Page 137 of Hunt Me

The voice was muffled as if she were underwater, but it was familiar. She strained against it, but the darkness tugged her down again, insisting she yield and surrender to it.

She fought against it, and in return, a faint warmth bloomed somewhere near her heart. It was soft at first, then grew, pulsing in slow, steady ripples. It felt pure… innocent… alive. It was the same feeling Matilda felt when she laid eyes on her child.

Denalia.

Her daughter’s presence brushed against her consciousness, and in her mind, she reached out and clasped her daughter in her arms.

The darkness flickered, and she felt the hint of sensations returning—the subtle twitch of a finger and a flutter of an eyelid. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually moved, or if she were only imagining movement. But the earth around her shifted, responding to her awakening.

She tried again, and this time, her fingers curled—barely, but it was progress. The cool and heavy soil still pressed around her, but it no longer felt suffocating.

Matilda’s memories sharpened as the brain fog thinned.

She remembered everything: giving birth, Denalia’s cry, Luka’s guilt-ridden face, the warmth of the elixir sliding down her throat. And then… nothing.

A cold realization settled. She’d died. Luka had killed her when she was the most vulnerable and had taken her away from her daughter—their daughter who needed her.

Matilda’s fingers twitched again, and her lips parted in the dark with a silent promise.

I’m coming Denalia.

What felt like hours later, Matilda’s consciousness fully returned to her body. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was, only that she was alive. Alive in a way that felt wrong and right all at once.

Her lungs didn’t burn for air, and her heart barely beat, but something deep inside her clenched—a hunger… a thirst.

She pushed against the soil. It resisted at first, but eventually shifted and loosened, parting around her fingers. She clawed upward with a strength and speed she shouldn’t possess naturally.

Her hand broke through the surface, and a cold wind collided against her skin.

She gasped. Not for breath, but from the shock of sensation. She dragged herself out of the grave, collapsing onto the frost-kissed ground. The world spun and the night air tasted different now. It was sharper and metallic like the scents that followed. Her senses roared awake all at once, and everything seemed too bright and loud.

And then she felt the clenching in her stomach intensify. It was a deep, hollow ache that stuck to her ribs. Her throat burned like fire was rushing down it. She staggered to her feet and swayed as the forest around her came alive. She could hear every heartbeat of every creature, every rustle of leaves, every whip of wind. But the one sound that cut through everything else was a cry. Her head snapped towards the castle. The cry was high-pitched, fragile, heart-wrenching, and familiar.

“Denalia,” she rasped through the pain.

The baby’s cry called to her like a beacon, propelling her forward. Her legs moved without thought, carrying her across the grounds with unnatural speed. Her once elegant black velvet gown was torn and dusted with dirt. Her hair hung wild around her face, and her eyes burned with a primal glow.

The servants spotted Matilda first. They froze—stunned and in disbelief before bowing to her. But then they saw her expression. Her humanity was gone, replaced by something unconscionable. A single look sent terror through them, and a snarl of hunger twisted her features, sending the servants scattering for safety. Their footsteps pounded away into the shadows, but Matilda had barely noticed. She only heard the crying.

She stalked through the passageways until she reached the bedchamber door. She pushed open the door and found Luka sitting in a rocking chair with Denalia cradled against him. He hummed softly while the fire cast a warm glow over them both.

His humming ceased when she stepped into the doorway. He glanced up, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

His breath caught.

“Matilda… you’re back,” he whispered.

Denalia whimpered in his arms. Matilda’s gaze snapped to her daughter. She noted how her face scrunched in displeasure, how her small pink lips trembled, and how her heartbeat fluttered like bird wings.

She took one unsteady step into the room and Luka stood to receive her, careful not to jostle the infant. His eyes shone with tears that didn’t move her. She held her arms out as she approached, and what felt like the breath of life filled her when she was reunited with Denalia.

Wide-eyed and satisfied, the baby cooed when she was placed against her mother’s bosom. Matilda didn’t ask; she eased into the rocking chair and sang a lullaby from her childhood until Denalia’s eyelids fluttered and drooped.

Unfortunately, a hand on her shoulder broke the spell.

“There are no words to describe how pleased I am at your swift return.”

She peered at his pale hand through sharp, narrow eyes. His touch brought no comfort—only reminders of deceit and betrayal. She snapped her attention back to the dozing newborn.