’t like you half as much.”

“I can feel you,” she whispered, her hands still pressed to his chest. The wound had already closed—no mark, no trace the dagger had ever pierced his skin. Only the connection remained, thrumming between them like a second heartbeat.

Her own emotions surged toward him through the bond. She couldn’t hide anything from him now—the fear, the hope, the desperate need to protect him that had driven her here. It was terrifying. Exhilarating.

“I’ve loved you since the moment you looked at me like I wasn’t a monster,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the place where the dagger had pierced his chest. “Even when I tried not to.”

Same reason George had tried to show her that his own devotion affections came solely from Eve herself

The thought alone sent dread curling through Eve’s chest. Not because he wouldn’t understand—he would. He always did. But neither of them had ever wanted this. George had been her anchor through every storm. This was different.

This was their son.

“He needs to know what’s happening.” She brushed a strand of Orion’s now-white hair back from his face, her touch lingering for a moment too long.

Eve rose, her movements smooth despite the weight in her chest, and crossed to the door. “George,” she called into the hallway, her voice carrying more urgency than she meant to show. “I need you in here.”

Footsteps answered drawing closer with each passing second.

Her mouth went dry.

She had faced gods. Monsters. Led armies without hesitation.

The image that greeted him did little to soothe him. Between Orion’s obvious apprehensive body language and Eve’s concern that practically screamed in his own head “what’s happening?” No point dancing around it when all three of them knew better

“Something’s-” messed up , different, wrong “changed. Mom understands it better than me” Orion signed as his eyes went from one parent to the other. He almost shrank into himself, trying to see if that would help with the noise. Even if the only solution was the one his mother already had decided on

“It’s happening to him, George,” she said, her voice breaking. “I need to take him away, teach him to control it before it controls him.”

Eve looked between her husband and her son, gratitude and guilt twisting together in her chest. George’s steadiness grounded her, but this was her doing.

Eve hesitated. The Wild Hunt was her domain, but not a place for the uninitiated. The battles, the bloodlust, the endless cycle of death and rebirth. All of it would overwhelm Orion before he ever had a chance to learn control.

“Impress you?” he signed, his hands moving with deliberate flair before reaching for his tools. “I thought that’s what I’ve been doing all along.”

He settled into the work with practiced ease, his fingers moving over the engine in a steady, familiar rhythm. It grounded him, even as his thoughts churned with memories that didn’t feel entirely new. Still, every so often, he glanced up—just to check, to make sure Orion was still there.

When there were no words to interchanged between them the air around the shop settled into a familiarity that was almost dream like for him. The type of thing that was so delicate it could break if you breathe the wrong way.

“You know,” Silas signed, his hands moving with practiced ease as he worked the carburetor, “I think I prefer you watching me work to criticizing me.”

She stepped closer, pressing her bloodied palm to his bare chest, directly over his heart. His warmth met the chill of the room, grounding and unbearable all at once.

“Look at me,” she whispered. “Don’t look away.”

His green eyes found hers. Then she drove the dagger into his chest.

She caught him as he faltered, her hand still braced against him as black flames erupted from the wound. The dagger dissolved, melting into his flesh, into his blood, into his very being.

Eve didn’t look away.

Tears blurred her vision, but she forced herself to see it—every flicker of pain, every fracture in his expression. She would not turn from what she had done.

“Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “It’s almost over.”

Maybe it was a for the best he hadn’t been given too much to think about this whole thing.

George’s body released a pained grunt, seemingly the only noise he could make that acted as a sign he was still holding on while leaning his weight against her. He could hold on. He would do it.

“I’m-” he coughed once the world got began to spin around for another long second. It was a different kind of dizzy spell.

This time the pull that brought him back to reality was more of explosion, all the sensations coming back tenfold.

“I can feel you,” she whispered, her hands still pressed to his chest. The wound had already closed—no mark, no trace the dagger had ever pierced his skin. Only the connection remained, thrumming between them like a second heartbeat.

Her own emotions surged toward him through the bond. She couldn’t hide anything from him now—the fear, the hope, the desperate need to protect him that had driven her here. It was terrifying. Exhilarating.

“To new beginnings,” she said, her fingers gliding over the handlebars of his patchwork machine. “Though I have to warn you, I might critique your riding technique as mercilessly as I just critiqued your engine work.”

The teasing slipped out easily, like muscle memory. Like this wasn’t new at all. As if they’d been doing this—circling, sparring, finding each other—for far longer than a few hours. In a way, they had. The memories kept surfacing, unfolding like pages from a story she didn’t remember reading.

“I should probably let Adam know I’m not going to make dinner,” she added, pulling out her phone. “He worries.” He always had—every version of him, every life. Some things didn’t change.

She sent off a quick, intentionally vague message. Adam would ask questions—too many—but that could wait. Right now, she just wanted the rush of wind in her hair and the solid presence of George in front of her.

Such a simple phrase that could mean nothing but held the entire world for George at the moment. The memories of past lives thrummed under his skin and it materialized in a fond huff and a characteristic roll of his eyes “once again, no faith in me at all” the well intentioned teasing carried the same fondness he basically oozed when it came to her.

George quietly went about around the place as she texted Adam, offering only an understanding nod. A part of him was curious if anyone else in his family would remember their past as well.

But for now he just wanted to soak into the bubble that had formed around them since their eyes met from across the street