Part 1

He molded into the crowd of strangers seamlessly, all but invisible except for one set of dark eyes that clung to him like a shadow. Zara knew he was looking for her. She could almost taste his desperation. It was always the desperate that came to find her. She was, after all, a last resort. A force only to be dealt with when all other hands had been dealt. She made no move to get up and greet him, choosing instead to let him come to her. She settled back in one of the tavern's rough, wooden chairs and drew her cloak tighter around her.

The room reeked of ale, sweat, pipe smoke and the faintest whiff of baked chicken as it wafted from the kitchen. Before, it would've been a scent Zara wrinkled her nose at. She never would have even considered actually stepping foot inside the dingy little pub. Now, the smell was familiar to her. As were the people, the drunks hiccuping into their mugs, the workers scurrying to and from wooden tables scarred with cracks and nicks, and the travelers with their strange ways and even stranger stories.

She took a sip from her pint glass and it was at that moment the man's eyes finally latched onto hers. Even from where she sat, she could see they were green. A dark, full green, much like the shade of the towering pines that bordered the dark forest.

Here we go, she thought. What is it this time? A rogue troll? A pixie infestation? Another jealous husband?

It could have been anything.

Before she'd been a soldier. Respected, even envied. Now she was nothing more than an outsider with all the capabilities and skills of a fighter. Dangerous, unaccepted. Except for when something needed to be done, of course. Usually something that went against the kingdom laws. How could she refuse after all? With what she had done, why would anyone believe she wanted to follow the laws and be a valuable, upstanding citizen? The whispers followed her in the streets even still. Murderer. But she wasn't. Not really. A large part of the blame fell at her feet, certainly. But she was no murderer.

The man found his way through the crowd in no time and sank down heavily into the empty seat across from her. Zara blinked at him, her only acknowledgment of his presence. He looked back at her from beneath thick, dark eyebrows and a mass of tangled, black curls that covered his ears and the nape of his neck. One particular rogue curl kept falling over his eyes, only for him to consistently push it back with a large, calloused hand.

She ran her eyes over him. He had a worker's hands, that was certain, and tanned skin from being out in the sun. His clothes were not fine, but not cheap either. Yet he looked like a man that did not care much for appearances in his plain gray colored shirt and black traveler's pants and boots. She tried quickly to gauge what he could possibly need from her. With a handsome face like his, he probably wanted her help disappearing from a gaggle of desperate girls who's hearts he'd broken.

Despite her curiosity, Zara held her tongue and waited for him to speak. She would not ask what he wanted from her. She never asked.

He carefully licked his lips. "Are you the one they call Zara?"

She tilted her head softly to one side. "I suppose that depends on what it is you want from her." A cool smile flitted across her features before disappearing completely.

He knew who she was. She could tell by the way he was perched on the edge of the chair, hands resting on the dingy table top. He was poised to attack her, should she give him reason to do so. She fought back an amused smirk. Unlikely. Zara was many things, but she tried very hard not to make foolish one of them. The last thing anyone should do in a pub full of agitated, drinking men was to start a fight. Then everyone would want in.

"You are my last hope."

It was the same line she'd heard a hundred different times and each time it did nothing to sway her, or even make her feel the tiniest bit important. That would've been unwise. She wasn't important, not anymore. Thinking that way would only lead to trouble. Anyway, she highly doubted what he said was true. She may not have been his last hope, but rather the only one left who was willing to get the job done, whatever it was. There was a noticeable difference between truly being someone's last hope and being someone's last willing hope.

Still, he continued to feed her curiosity.

"You have one minute. Start talking." Zara finally said, leaning forward.

He took a deep breath. "I need to go into the dark forest, and I can't do that without a guide. Someone who is familiar with the forest. Someone who knows it well."

Her body went unnaturally still, the blood in her veins chilling. The dark forest. Just the thought brought back dozens of memories, tumbling and spilling throughout her thoughts. No one had ever asked that of her before. No one had ever been so foolish. "For what purpose could you possibly have to venture in there? Tell me, are you mad? Even those who know it well dare not go there without an unavoidable cause."

The last time she had entered the forest, her life had changed. Painstakingly so. It would never be the same again. She could still smell the dampness, feel the cold of the shadows creeping in and pressing against her. She could remember the bitter, metallic flavor of blood on her tongue. She reeled back before her mind could sink too deeply into the darkness of that day. Even then, a part of her mind would always remained trapped in that memory. That was what happened when you were touched by darkness.

"For me, my cause is completely and horribly unavoidable," he answered in a low voice. "Three days ago, the wolves took another. A girl."

His eyes darted around the room for a moment, although Zara knew not one pair of eyes was watching them. She would've sensed it by now, the prickle of prying, lingering gazes. She had always been more sensitive than most when it came to things like that. Gran had always called it her gift.

The wolves. Just the word made her bristle. "Then she is lost," Zara interrupted. "I'm sorry, but it's best to forget her. Three days is too long a time for her to still be whoever she was to you. Best to start thinking of her as dead. She might as well be."

"I will not believe such a thing. I refuse." His lip twitched, the only indication that her words had any sort of effect on him. He leaned in even closer, locking his eyes with her. They were filled with a tenacity that once might have rivaled her own before it had been squelched from her. "There are still six nights left until the next full moon. If their intentions are to...to turn her, then there's still time."

