Every part of Eleanor's life is perfectly normal, except the Hunter after her soul.
Eleanor Bores wants to get through high school with as little trouble as possible. Everything seems to be going smoothly until the new kid derails her plan. Sure, Devon is ridiculously good-looking, but he's talking about being her Protector and keeping her pure soul safe.
Of course, she tries to laugh this off like any other teenager would, but Devon's feats of strength and rapid healing make it impossible to ignore. With graduating high school out and day-to-day survival in, Eleanor's life had got a lot more complicated.
Not to mention she’s developing a huge crush on her Protector, who just happens to be immortal.
Things can't get any worse, can they? Actually, they can.
At first glance, he looked like a gargoyle carved from stone, perched on the rooftop’s ledge. Unmoving, Devon studied the city under his watch, hunching his back to the temper tantrum Mother Nature was throwing. After roaming the Earth for over a hundred years he possessed few mortal mannerisms. Still, he pulled his collar up to shield his face. Despite the fact that his body adapted easily to any climate, he refused to ignore the unnatural bite in the air. October’s weren’t usually so fierce and he wondered if the cold was linked to the danger approaching the unsuspecting city.
Waiting for a hint or clue to which direction he needed to go, Devon breathed in the crisp fall air and tuned his ears grey afternoon. Nothing. The warning had come out of nowhere, coiling through him, forcing him forward. Usually, the urge wasn’t so strong. This one dragged him from the outskirts of Washington into the pulsing heart of Seattle. Below, the city thrived with oblivious life. Somewhere a Pure-One wandered the streets, completely unaware of what was coming—unknowingly relying on him. But who was it? And where were they? His lips pressed into a grim line and his brow mapped into agitated creases. He hated not knowing.
Unaware of the Hunters stalking the streets around them, the humans hustled to and fro, eager to get out of the cold and into their homes. Home. The word stuck in his head.
Devon hadn’t been home in years. Frustrated, he punched the concrete beneath his feet. It split apart, as if made from chalk, and he shook his head. Feeling childish, he expelled a heavy breath and white air plumed around his face like a mask.
Moral First Draft
1 hour ago