It’s a well‑known truth among writers: even scenes written with passion sometimes have to be cut from the final draft. This prologue was dark, intense, and emotionally charged. It set the tone perfectly for Hunter Bound. Unfortunately, a prologue is also a promise—a promise the author makes to the reader. And in this case, it wasn’t the right one.
So I had to set that scene aside and write a new opening. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave it in the “deleted scenes” drawer. That’s why I’m sharing it with you today—to thank you for following Karl and Ellie’s journey.
Lake Carheil, 15 Years Ago
Bridget spotted the child first. The girl’s piercing gaze contrasted with her frail frame. Dirt made the color of her hair impossible to discern—it was likely pale. Her clothes were in a sorry state, torn and just as filthy as the rest of her. Sitting on the ground, the little girl hugged her knees to her chest. Around her, several evergreen branches were piled between a stump and a thicket of trees. The makeshift shelter, though rudimentary, had the advantage of camouflaging the child. It most likely had saved her life.
Bridget glanced around to ensure they were alone, then she crouched down and gave a reassuring smile. The little girl continued to stare at her with blue eyes. From this position, Bridget noticed an adult lying behind the child. A shiver ran through her at the thought that it might be a corpse. Poor little thing.
“They’re all dead,” said a low voice.
The child shivered. Bridget turned to see Christian coming up behind her. She raised a hand, signaling him to stop. Immediately, she looked back, but the girl hadn’t moved. Bridget silently exhaled. Twilight reigned in the forest, and her husband had spoken softly. With any luck, the girl hadn’t realized there was more than two of them. She whispered without moving her lips:
“Go get me a bottle of water and a blanket, please.”
She didn’t wait for his answer and began to crawl toward the child. The girl followed her progress with a placid gaze. Bridget chose to see that as a positive sign.
“Hello, my name is Bridget. I’ve come to help you.”
The girl looked down at the man lying beside her. The movement highlighted the child’s gauntness; she was likely dehydrated and malnourished. Bridget wasn’t deterred by the lack of response.
“What’s your name?”
The child returned her attention on her. Bridget’s heart sank. She had a son herself, around the same age. She wouldn’t have wanted him to endure this kind of ordeal for anything in the world.
“Are you cold? I could lend you a blanket, if you’d like.”
The little girl nodded. Bridget smiled at this small victory. The sound of footsteps signaled Christian’s return. She turned and motioned for him to approach slowly. Her husband looked at her with perplexity. She pointed at the child. His eyes widened, then he unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and handed it to her. Bridget offered it to the girl.
“Just a sip to start.”
Docile, the little girl obeyed and set the bottle down after drinking. Bridget gestured toward the man lying on the ground.
“Who’s with you?”
The child placed a hand on her companion and shook him gently. He began to cough uncontrollably and rolled onto his side. His condition mirrored the child’s: filthy and in bad shape. The girl handed him the water bottle. The man looked up, startled. Then his gaze settled on Bridget and Christian. He sat up and pulled the girl into his arms.
“It’s over. The nightmare is over,” he said.
And he burst into tears.
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