The Hunt

by Frost Kay

  Tempest focused on her breathing as she fought the searing pain in her stomach and the iron grip of her lungs from sprinting so hard.

  Use the pain. Madrid’s voice echoed in her mind. Fight.

  Tempest caught movement to her left and managed to parry an attack in time. A man with huge eyes and snowy hair—an owl shifter, no doubt—slashed at her with a thin, wicked-looking rapier that could easily carve through her skin like butter. She grunted as the man’s blade sliced open her left forearm. Damn it, that hurt.

  She batted the blade away and took advantage of the heavier build of her own sword and slammed the flat side against his hand. He screamed and dropped his weapon, clutching his shattered hand to his breast. Tempest kicked him squarely in the chest, satisfied when he tripped backward over a fallen log and crashed to the ground.

  Though her body protested, Tempest wasted no time in sprinting away before any of the other shifters attacked, her legs and arms burning from exertion. The stream rushed up to meet her, and she jumped, not quite managing to leap over the breadth of the shallow creek. Freezing water stung her ankles, and her feet scrambled for purchase among the slippery pebbles below the surface. Her legs came out from under her, and, in a blind panic, she grabbed for a nearby branch.

  Pain shot down her left arm as she righted herself and yanked at her sodden skirt that had come loose in the chase. Tempest cut the useless piece of fabric from her body and slogged toward the other side.

  “She crossed the stream!” a man yelled behind her.

  Tempest quickened her stride, not knowing where the strength came from, and crashed straight into a clearing bathed in moonlight, her boots squelching with each step. Her eyes darted wildly around—which way did she go? She inhaled a desperate, shallow breath and crept toward an area where the trees were the thickest. She grinned when the heavy scent of pine and animal feces lingered in the air. With any luck, her scent would be masked and she could swing into the boughs and hide high above the shifters’ heads.

  Frantically, she searched the trees for the perfect escape route, keeping her footfalls as quiet as possible. She continued straight on through the forest for close to a minute with no indication that anybody was following her. Goosebumps erupted on her arms at the continued silence. It was like the forest was holding its breath. Just because she didn’t hear the shifters, it didn’t mean they weren’t there. Tempest was sure they were hot on her heels so she kept up her unforgiving pace while she looked for a promising tree to climb.

  Tempest almost cried in relief when she spotted a suitable tree. She wanted to collapse against its trunk but she knew she had to sheath her sword and climb before she could rest. The smooth bark was slick against her hands as she heaved herself upward. Tears sprung to her eyes as she tried to pull, but her injured arm refused to hold any weight. Tempest crashed to the forest floor in a heap, and a jagged stone pierced through her cloak, digging into her spine.

  “Bastard!” Tempest huffed, staring at the bark of the trunk. Not one bloody foothold. Unbelievable.

  She barely had the strength to roll onto her front and stagger to her knees when she heard a branch crack behind her. Much too close.

  Run. Just run, Tempest. You’ll find another tree. If you stay here, you’re dead.

  She stumbled through the shrubbery and continued the search for another tree. Even if they knew she was in a tree, they wouldn’t be able to get her. She’d have the high ground, and if they had any arrows, surely they would have already shot her in the back.

  This is what you wanted.

  Tempest scowled at the thought. She’d never wanted to be hunted through the woods in the middle of the night by barbarians.

  Your uncles warned you to be careful.

  She winced. They’d warned her, and she’d dismissed them. Tempest never planned to get up to any mischief, and they’d trained her well. She was a Hound, after all. But she wasn’t prepared for this. She had no clue what she was doing. She spied another clearing, smaller than the first one, and cut toward it.

  With leaden feet and a throbbing heart, she forced her way onward, barely able to see through the tangle of coal-dyed hair obscuring her eyes and the blackness of the night air around her. Tempest spied the flash of a sword to her right, and then to her left, so she pushed herself even harder to break through to the clearing and—

  The very ground beneath Tempest’s feet caved in, and she fell, fell, fell into darkness.

