The Hunt

by Frost Kay

  It did not matter that she no longer had a lantern to guide her, nor that her eyes were full of tears obscuring her vision; her feet pounded along the path Pyre had taken her through the forest as if her subconscious had committed the journey to memory.

  Nyx is misinformed. The Hounds couldn’t—my uncles couldn’t…

  As she ran, a storm was brewing inside her, threatening to be let loose as a scream that Tempest had held back for weeks now.

  But if Nyx and her rebels were correct, then everything Tempest had been led to believe was a lie. The way she’d been brought up was a lie. Her prejudice toward shifters, which began the moment one had been responsible for the murder of her mother, had made it so easy for Tempest to believe everything she’d been told. She had been so critical about almost everything else in her life—except the shifters.

  It isn’t true. None of it is true. It’s not. It’s—

  “Tempest, for the love of all that’s holy, slow down!” Pyre yelled from behind her. “You do not know where you are going!”

  Tempest swung her head back and forth and realized Pyre was right. She did not recognize where she was at all. So much for muscle memory. She must look like such a fool. She had two jobs. Find the Jester and kill him. And she couldn’t even keep it together at a rebel meeting. How could she call herself a Hound? Did she still want to be a Hound? Why was everything so damn confusing?

  “Leave me alone, Pyre,” she muttered, swinging around to face him in the process. She didn’t have it in her to care that he could see her tears in the darkness with his keen eyes. Embarrassed didn’t even begin to describe her feelings. Disappointment in herself weighed down on her. Each pathway she took seemed to betray someone. “I don’t want to—”

  “If you think I am leaving you alone in this state then you really don’t know me at all, city girl.” He closed the gap between them before Tempest had a chance to back away, encircling her forearm with an iron grip before weaving her through the trees on her right. “Dry your eyes. I don’t want you breaking your leg on a log or something because you cannot see.”

  She scrubbed at her face, irritated that she’d turned into a watering pot. Tempest had never been one for tears or hysterics, but when one’s world had been flipped on itself it seemed as good as any other reason to cry.

  After fifteen minutes of silence traipsing through the forest and trying to pull herself together, Pyre broke through the trees to a handsome, well-built cottage that looked to be at least four times the size of the one he’d had Tempest stay in. Her footsteps slowed when he bounded up the steps and opened the front door.

  She hovered below the stairs, not wanting to take another step.

  “Get in here or I’ll carry you,” he threatened softly.

  Tempest’s lips pressed together at his command but she trudged up the stairs and walked in first. She stood motionless in the middle of his dark kitchen, the moonlight peeking through the windows just enough to reveal a table and stove. She rubbed at her arms to dispel the gloomy feeling. He lit several lanterns, illuminating the place and chasing away some of her melancholy.

  “Sit down, Temp,” Pyre said gently, indicating toward a thick, wooden table surrounded by several matching chairs.

  Gingerly, she sat and blankly watched him as he hung his cloak on a hook on the wall, sighed heavily, then left the kitchen for several minutes. Tempest eyed the door and wanted to leave, but it would have been stupid. Even with a stolen lantern she wouldn’t have been able to find the isolated cottage on her own.

  Pyre entered the room and brushed his sooty hands together to rid himself of the ash. “I’ve started a fire in the guest bedroom, so it’ll be warm enough for you. I’ll make you something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Don’t give me that,” he replied, before getting to work, chopping vegetables and boiling some water.

  Half an hour later, he handed Tempest a bowl of soup and a loaf of tulip bread that she recognized as one of Rina’s. From personal experience, she knew both would be delicious, but to Tempest, in that moment she couldn’t imagine anything worse than putting food in her mouth.

  She shook her head and pushed the bowl away. “I’m not—I can’t. I’ll be sick. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Pyre sat down beside her. He pushed several errant strands of Tempest’s hair out of her face with a gentle hand, and she didn’t pull away. It felt nice to be comforted.

