Marked by Fate: The Marked Series, Book 1

Marked by Fate The Marked Series, Book 1 Jayme Hunt Copyright This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. None are intended as a faithful representation of any one country or culture at any point in history. Copyright @ 2023 by Jayme Hunt Cover art designed by Etheric Tales (etherictales.com) Editorial services provided by Eden Northover (edennorthoverfictioneditor.uk) The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author's intellectual property. No part of this book may be reproduced without the permission of the author except in brief quotations or a review or a blog. Thank you for your support of the author's rights. ISBNs: 979-8-9874208-0-5 (pbk), 979-8-9874208-5-0 (ebook) Contents Dedication 1. Chapter 1 2. Chapter 2 3. Chapter 3 4. Chapter 4 5. Chapter 5 6. Chapter 6 7. Chapter 7 8. Chapter 8 9. Chapter 9 10. Chapter 10 11. Chapter 11 12. Chapter 12 13. Chapter 13 14. Chapter 14 15. Chapter 15 16. Chapter 16 17. Chapter 17 18. Chapter 18 19. Chapter 19 20. Chapter 20 21. Chapter 21 22. Chapter 22 23. Chapter 23 24. Chapter 24 25. Chapter 25 26. Chapter 26 27. Chapter 27 28. Chapter 28 29. Chapter 29 30. Chapter 30 31. Chapter 31 32. Chapter 32 33. Chapter 33 34. Chapter 34 35. Chapter 35 36. Chapter 36 37. Chapter 37 38. Chapter 38 39. Chapter 39 40. Chapter 40 More From Jayme Hunt Acknowledgments About The Author Dedication To those who feel most alive squinting at the pages of a book at three in the morning escaping into a world that becomes theirs if only in those quiet moments Chapter 1 Staring at the near-empty room in front of me, as the sun gleamed temptingly through the window, I realized one very important and soul-crushing fact: I wasn’t getting a tan this summer. I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. Summer vacation was supposed to involve a tan, trips to the beach, new hobbies, or even just catching up on TV shows or books that had been neglected throughout the school year. It was not meant to involve a life-altering move. My eyes drifted over the cardboard boxes scattered about my room, identified by the half-hearted labels generalizing their contents. I stalked over to a box labeled Barn Clothes and ripped it open, throwing on a comfy pair of jeans and an orange tank top. Stopping for a moment, I assessed myself in the mirror. Dark crescents sat under my amber eyes, betraying fatigue, and my long, brunette hair was in desperate need of brushing. The paleness of my skin reflected the long freshman year of college I’d endured, spent mostly indoors knocking out the cursed general coursework. Pursing my lips, I tore my eyes away from the mirror and made my way outside. The rest of my clothes would be staying put in their boxes for the foreseeable future. I had better things to attend to. “Kate! There you are. I’m surprised it took you this long to go visit the pals,” my mom commented as I breezed past her, stacking boxes in the kitchen. My heart lifted at her affectionate use of the term ‘pals’ for our two horses, Chester and Coyote. I flashed her a halfhearted grin as I tugged on my boots. The summer sun tried its best to warm me, despite the chill that clung stubbornly to the crisp mountain air. I crossed my arms as I walked, refusing to cave and go back inside for a jacket. Two velvet noses spun toward me as I shrugged the barn door open, flaring with curiosity. I clicked my tongue softly in greeting, and my heart swelled as a nicker of recognition rumbled through the space. I may have been away at school for the better part of five months, and while this may be a new place, Chester and Coyote would recognize me in any terrain. I located a half-open moving box full of grooming supplies and slid into Coyote’s stall, combing his dark brown coat in circular motions as I mulled things over. Though I was admittedly upset by our move, deep down, I understood. Ever since my father passed away, over ten years ago now, my mom fought tooth and nail to keep our ranch in California afloat. She didn’t have the same knack with animals as my father — truthfully, no one did — but she was an incredibly hard worker and had established connections that carried us on. Patiently, she’d waited — selling off bit by bit to keep us afloat, until she knew I was settled in at college to finally make the move. It was only my home for the holidays now, but it still pained me to see so much of our old life disappear. We now only had our two most beloved horses, our cattle dog Scout, and a little piece of land high in the mountains of Colorado. The place was beautiful but isolated, and though my mother claimed excitedly that our new home had character because of its age, all I saw was something small and objectively decrepit. But I suppose beauty is in the eye of its beholder and all that jazz. As I moved on to brush Chester, stress and resentment rushed out of me. There was something inherently peaceful about spending time with animals, especially horses. It was part of the reason I decided to study equine science at the university, the other part being how it made me feel more connected to my father. He had been my idol — the one I followed without hesitation as I grew up, breathing in everything he said and did. I leaned into Chester and closed my eyes as tears pricked them, taking in the scents of hay, dirt, and sweet horse grain as I envisioned him. My dad had uniquely deep