Zara narrowed her eyes. "It's not just the werewolves she should be worried about. Do you know what sort of evil lurks in that forest? What sort of creatures? Everything from the trees, to the soil, to the shadows, is tainted by the darkness there. There isn't much hope for those enter willingly, and even less for those who go unwillingly."

The man opposite her was already shaking his head before she had been finished. "You don't understand. The girl who was taken isn't just any girl. She is of royal blood, from Valsthar. Just beyond the Greymead Mountains. Her father is willing to pay any cost to get her back."

"A princess," Zara said, one dark eyebrow arching. "The wolves are becoming very bold, aren't they?" she added distastefully. Saying the word put a bitter taste in her mouth, like poison.

"Yes, a princess," he repeated. "I owe her father a great debt. My life, actually. The least I can do is return his daughter to him."

"If there is anything left to return," Zara murmured, wiping a bead of condensation from the rim of the glass with her finger. He was watching her expectantly, waiting for an answer. Her eyes flickered back toward him. "Venture into the forest if you must, but I'm sorry to say there's not a price high enough you could pay me to return there."

"You were a Red Cape once, were you not?" he suddenly asked.

Zara stiffened, his words making her bristle. The name brought back a torrent of memories, ones she was unable to repress. It had been the most purposeful time in her life, a time when she'd been someone important. Of course, that had all been stripped away from her after what had happened to Gray.

She hesitated another moment before answering. "Yes, but that was a different lifetime."

"So tell me then, you have absolutely no problem at all going from being a hero, a renowned member of the Red Capes, to this? A petty criminal? A villain, if you will. You are content with this?" he asked.

He had no idea how often she had the same thoughts. Hero to villain. "You speak so boldly. If you see me as the villain, surely you'd know how easy it would be for me to leap across this table and make you eat your words?" she said in a voice that was forcedly calm, tremors of rage hidden just underneath.

The man seemed smug at his ability to get under her skin and settled back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you wanted to hurt me, you would've already done it. You wouldn't be drawing it out like this. Your threats are empty." Zara opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand to silence her. A gesture that made her eyes widen. He thought he could shush her? But before she could retort he was already speaking. "Hear me out one last time. This is my final plea, and it is a plea. I'm desperate. I can pay you, but since you've made it clear you aren't interest in money, perhaps think of it another way. Here is your chance to become the hero again. You've been shunned and beaten down, become a shadow of who you were. Here is the perfect quest to put you back into the good graces of the Red Capes, of proving that you are still the hero, willing to sacrifice everything to save another."

Something small ignited in her. Dim and small, but there none the less. She tried to stifle it. How could she trust a stranger's words so easily? How could she let him plant this small seed of hope without even knowing his name? Yet somehow he knew that was all Zara wanted. To be a part of the guard again. To wear the cape proudly and stand among the people who had once been her friends. Her family. And it was because of this foolish hope that she felt the gears in her head begin to turn. "And if this little quest of yours ends up getting both of us killed?"

"Then at least we die as heroes...not criminals, thieves, or villains. The choice is yours, Zara. If I must, I will go without you. However we both know my chances for success are much greater if you choose to help me," he added quietly. He stood up abruptly then and Zara found herself quickly standing too, the legs of her chair squealing against the tavern's stone floor. She didn't like the feeling of him standing there, towering over her. "I've taken a room at the Goldfinch. Should you decide to accompany me, that's where I'll be."

His eyes bore into hers and she could see the determination, the boldness that just barely covered up the desperation that lingered there. Her mind whirled, the gears gaining momentum no matter how hard she tried to fight it. It was foolish, a plan almost certain to end in both their deaths. Yet, Zara found herself caring less and less the more as the idea grew.

He turned to leave but Zara called out to him. "Wait— may I at least ask the name of the foolish man who needs my help?"

He looked at her over his shoulder. "Ronan. But most just call me the Huntsman." With that, he weaved his way back towards the door and Zara watched him go. It wasn't until the wooden door had slammed shut behind him that she sank back into her seat.

She grabbed her pint glass, but paused with it halfway to her mouth and set it down again. "Oh hell, Zara. Foolish girl," she murmured under her breath. Her voice caught the attention of a large, portly man with yellow hair who had been stumbling past her table. His watery, red eyes lit up at the sight of her sitting alone and he slowed to a stop. Eyes narrowed, she hissed, "Not interested." She drew back her cloak, letting the hilt of her sword catch the light. The man's eyes widened before he stumbled away. Zara watched him go, shaking her head. Was this really the manner in which she planned to carry out the rest of her days? Sitting and biding her time in dingy, dirty taverns waiting for someone to pay her a few measly pieces of gold just to rid their attics of pixies, or collect debts from those too poor or unwilling to pay up?

It was a fantasy, though, to believe that the Red Capes would so willingly accept her back into their folds after one good deed. In fact, it might do the opposite as she and Ronan would have to break laws just to enter the forest in the first place. She let out a sigh before draining the last of the amber liquid in her glass. A part of her ached and thirsted for the chance, though. Even just for the adventure. To do something useful and worthwhile with her time and skills. She supposed it was her heart that was leading her down that path. It was her head, though, that reminded her what the heart would not. That nothing but death waited for her in that forest.

Something she'd had enough of.