Hunt the Wood

Hunt the Wood AN MM RED RIDING HOOD RETELLING BEAUTIFUL NIGHTMARES BOOK ONE ANNA FURY AMY PENNZA Copyright © Anna Fury & Amy Pennza 2023 E-Book ASIN: B0BXBHMY5F Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9872657-4-1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. If you read this book ANYWHERE other than Amazon, it is a pirated copy and we are not being reimbursed for our work. Don’t be that person. Please. Cover - Miblart Cover Photo - DepositPhotos Content Notice Hunt the Wood is intended for mature audiences due to adult themes that might be triggering for sensitive readers. These include kidnapping of an adult, interrogation, mention of and visions of parental death, mentions of homelessness and hunger, knife play, bondage and dubious consent. While the themes of this retelling feel dark, the deep love between our characters is a beautiful light at the end of the tunnel. This book ends with a happily ever after. Take care of yourself, and email us with any questions. [email protected] [email protected] Contents Prologue 1. Ryder 2. Wotan 3. Ryder 4. Ryder 5. Wotan 6. Ryder 7. Wotan 8. Ryder 9. Wotan 10. Ryder 11. Wotan 12. Ryder 13. Wotan 14. Ryder 15. Wotan 16. Ryder 17. Ryder 18. Wotan 19. Ryder 20. Wotan 21. Ryder 22. Wotan Epilogue An Excerpt from Steal the Sky About Anna Fury Books by Anna Fury About Amy Pennza Also by Amy Pennza Prologue RYDER The Syndicate Ball is a place where people come to get what they can't find anywhere else. Love. Sex. Death. Power. Some combination of all four. I stand at the edge of the crush in the old cathedral, surrounded by monsters in disguise. I’m hoping my disguise is good enough to keep them from realizing I'm not one of them. The environment is almost impressive enough to make me forget the danger I'm in. Beautiful people in beautiful clothes mingle around ornate pillars that support the soaring, vaulted ceiling above. This cathedral is one of the few buildings that survived the War That Ripped the Veil. Once a year, the four syndicates of the Hallows gather here to keep the peace. It hasn't always been that way. Legend says that in the first century after the Veil collapsed, chaos reigned. The creatures of the Myth repaired the damage wrought by the humans’ nuclear fallout, only to plunge the earth plane into a state of constant magical warfare. It was unsustainable, so the most powerful lords of the Myth agreed to share power. They settled in the very spot where the Veil had been torn asunder, and they built their domain on the burnt, decaying bones of New York City. That name lives only in memory now. Today, the crumbling metropolis is known only as the Hallows. The monsters of the Myth carved it up according to the root elements that fuel their power: earth, air, fire, and water. However, ancient monsters don’t share power so easily. In their wisdom, the four lords agreed to meet once a year to settle grievances and sometimes form alliances. And so, the Syndicate Ball was born. Over time, it's grown from a simple meeting to a sprawling banquet punctuated by bouts of violence. But everyone fortunate enough to receive an invitation looks forward to the signature event: the Brawl. I arrived just in time to see it. Which is precisely what I intended. I know better than to sample any of the food offered at the feast. There are far too many creatures who enslave their victims that way. I'm not looking for sex, either, since that's yet another route to finding oneself locked into a magical contract. No, I'm here to gather intelligence. My grandmother hadn’t put it that way. She hadn’t put it any way, actually. But when I walked into my kitchen this morning and found an embroidered black mask sitting in the middle of the table, I knew exactly what she wanted—and what was at stake if I failed to deliver. I resist the urge to touch the mask now. Instead, I stand as still as possible and focus on controlling my breathing. I can’t be certain how I appear to those around me. That’s the nature of the mask, which is infused with a glamour that keeps me—and everyone else at the ball—anonymous. For creatures of the Myth, it's a form of liberation. For one night each year, they can fuck and bargain without worrying about betraying an allegiance to their sworn syndicate. For lowly humans like me, the mask is protection. The little bit of magic in my veins is good for party tricks and making a quick buck, but it won't save me from the monsters born beyond the Veil. If anyone discovers who I am, I’ll go from observer to prey in the space of a heartbeat. Humans aren't welcome at the Ball. No one checks under the masks because no one thinks a mortal would be stupid enough to trespass on a night the Myth fetes its own. A murmur runs through the crowd as the last two combatants of the Brawl enter a cage positioned on an elevated platform in the center of the cavernous space. Like everyone else in attendance, they're masked. They could be anyone, but in this instance, it's what—and whom—they represent that matters. The first rounds of the Brawl are over, and now the final two fighters will battle to be named champion. The winner gets bragging rights and little else, but pride