The Hunt

by Frost Kay

  The man’s resultant laughter was genuine in its amusement. The sound was akin to a stream over pebbles—if Tempest thought a young woman would never tire of his voice, his laughter was another level entirely. Her cheeks flushed at the sound, and she barely kept from rolling her eyes at herself.

  He’s just another flirtatious rake. You’ve dealt with handsome men before. Don’t lose your composure.

  “I haven’t visited Dotae in a few years, I must admit.” The man chuckled. “Let’s just say I don’t much like cities and leave it at that.”

  Tempest didn’t know how to interpret his statement. Clearly, he had a reason for avoiding Dotae that she couldn’t possibly work out, given that she’d only just met him. She watched his hands as they deftly placed a few cards face-up in front of his friends. Hmmm… Quick fingers were always dangerous. Was he a thief or just a card enthusiast? The former, if she was to hazard a guess.

  “You prefer villages, then,” she said, choosing her next words very carefully. “I always thought they’d be cleaner than the city. This sickness seems to be proving me wrong, though.”

  “Aye, well, this plague has nothing to do with how many baths the villagers have had this year,” he muttered, almost to himself. He placed the last of his cards on the table. “And this round is mine. Care for another?”

  One of the other men threw down his cards in frustration. “Bloody no. You’ve decimated us all evening, and you know it.”

  “I concur. I think it might be time to call it a night before it gets too cold,” said the second man.

  “Another fire whisky for Fox, as requested.”

  Tempest stilled at the voice of the barmaid, who had appeared at the table while Tempest’s back had been turned.

  The man with the narrow-brimmed hat looked up at the barmaid, grinning his sharp-toothed grin as she handed him a glass of amber liquid. Tempest inhaled and noted that it smelled the same as the fire whisky from King Destin’s chambers.

  That was out of place. Fire whisky was extremely expensive.

  Tempest took a tiny sip of her ale and slid her gaze down Fox’s throat as he took a healthy swig, noting just above the chain of his forest-green cloak there was a scar that seemed to stretch across his entire throat. A person didn’t come by a scar like that without consequence. The dashing dealer—Fox—wasn’t all that he seemed.

  “Many thanks, Lil,” he crooned.

  Lil, the barmaid, blushed in response, beaming at Fox before sauntering back to the bar. Apparently, he’d caught the eye of every woman in the entire establishment.

  Tempest kept her thoughts from her face as Fox began collecting his playing cards, whistling a melancholy tune to himself as he did so.

  “Fox is a strange name,” Tempest said while swirling her ale, adding a smile and a flutter of her eyelashes when her tone ended up being far more pointed than she’d intended.

  Fox looked at her from beneath the brim of his hat, smirking. “You do not like it? Too exotic for your city sensibilities?”

  Tempest snorted before she could stop herself. “I think you speak too highly of both of us.”

  “A difficult thing to do, indeed. Does the lady have a name to go with her pretty face? Or is it part of your mystery?” He smirked, flashing his white teeth. “I love a good mystery.”

  I bet you do. Time to get him alone.

  “Juniper,” Tempest lied easily, thinking of her best friend. She fished a pipe out of her cloak, and held it out, deciding to take a risk in order to push for more information on the plague Fox had mentioned. “Would you like to go outside and join me, Fox? I must admit to being wary of venturing outside alone now that it is truly dark.” She cast a furtive look toward the window for good measure.

  Fox plucked her pipe from her fingers and grinned at her. He picked up his glass, downed his fire whisky in one gulp, then stood up to pull Tempest’s chair out for her.

  “Lead the way, my lady,” he whispered in her ear.

  Tempest

  “So… you mentioned something about a smoke, my lady?”

  “You do not have to call me that,” Tempest said as Fox twirled her ebony pipe between his thumb and forefinger. In truth it was Maxim’s pipe; she figured he’d forgive her for pilfering it in due time.