  A scream caught in her throat as the darkness rushed up to meet her.

  Fox was right when he said she was wet behind the ears. She’d panicked and this was her own fault. She was just a city girl.

  I know nothing at all, was her last thought before she blacked out.

  Pyre

  The city girl was spunky, he’d give her that much.

  Pyre had been following Juniper’s—which he doubted was her real name—escape from the pursuing shifters from the very beginning. Call it a hunch, but no one had a name that earthy who wasn’t Talagan. Then there was the matter of her creamy skin—it screamed human.

  After disappearing across the rooftops of the village, he’d dropped down to hide behind one of the stone houses, witnessing with his keen night vision the moment the girl was corralled into the woods by the men. His own men. It interested him that she’d gotten past them in the first place. Chesh, Pyre’s lead man—a wily cat shifter—rarely had the rug pulled out from beneath him. Pyre grinned at the thought of the girl pulling one over on his old friend. It probably wounded his pride. The bastard deserved it. Chesh was too smug as it was.

  Pyre crept through the trees as the girl led his men on a merry chase. It wouldn’t be long before they cornered her. She wasn’t at full strength if he had to hazard a guess. Pyre had noted a weakness to her arm and back while they’d been fighting; well she’d been fighting, he’d been playing. It was rare that he got to spar with a woman. It was impressive that she’d managed to keep up with him. There had been something sensual about it that had got his blood racing.

  He ghosted through the brush with a smile as he thought about her brash touch. No one touched him these days without his say so. The darkness inside him had purred in contentment when her scent of pine and lemon had teased his nose. Even now, his mouth watered at the memory. But delicious scent or not, where had she come by her skills? Talagans taught their women to fight from necessity, but those from Heimserya discouraged the females from such endeavors. Idiots. Women were the most dangerous creatures to walk the world.

  And his little city girl had a bit of fire.

  The notion should have unsettled him. Instead, it excited him. The mysterious city girl—whose name was most definitely not Juniper—was strong, smart, and attractive.

  Dangerous.

  She might have been playing the dutiful granddaughter, but he’d eat his own hat if there was an actual grandmother. No, the city girl was after something—information about the plague. It was possible she was a spy—King Destin had been changing up his tactics recently. Pyre’s lip curled at the thought of the king. He didn’t mind their games, but the stakes had changed when hundreds of people had begun to die.

  “How do you fit into all this, Juniper?” he whispered to himself.

  Chesh’s laughter cut through the night as Pyre crept closer to where his men had caught the girl. He hid himself behind a tree and watched as the little, maudlin play progressed. The girl’s pale face was red as she caught her breath. He’d expected screaming, maybe even a little begging, but she did neither. Her calculating gaze tracked each of the men with precision.

  How stimulating. And the plot thickens.

  Juniper was most definitely not who she said she was. She blew a wayward dull onyx strand of hair from her face and changed her stance.

  Intrigued, Pyre leaned closer as Brine—his wolf—pulled out his sword. The girl mysteriously produced a bow and shot an arrow at Brine, dodged an axe, and fled into the forest within a matter of seconds. He rubbed his ch
in and listened while the shifters chased after her, disappearing into the darkness.

  Chesh glanced his way. “Are you coming?”

  “How is it you always know where I am even though no one else can?” Pyre asked.

  His friend flashed a wicked smile. “I can smell the girl on you. Have a little fun, did we?”

  “Not in the way you think.”

  The cat shifter tipped an imaginary hat. “Those fools will lose her without me. You hunting tonight?”

  Pyre grinned. “Let’s just say I’ll be observing.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Chesh loped off into the trees, and Pyre took a moment to really listen. The girl was pulling ahead of them. Curious, he tracked her, keeping to the darkest parts of the shadows and inhaling her faint scent: lemon and pine with a touch of coal. That alone was telling. She’d dyed her hair. What was she hiding, or more importantly, who was she hiding from?

  He frowned and paused when he caught a whiff of something else. Blood. Pyre didn’t mind blood, but he did take offense to damaging perfectly good property. And that’s what the city girl was.

