Hunted

Prologue

I woke as a hand covered my mouth. The first thing I noticed was the taste: strange, metallic, almost, yet somehow it tasted of fire and smoke as well. I attempted to spit out the black glove that covered a pale-skinned hand. Another hand, belonging to the same man, clamped down on the back of my head.

I could hear heavy breathing, and if I focused my hearing beyond that, I could faintly hear the cracking of a fire. My usually dark bedroom was bathed in a blurry orange light, which seemed to flicker. Fire. My eyes widened, and I could feel them change color from a dark purple to scarlet, like they usually do when I ever feel threatened.

The man, who I had nearly forgotten was behind me, leaned down so that his mouth was next to my ear. "Scream, and your head will roll." He whispered, his voice low. From the sound of his voice, he seemed to me to be about mid-thirties to early forties.

I felt the cool blade of a dagger being placed gently at my throat, and I leaned instinctively away. His grip got tighter, and he pulled my head back so it was now trapped between his hand on my mouth and his muscled chest.

"Do exactly as I say, and everybody can leave here alive." He threatened me, and began to walk towards the door. I shuffled in front of him, trying and failing to keep my feet out of the way of his feet.

When we reached the door, which was halfway open, I could finally see beyond my room, into the hallway and the rest of my house. It was all ablaze. The fire licked every surface, quickly transforming my colorful house into to a charred, black ruin.

I gasped through the glove muffling my voice. The hardwood floor was aflame, and as the fire caught up to the grass rug, the fire continued with an even greater determination. It rose up, so close I could feel the burning heat, touch it if I pleased.

"Rayna!" Despite the firm grip on my head, I still jerked toward the sound of my father's voice. His tone, usually so calm, was frantic. I struggled free of the man's grip, taking no notice in how I was so easily able to escape is grasp when he had seemed so strong before.

"Dad!" I ran to his voice, my natural golden blonde hair flying behind me. He called my name again, to the left of me this time, and I took off down the familiar halls of my large home.

Though fire licked my legs, I barely registered it. No fire would stop me from reaching my father. My father, who has looked after me singlehandedly for eleven years, since the day I was born. Who has taught me everything I know, and has been there for me all this time. I had to reach him.

"Ray-" he cut off to let out a hacking cough. Probably all the smoke. Strange that it didn't bother me. I filed that under my ever-growing list called: Questions That Need To Be Answered If I Leave Here Alive.

He was very close now, and I could see his large, dark form outlined in the blurry orange light. As I ran closer, I could see four men restraining him. All were heavily armed.

Just then, as I was only about ten feet away from helping him, the man who had originally restrained me grabbed me by my arms and yanked me to my knees. I felt cold metal go around my wrists, and heard a faint click.

I tried to summon up that unfamiliar strength I had used on the man before, but as much as I pulled and tugged on the cuffs surrounding my wrists, they stayed tightly in place, unwilling to budge.

"Please," begged my father, "leave her alone. Take me, kill me. But don't harm her. She's just a child. She doesn't understand any of this."

I was going to reply, but the man holding me on my knees spoke instead. "A child? This thing is a monster. It deserves to be locked away, if not dead." He spoke then to the four men, whom I assume he commands. "Kill him. I'll take her back to headquarters. Luther will decide what to do with her."

I was tryinge so hard to comprehend all this. Who were these men? Why would they want to kill us? Why did the smoke not bother me? Why didn't my father tell me about any of this?

Just as I thought things couldn't get any more confusing, the burning front door was blown off its hinges. About twenty men dressed impeccably in black suits walked casually in. The front man, who looked to be the leader, stepped over the threshold and didn't even glance at the burning flames surrounding him.
He flicked an invisible speck of dust off shoulder of the perfectly pressed suit. He glanced up, and with a bored American accent he said, "We'll be taking the girl and her father now. Thank you for not harming them."

The men behind me bared his teeth. "The only place they're going is with us." He addressed his minions, "And hurry up, will you? I gave the order to kill him, why has it not happened?"

I shouted as the men reached for their guns at their waists. The one who was directly behind my father pointed the gun to the back of his head.

"No!" I shouted. A tear rolled down my face. "Please! I'll do anything! Don't hurt him!"

But my father just looked me in my eyes and said softly, "I'm sorry, Ray." Then the man pulled the trigger. I shut my eyes, unwilling to watch my father be murdered.

The men by the door seemed disappointed, but not surprised. "Hand her over, and there will be no need to harm anybody tonight."

I was shocked. Everyone was acting as if my father had not been murdered right in front of us! What was going on?
The man behind me chuckled. "Hand her over? This monster deserves to die. All of you abominations don't deserve to live." Then he talked almost to himself. "My orders were to bring her in alive. But she'll probably be killed soon after we arrive, so I might as well spare Luther the trouble." I could hear him bring out his gun. I could sense that his finger was on the trigger.

Milliseconds before he'd have shot my brain out of my skull, suddenly the men by the door sprung into action.
There were gunshots all around me, and daggers were being stabbed and punched thrown.

To be honest, it was difficult to watch just one fight. But I did notice the man who had been holding me had disappeared into the fray. Now all I had to do was get out of these stupid handcuffs.

"Come with me." I looked towards the voice of the man who had been by the door. He held out his hand to me. But I still had no idea whether he was friend or foe. I glanced towards my fathers dead body.

As they say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. So, without any further hesitation, I nodded to him. He looked at me dubiously, probably wondering why I didn't take his hand. I raised an eyebrow, trying to gesture to my cuffed hands. He understood, and took out a sticklike object. He waved it around my hands, and they were free within seconds. Boy, did I have many questions.

Then we left, without any of his men. We went outside, and the gray gravel of my driveway crunched underneath my feet as I walked to the black limousine that the man was walking towards. I followed a couple steps behind him. He opened the door, and gestured for me to get inside, as if I wasn't covered in dirt, burnt clothes, seared skin, and blood. I stepped into the fancy black car, and the man went around the side and got into the car too.

The car drove away, to where I wasn't sure, and I watched, unable to do anything, as I left the only home I'd ever known as it burned to the ground.
And I shed one tear for my home, and for the man who had raised me all my life.

And I promised I would get revenge on the men who murdered my father.
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Hi sorry this is not very good... I wrote this in seventh grade haha. Please keep reading though, it gets better. 🙃 thanks!