  Out of a small pouch attached to her belt, Tempest pinched a measure of herb leaves, dropping them into the pipe when Fox held it out for her.

  “On the contrary,” he said. “Every woman should be treated like a lady.”

  “If only the rest of the male population thought the same,” she muttered, searching for her flint and steel.

  “Allow me,” he said with a roguish grin.

  Tempest jumped when light flashed across her vision, lighting up the dark night around them for one moment. She blinked slowly at the pipe as it began to smoke and burn, unease skittering across her skin. “Are you some kind of magician…?” she asked, pushing some awe into her voice.

  “Not really,” Fox laughed. He pulled out a satchel from his coat pocket and shook it. “Flammable powder. A mere parlor trick. It does look impressive though, does it not?”

  “Only if you don’t explain how you did it,” she retorted, her mind whirling. Flammable powder could cause a lot of damage in the wrong hands.

  The man continued to chuckle as he held the pipe to his mouth and took a long draw from it, then handed it over to Tempest. She did not like smoking, in truth, but she knew how to handle the bitter leaves, so she took a practiced draw from the pipe before passing it back to Fox.

  He nodded at her, clearly impressed. “Not every day you see a young woman who can handle her vices, Juniper.”

  There was an inflection on her friend’s name that suggested to Tempest that Fox had rightfully concluded that it did not belong to her.

  No matter. He obviously isn’t what he claims to be either. It would be a battle of wits and then I’d be on my way.

  “You must not know very many women if you think we can’t hold our own.” Tempest blew a ring of smoke so perfect that she couldn’t quite believe she’d managed it. Thank you, Maxim.

  The grin on Fox’s face grew even wider. “I never said that. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

  She cocked a hip and arched a brow. “My apologies. Let me clarify. I think you underestimate city girls if you are surprised. I can handle my vices.”

  “Okay, city girl. Tell me this: why are you out here in the middle of nowhere? Past this point all there is are trees and mountains, and then Talaga.” He appraised her. “And if you were smart, you’d be traveling with a companion or two. It’s not safe to journey alone these days.”

  Even though his words were a casual warning, they felt more like a threat. Was he suspicious of her?

  “Not all of us are given a choice in which pathway our life takes,” she said carefully. “We can’t rely on the protection of others, only on our own capabilities.”

  Fox hummed but didn’t comment.

  She studied him as a comfortable silence settled between them. He held out the pipe but she waved her hand for him to continue. The man tipped his head back and gazed into the night sky, the glimmer of the lanterns highlighting his strong jaw and the warm skin of his neck.

  Another anomaly.

  Dotae was a cold kingdom by nature. Most direct descendants had pale skin of some variety like Tempest, and, yet, his skin was almost russet in color. So he either was a foreigner or spent significant time working outside.

  “If you look at me like that any longer, I might draw the wrong conclusions and start to believe you wanted me alone for another purpose.”

  Tempest smirked. Over her dead body. Handsome he may be, but trouble he definitely was. But it wouldn’t hurt to play it up a little. Just a little.

  “I’m trying to work out where you’re from,” she admitted. She flipped her dyed hair over one shoulder and batted her eyelashes.

  “Clearly not from here.” Fox laughed easily. “But I asked you a question fir
st: what are you doing out here? You are alone, aren’t you?”

  If another man had asked her that question, she’d have been suspicious of his intentions, but despite the way Fox flirted, she doubted he had any designs on creeping into her bed. He clearly was after information so she’d feed him a lie like everyone else.

  She nodded. “I’m alone. I’m visiting my grandmother. She’s taken ill. Though, going by what I heard by the bar, I should turn around before I get sick myself.”

  Your move, Fox.

  He grew serious. Fox puffed on the pipe and blew out a narrow stream of smoke in lieu of a sigh, leaning against the stone wall of the inn as he did so. His top hat cast his face in shadow. She kept her irritation from showing as she could not work out the expression on his face. His strange, golden eyes glinted in the moonlight.