  She’d traipsed into the Jester’s lands without consent and that didn’t go unpunished.

  Pyre stalked through the woods, following the stench of fear and blood. Too much blood. If it were a mere flesh wound, there would have been less. He picked up his pace in order to get to the girl. If only she’d accepted his help when he’d offered it. Her evening could have gone quite differently.

  So headstrong.

  Whoever the girl was, whomever she worked for clearly had sent her out too early. She might have had training, but she was a new recruit and was inexperienced in gathering information. He smiled at the thought of luring her to his side. There wasn’t anything he enjoyed more than turning a spy into a double agent. Doing so was one of the most satisfying things in his life.

  She won’t be easy.

  He didn’t like easy. Tough nuts were his specialty. It might take a little time, but she’d warm to him. They all did in the end.

  Pyre shook his head as he reached the large clearing ahead of the girl and found a good spot to observe. It was what he liked best. To watch. To study. He hid in the opposite end of the clearing as the girl broke through the trees. Her hair was a mess around her pale, terrified face, likely obscuring her vision and tangling with the arrows in her quiver. Her eyes darted around, passing over him and taking in her surroundings before she swerved to her right, exiting the clearing through the densest part of the forest.

  Clever. I’d have done the same.

  But his men were not far behind her—Brine was in the lead and Chesh brought up the rear. The group grinned at each other and split up. Divide and conquer. Chesh twitched an ear in Pyre’s direction, clicked his heels together, and slunk off into the forest in a slightly different direction.

  Pyre rolled his eyes at Chesh’s antics and followed his men. His gaze narrowed on the surrounding area as he realized what their plan was. They were going to trap her. In the pit.

  Damn.

  Pyre didn’t spare another moment before rushing off in pursuit of the girl, the wind whistling and roaring past his alert fox ears as he noted every minute noise in the woodland. Capturing her had been the idea, but the pit… The pit meant death.

  He growled and his eyes narrowed on the small clearing ahead when an agonized cry pierced the air.

  “Bloody hell,” he snarled as he burst through the tree-line and angrily prowled to the edge of the pit. Pyre peered at her crumpled figure in its deep, dark depths. His lips thinned as he stared at her chest for any signs of life. One second. Two. Three.

  She took a breath.

  Not dead. But the way her arm lies at an odd angle probably will make her wish she was.

  Chesh materialized by his side and blankly gazed into the pit. “There’s quite a bit of blood. Do we leave her?”

  Should they leave her? It would be the simplest thing to do. No one would question a disappearance in the woods. But then again… It would be a shame to waste all of her talent.

  Pyre fished through his bag obscured by his cloak for a length of rope, taking a step toward the pit.

  “Fox, don’t.”

  He turned to Brine, whose ears were twitching just as much as his own were. Blood ran down Brine’s leg from where the girl had shot him, dripping onto the ground. “She’s trouble, and you know it. We don’t need her kind.”

  “I don’t know anything because you lot ran my source of information into a death pit,” he said softly.

  Brine paled and busied himself with removing the arrow embedded in his flesh.

  Chesh crossed his arms and tipped his chin toward the girl. “What do you want us to do? We don’t usually make exceptions.”

  “We usually don’t get women who can outrun shifters, sneak through their woods, and wound some of their best.”

  “Touché,” Chesh murmured. “I can say for myself that I’m intrigued.” He flashed Pyre a smile. “Plus, you know how I love all that creamy skin.” He smacked his lips. “So delicious.”

  “I should let her die just to spare her your attentions,” Pyre muttered, but he could not help but notice her legs indecently encased in leather. Delicious, she was.

  Chesh pouted. “You wouldn’t be so cruel.”

  Pyre ignored his commander and glanced at Brine and then back to the pit again. She’d hurt one of his own and had trespassed. Those were things he’d couldn’t let go. She had a lot to answer for, and he wanted to slowly unravel her, bit by bit.