  “Temp,” he said, very softly, “you’re in shock. You had to see with your own eyes that everything you thought to be true didn’t make any sense. You had to be asking your own questions, before I told you what was happening. You can’t be blind to what is happening.”

  Tempest could barely hear him. Her ears were ringing; she thought if she opened her mouth to respond then she really would be sick. But she didn’t need to reply, because Pyre soldiered on.

  “I can’t promise that things will get easier for you now,” he said, still stroking Tempest’s hair even though it was no longer in her eyes. “In fact, it will probably get much, much harder. But at least you know the truth. You’re always seeking the truth, aren’t you? I could tell from the moment I met you. Lies aren’t enough for you, even when they’re much easier to swallow than the truth. Even when they keep you safe. So, join us, Tempest. Do you know how much good you could do, if you were on the right side? You could save so many lives—innocent civilians like Aspen and Rina and—”

  “There’s no proof.” Any liar with his skill could spin a web of half-truths that sounded like truth.

  “What?”

  “There’s no proof,” Tempest repeated in a monotone. The only way she could process what was happening was to remain unfeeling—to cut off her emotions and think logically. If she wanted the truth, she had to put aside all feelings and truly look at the evidence.

  And there was no proof.

  Pyre looked at her incredulously. He pulled his hand away from her face. “Temp, you can’t be serious right now. You saw—”

  “I saw nothing,” she cut in. “I saw a village unravaged by anything. I heard some people throw accusations around. That’s it.” What galled her was that she still wanted to weep bitterly. What the devil? Her forehead wrinkled, and she began to count the days since she’d left Dotae. It had been almost a month.

  A month. Her moon time was near, she guessed. That would explain her fluctuating emotions.

  “You—impossible woman!” Pyre roared, pushing himself away from the table so violently his chair fell to the stone floor with a clatter. Tempest straightened, feeling, for the first time since having met Pyre, that he was dangerous.

  He will kill me now. I’m useless to him.

  “Are you going to kill me now?” she asked, her tone wooden. It’s what she would do. She was a liability.

  The kitsune jerked, and he stilled. Pyre took a flowing, predatory step toward her and curled a finger beneath her chin. Tempest met his fiery gaze without flinching when he growled into her face.

  “Eat your damn food and get some sleep,” Pyre whispered heatedly. He released her face and stormed over to the door. He grabbed his cloak and wrenched the front door open. “I’m going out.”

  With a slam of the door he was gone, leaving Tempest stunned beyond belief. Of all the things she expected Pyre—her enemy—could have done, storming out in a mood was not one of them.

  Pyre

  Damn woman. Pyre didn’t understand Tempest Madrid.

  When he’d first met her in the tavern—when she’d pretended to be an innocent, overly curious city girl named Juniper—he’d been sure he could charm her into saying yes to just about anything. Then, after saving her life and watching as she struggled with the knowledge that everything she’d learned about shifters might not be true, Pyre had been sure he could easily convince Tempest to join his cause. She had a strong sense of justice, and both Nyx and Briggs liked her. It was a solid recommendation of Tempest’s character. They didn’t like ju
st anybody, after all.

  His lips curled in disgust. But still Tempest remained loyal to the Hounds and King Destin, despite everything she’d now discovered. Today was the final straw. Pyre had shown his entire hand to her: the plague, the drugs, and her precious adoptive family – well all he could show her.

  And yet Tempest still would not break. She would not join Pyre’s side.

  “That stupid, indoctrinated, silly girl!” he snarled up at the moon, beyond frustrated. Pyre had been so enamoured with his own idea that he had never considered the possibility he could fail. Having one of the king’s lapdogs working for him would have been a huge blow to the Crown, and a huge win for the Talagans. For the people of Heimserya and farther out, too. It had been so long since he’d had someone defy and challenge him like she did.

  If only she would yield.

  The kingdom was only moments away from an all-out war with the Fire Isles and the Hinterlands. If Destin fabricated proof that the Fire Isles had joined forces with Heimserya’s enemies then all would be lost. He could not let things get that far. The king’s lust for wealth and power had to stop now.

