Octavion tore the overgrown vines away from the door of his hunting cottage. Too many years had passed since he’d entered this structure-an abandoned shack he’d claimed as his own during his thirteenth year. Hidden deep in the B’Sajra Mountains, it provided him shelter when the moons were new and put distance between him and the villagers-something he’d never needed more than now.
He kicked the dirt off his boots before entering. Not that he needed to-inside, several layers of dust and dirt clung to every surface. His possessions still hung where he’d left them; everything undisturbed. For that, he felt grateful. There were things here he held sacred-items once belonging to his mother that he’d hidden here.
After several nights sitting up with Kira and a long night hunting with Luka, the bed on the far wall looked inviting in spite of its tattered linens. He’d have to air the place out and do some cleaning before he brought Kira here. That is, if she ever forgave him.
Once Luka released him from the chains and his cravings had finally subsided, the memories had hit him like an arrow through his heart. He remembered his uncontrollable hunger and the fear in Kira’s eyes. He’d spent the rest of the night listening to Luka try to convince him not to find her and apologize-not yet. Now he had to admit his gratitude for his cousin’s persistence. Kira was much safer with Ussay.
Octavion wished for a fire, but he’d have to gather more wood and it would only prolong what he’d come here to do. He stepped to the small table he used for a desk, brushed off the chair and sat. He needed to get word to Kira, but didn’t dare see her until the moon returned-until then, a letter would have to do. He let his heart and mind fill with his regret and, after dipping the rusted quill into an old bottle of ink, poured his soul into his words and begged for her forgiveness.