  “Bloody hell,” Pyre cursed, dropping down into the pit and checking her pulse. It was faint and fluttering, like a bird’s.

  Pyre ran his finger along her willowy neck. He would hardly have to do anything at all to kill her. Instead, he shifted the girl into his arms as gently as he could, taking a moment to watch her impassive, unconscious face highlighted by the pale moonlight above them. She had fine features by human standards, though they were a little plain for his taste. He gazed at her closed lids. It was her stormy eyes that had arrested him earlier—so serious and yet, they held myriads of secrets.

  “Fox, it’s a mistake to save her,” Brine insisted, peering over the edge of the pit.

  “Noted,” he replied. “If she causes problems, I’ll sell her. No one believes anything a slave says.”

  Warm, thick blood seeped through his jacket and trickled down his leg. That was not a good sign. She needed the attention of a healer.

  “She’ll be useful, mark my words.” He held the girl above his head, and Chesh gingerly took her from his arms.

  “Winter’s bite. Where is all the blood coming from?”

  Pyre hauled himself from the pit and brushed the dirt from his jacket as he stepped next to Chesh. He scowled at the blood the girl had left behind. She’d ruined his favorite jacket. He frowned at her and leaned closer to her ear.

  “I don’t know if you can hear me, but you owe me your life and a new jacket. Don’t be difficult when you wake. I haven’t the time for it, and I don’t relish selling you. Understand?”

  “She can’t hear you,” Chesh said wryly, adjusting the girl in his arms.

  “Life works in mysterious ways.” He glanced at Brine. “Where are the others?”

  “In the trees.”

  “Send them back on patrol. I want to know if there are any other irregularities.”

  Brine nodded and limped from the meadow.

  “Let’s go,” Pyre said.

  “It’s about time. I’m hungry,” Chesh complained.

  Tempest

  Tempest had been taught that death would be peaceful, a void of unconsciousness and nothingness.

  She’d been lied to.

  Heat licked at her skin as awareness filtered in. Shivers wracked Tempest’s body, and dots flashed across her vision when she tried to open her eyes, the bright light assaulting her. A familiar crackling reached her ears, and Tempest jackknifed upright. She screamed as agony crash
ed over her, one miserable wave after another. It was so much worse, by far, than the pain the lion had inflicted.

  What had she done to deserve such torment?

  She shuddered as tears gushed down her face in a torrent. Tremors worked through her, and sweat dripped down her face and neck as the temperature increased. Movement flickered to the left, catching her attention.

  What the bloody hell was that and why won’t the pain stop?

  Blurrily, she peered through her tears to locate the source. Terror seized her, and her blood froze in her veins despite the heat pressing down on her. Flames taller than the castle writhed around her, their wispy edges disappearing into a void of inky darkness.

  A fire giant crept forward. Black eyes and teeth appeared, forming a face. Bile burned the back of Tempest’s throat, and she tried to scramble backward. The giant lashed out and fire curled around her right arm. Her mouth bobbed, and a scream caught in the back of her throat at the torture. It was too much. Too damn much.

  Tempest sucked in a deep breath and screamed, the anguish too much.

  “Help me,” she begged, her voice going hoarse as more fire giants crept closer, searing her skin. “Please!” she yelled as blisters ran up her arms. “Someone.”

  No one came.

  Fiery heat ran up her legs, and she sobbed when, no matter how much she ran, the flames just consumed more of her body. “Why?” What had she done to deserve such treatment? Such torture? Where was the blessed nothingness she was promised?

  As if some deity had heard her prayer, cool fingers brushed across her forehead. Tempest moaned and desperately sought out the relief, trying to press farther into the loving caress.

  “Please make it stop,” she pleaded.

  The cool touch ran down her arm, and the fire giant retreated with a hiss. For a moment, some of the pain abated.

  “Thank you,” she croaked gratefully.

  But it was too good to be true.

  The touch tightened and then crushed her arm in its grip. Tempest choked on her pain, and the flames seemed to lean closer in anticipation as the world blinked out into darkness.