  “You really should turn back, city girl. I wasn’t joking when I called this sickness a plague. If something isn’t done soon, it’ll decimate almost every village in the forest and along the mountain range.”

  “Does… does anybody know where it came from? I never heard anything about a plague in Dotae—”

  “Well of course you wouldn’t,” Fox said with a humorless laugh, his empty, hollow tone causing shivers to run up her spine.

  Tempest edged away from him just a little and slipped her hand into her skirt pocket, her fingers brushing a dagger. Fox hadn’t made any aggressive moves toward her, but the air seemed charged with violence.

  “Nobody in the precious royal city could possibly know of anything going on outside the walls that protect them,” he continued, lips curling into a bitter smile around the ebony pipe. “Imagine if His Royal Highness actually did anything about the problems that ail his people. That would involve him caring, and you and I both know those who are high-born rarely look at the dirt beneath their boots.”

  “To say such a thing is treason,” she said softly, leaning against the wall to mirror his stance.

  “And who will tell him I spoke such treason?” he asked, tipping his chin at her. “Will you?”

  “Of course not.” Lie. “I don’t desire to go to an early grave.” Truth. “I’m concerned about this plague, though. Do you know any more about it than what you’ve told me? Is there truly nothing that can help?”

  Fox quirked an eyebrow and scanned her from head to toe. “And what could a slip of a girl like you do to help stop a plague?”

  More than you’ll ever know.

  Her gaze narrowed. “My business is my own,” she replied, straightening her back and fixing her eyes on the strange man in front of her. “My grandmother’s life hangs in the balance. If you know something, you need to tell me.” Tempest took a step closer and boldly placed her hand on the sleeve of his jacket. “Please.”

  He eyed her hand on his jacket. “Personal boundaries aren’t something you adhere by, are they?”

  “You didn’t strike me as a prudish man.”

  Fox gently brushed her hand from his arm and stepped into her space, heat radiating from his body. Her breath hitched and the fingers of her right hand curled around the dagger in her pocket. He trailed his finger down her cheek and neck, then across her shoulder. He picked up a lock of her hair and twirled it.

  “Luv, you really shouldn’t play games you know nothing of.” His molten gaze ran over her cheeks, and a slow sensual smile spread over his face. “Information doesn’t come cheap,” Fox whispered in her left ear.

  Tempest’s pulse quickened, but she didn’t back down, not when she was so close to getting a firm lead on what was going on outside of Dotae, and getting one step closer to the Jester too. She turned her head and brushed her nose along his jaw and pulled a small purse laden with coins from her left pocket and twisted so there was more space between their bodies. “I can pay you for the information, if that is what you’re looking for.”

  The look Fox gave Tempest then was entirely unreadable. But he shook his head and chuckled humorlessly. “You must be wet around the ears, city girl, if you think that’ll—”

  The sound of shattering glass interrupted Fox’s sentence. He turned in the direction of the sound, head tilting up as he did so. For just a moment, Tempest spied the furred edge of a fox ear beneath his hat.

  Bloody hell. A shifter. Right under her blasted nose. It took her approximately two seconds to decide her next course of action. Fox was too smooth and cunning to be a run-of-the-mill gossip. The male had to know something.

  Simultaneously, she pulled the dagger from her pocket and another blade sheathed at her left hip. “I won’t play games with you. I only want the information, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Fox turned his attention back to her, almost lazily, and removed his hat with a slow, careful hand. “Information can be a dangerous thing, luv. You sure you’re able to handle it?”

  She smiled sharply and didn’t hide the fact she was staring at the two pointed, black-tipped ears poking through his wine-red hair, though a single streak of white broke through the hair that grazed his forehead.

  “Enjoying the view?” he purred.

  Tempest tracked his hand as it lowered to the dagger at his hip, but he didn’t pull it out. He was waiting. Waiting to see what Tempest would do.

  He was playing with her. He didn’t take her seriously.