  Without someone on the inside things would get that far.

  Pyre ripped a low-hanging branch from an oak tree as he passed by. He had already spent too much time in this village putting his plan into action with Tempest. He needed to return to his court. Whispers of mutiny had already reached his ears from a few of his commanders. That couldn’t stand, but now he had to deal with the wench currently in his home. He really didn’t want to kill her.

  You know you can’t kill her.

  “Damn Hound!” Pyre bellowed, not caring who could hear him. He had largely kept himself entirely composed for the past three weeks, no matter how infuriating Tempest had been. How obstinate. He’d made sure not to appear too passionate, or insistent, or demanding, or desperate. He’d carefully conditioned her to trust his people. Pyre’s plan had to work. He’d already sent in too many agents who’d ended up dead. He needed someone on the inside. He needed the bloody Hound.

  His lip curled remembering how her hollow voice had asked him if he was going to kill her. Pyre had fed and cared for the girl, beaten one of his own men to keep her, and still it wasn’t enough. Never had a female made him so crazy. It was like she enjoyed intentionally needling him.

  He had tried every tactic he could think of with the young woman to crack her open: giving her space; talking non-stop; being calm and patient; being lazy and good-natured; being cryptic; being understanding; getting angry, and, finally, simply telling Tempest what exactly was going on. He had demonstrated his trust in her as a person.

  It still wasn’t enough.

  “Bloody—”

  “Pyre, that’s enough!” His sister scolded in hushed tones, appearing in front of him as if she had literally constructed herself from the shadowy night air. “You will wake everyone up in a three-mile radius.”

  Pyre merely scowled. “What would you have me do? Tempest has refused to help.”

  “She outright told you she wouldn’t?”

  “Yes.”

  Nyx pursed her lips, then splayed the fingertips of her left hand across her forehead and sighed. “Pyre, you knew this was, in all likelihood, what was going to happen.”

  “I know,” he growled.

  “She works for Destin—spent most of her life with the Hounds. Don’t get me wrong, I like her. She’s a strong, intelligent girl. She would have been an asset, had you been successful in bringing her to our side. But it won’t happen. It’ll never happen. She’s the king’s dog; she always will be.”

  Pyre turned his back on his sister, not trusting the way his temple had twitched at the insinuation that Tempest could not change. Hadn’t he just thought the same thing? “Then I will have to kill her.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue.

  “I can make it painless,” Nyx said softly. “She won’t feel a thing.”

  He ran a hand over his face. “I’m as bad as Destin. Killing innocents.”

  “Never,” she breathed, forcing Pyre back around to face her with an iron grip on his shoulder. “You’ll never be like that monster. There is blood on our hands, but we fight for justice and he fights for selfish personal gain. You’re nothing like the king.”

  “Yet, I’m planning on killing an innocent.”

  “She’s a Madrid. The blood of murderers runs through her veins.”

  “You spent time with her. She’s no murderer.”

  “We all have the potential for it. But it comes down to numbers. One girl for an entire village.”

  Pyre barked out a laugh. “You’ve always been a mercenary, Nyx. That’s why you make such a great commander.” There was a firm, knowing smile on her face. Pyre hated it, because he knew what Nyx was going to say next.

  “I live to serve, my lord.”

  “Just stop. I’m no more royalty than Briggs.”

  His sister’s smile melted away. “Don’t think I can’t see through your masks. You may be the Jester, but I’m still your sister. You’re not going to let Tempest go, are you?”

  And it came back to his Hound. His.

  “Tempest has learned a lot,” he murmured.

  His sister snorted. “About us, yes. Not everything I presume?”

  He chuckled humorlessly. “She hates the Jester. Her view of shifters may have changed, but she still hates him with her entire being. I’d lose her if she knew.” Pyre shook his head. “We’ve turned her entire life upside-down with the revelation that the people who brought her up are not who she thought them to be and we expect her to accept it, just like that?”