  The air around them seemed to crackle, tense and charged. For a long moment, neither of them did anything. Then, as if deciding that Tempest was harmless, Fox began to smile—the bastard.

  “Clearly there has been some misunderstanding here.” He held up the hand holding his hat. “Why don’t you tell me—”

  A patronizing bastard.

  She darted forward and grazed her dagger across his right shoulder and jabbed the pommel of her other dagger hard into his stomach. Pain lanced up her arm. It was like hitting a brick wall. Tempest danced out of his reach.

  Fox fingered the shallow cut to his shoulder, but the smile from his face did not disappear, if anything it deepened. She fought a shiver of trepidation as his gold eyes glittered with something much darker than revenge.

  “So you do know what you’re doing, city girl,” he said, his voice a low growl. He tossed his hat on the ground along with the pipe and pulled two wicked-looking daggers from inside his coat. “Let’s see just how good you are.”

  Tempest had barely a second to prepare for the man’s attack. He brought his dagger down low, as if to slash her thigh, but Tempest kicked the blade away before twirling out of the way, her heavy skirt flaring out around her. She responded with a strike of her own aimed at Fox’s back.

  He bent low, avoiding the attack, then swept out a leg in an attempt to unbalance her. A chuckle slipped from her mouth. It was the oldest trick in the book. With light footsteps, she jumped out of the way, then threw a dagger that pinned Fox’s handsome green cloak firmly to the ground. He unclasped it, the fabric billowing to the ground to reveal a lean, muscular frame encased in a tailored jacket that was too fine for someone from the village.

  Fox leapt forward, and now he had both of his daggers—one short, one long—aimed at Tempest’s throat. She parried them away, careful to keep in control of her breathing so that panic and adrenaline did not make her careless.

  “Is this the best you can do, luv?” she taunted.

  He winked at her. “You haven’t even had a taste of what I can do. You’ll never be able to go back once you’ve experienced my skills…”

  “That’s what every man says,” she huffed, circling him. “Find something a little more original.”

  Fox laughed; it was simultaneously a brutal and beautiful sound. His eyes were bright, his canines exposed and his entire body taut with the power to spring upon Tempest at any given moment. He was enjoying the fight—that much was clear. Tempest had no problem admitting to herself that she was enjoying it, too.

  “I have much more in me than this,” he taunted. “But I would like to know the real name of my foe before I best her.”

  “You—”
/>
  “Where is she? We can smell her.”

  Both Tempest and Fox froze. His inhuman ears pricked up to attention, drawing her focus like he was listening carefully as the sound of growls and rough, demanding voices edged closer and closer.

  “We know she came this way. Where is she?!”

  Tempest stared at Fox in horror. They’d tracked her scent even with all her precautions.

  It was time to make a run for it.

  Tempest

  Tempest kept her gaze pinned to Fox and quickly masked her expression, even as her heart thundered in her chest. She strained to pick out how many voices there were. A trickle of fear ran down her spine. Five! Five bloody shifters hunting her. She bared her teeth at the male in front of her as he pressed toward her. Make that six. Tempest bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to think of a way out. She was good, but six against one weren’t good odds.

  There wasn’t a choice. She had to run, or she’d die.

  Run, run, just run as fast as you can.

  “We know she came through this way!” a man growled again from somewhere down the cobbled street. “Use your damn noses and find her bloody scent. He won’t like that one of her kind is roaming around.”

  One of her kind? What the hell did that mean? Were they referring to her gender or race? Tempest barely hid her flinch as another idea wormed its way into her mind. Had they somehow discovered she was a Hound?

  Calm down. You haven’t given yourself away. Panic is your enemy.

  She’d taken every precaution to protect her identity—dyed her hair with charcoal and doused herself in a scent-masking solution Aleks created.

  “You in some sort of trouble, luv?” Fox drawled.

  She glared at the man, who lazily flicked a piece of lint from his jacket with the tip of his dagger. He shifted his longer blade so it pointed over her shoulder, toward the direction of the voices.