  “Brainwashing is hard to fight. I can see with my own eyes that she’s already unlearned a lot of the lies she was taught, and she’s evaluating the rest,” Nyx grudgingly admitted. “We might need to give her a little more time.”

  “We don’t have time, Nyx,” Pyre bit out. “I need to return.”

  His sister said nothing for a long, drawn-out moment. Then she hung her head and sighed. “You’ve tried the nice way, brother.” She met his gaze, her eyes like onyx chips. “We’ve discovered much about our Lady Hound since we discovered her identity. Formidable as she is, Tempest is inexperienced and has weaknesses. She loves the men who raised her. They would make perfect incentives for her to work with us.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It won’t work. She’ll dig her heels in.”

  “You don’t know that. Why are you hesitating with her? You never have before. Hesitation spells death. You know this. Release your alter ego and secure her allegiance.”

  “Fear accomplishes compliance, not allegiance.”

  “Compliance is better than death, brother.” Nyx rolled her neck. “I can bring in Brine to handle it from here. He’ll secure her cooperation in a couple of hours.”

  “She is my responsibility. That still hasn’t changed. I’ll give her one more day and if that doesn’t work, she’ll get a taste of my hard side.”

  “Are you sure?” Nyx eyed him. “I can sense your protectiveness of her.”

  “Have I ever failed in doing what is necessary?”

  “Never,” she whispered. “But nobody is infallible.”

  His lips thinned. “One day.”

  “You’re not alone in this. Call for me if you have a need.” Nyx stepped close and kissed his cheek. “And get her out of your bloody home unless you plan to seduce her into compliance.” With that parting remark, his sister disappeared into the woods like a forest sprite.

  He wasn’t naïve; he knew she was right. Pyre had already given Tempest far more leeway than he’d ever given anyone else. There was something about her that he couldn’t walk away from. She was the answer he’d been looking for.

  “Infuriating and obstinate and brainwashed, but still our best shot,” Pyre repeated like a furious mantra as he stormed through the woods and reached his front door. He tried to get his emotions under control before dealing with the Hound.

  He glanc
ed through the kitchen window; he could see Tempest had eaten the food he’d made her.

  That was a good sign. At least, she wasn’t a brat. He’d met many women who’d have thrown a temper tantrum. On impulse, he slipped around to the back of his house and saw there was light coming through the window of the guest bedroom.

  She hadn’t drawn the curtains.

  Heat rolled through him, and he froze where he lurked in the shadows, not able to believe what he was seeing. Tempest was undressing right in front of him.

  “That naïve idiot…” Who didn’t draw the bloody curtains? Surely, she knew better than to undress in front of an uncovered window? She lived with a group of men for Dotae’s sake!

  He watched as she shrugged one shoulder out of one of Nyx’s large linen shirts, exposing a massive scar. He still couldn’t believe she’d bested a lion. His spies reported it was quite the Trial. No one had ever had to defeat a lion. Tempest had done something to catch the king’s attention. And not in a good way if he’d set a lion on her.

  “Just who are you?” he whispered to the darkness, not taking his eyes off the woman brazenly stripping off her clothes to change into the large night shirt Pyre had laid out on the bed for her before he’d stormed out. His own night shirt. He glanced away to give her some privacy, feeling uncomfortable with his satisfaction that she was wearing his clothing.

  She’s a means to an end. Nothing more. You might still have to kill her. And she is not the first pretty girl you’ve seen, naked or otherwise.

  Subconsciously, his gaze moved back to her lithe figure. Tempest was elegant in a way Pyre had rarely seen a woman be before. He watched in interest as the firelight in the room flickered across the muscles of her back when she pulled off her shirt. His keen eyes picked up on the scars the lion had left her with; no amount of Mimkia paste was ever going to make them fully disappear.

  Tempest tugged his shirt over her head and pulled her long hair up and out of the way as she began to unbutton her skirt. The night shirt covered her interesting bits as the skirt dropped to the floor in a puddle, revealing long, creamy legs.