Stalk the Moon

by Jessica Lynch

  A battered pot and pan follow, then two metal circles that are obviously plates. Hunter only has one fork and he hands that to me. Using the pan and the tip of his shortest, fattest blade, he scrambles up four eggs and splits the meal on the two plates.

  I dig in. The eggs are a little thick and very tasty. It seems scrambled eggs are scrambled eggs after all.

  While I eat, Hunter disappears again. He heads off into the woods and returns a few minutes later with a pot full of water and golf ball-sized berries that leave purple stains on his hands. I peer into the pot as he sets it over the fire. Torn green leaves float on the surface. They look like mint.

  Chicken eggs, giant blueberries, and regular, everyday mint leaves. I go with it. My stomach insists.

  As the water heats up, I watch as Hunter drops the berries into the pot with a plop. He uses the hilt of another knife to mash the berries until the water turns dark blue. Once it starts to boil, he moves the pot further from the flames so that it’ll thicken into a loose syrup. He makes three more eggs while the liquid simmers and gulps them down quickly, scooping the eggs with the flat edge of his blade.

  And I thought I could eat. His appetite puts mine to shame.

  After he’s done eating, Hunter swirls his concoction together again, stirring it with his knife. It’s still steaming when he gets a different canteen—this one’s not dented—and carefully pours the hot liquid inside. He doesn’t cap the canteen before setting it aside.

  “What’re you making?”

  “This?” He picks up the canteen so that it’s between us. Wisps of smoke drift out through the top. He blows them away. “A local brew.”

  I perk up. “Booze?”

  Hunter chuckles. “Nah, darlin’. Not like that. Ya see, the greens are good for keepin’ you fresh. The water’s for hydration. And the berries, they pack more punch than home-grown coffee.”

  Sounds to me like a natural energy drink. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anything like that before.”

  “You wouldn’t. Like I said, it’s local.” A twinkle lights up his eyes. “We call it nectar ‘round here. Want a sip?”

  I know a dare when I hear one.

  Sticking my hand out, I say, “Pass it over.”

  “Remember: only a small sip at first. Nectar can be kinda strong, ‘specially when you ain’t used to it.”

  I don’t like his tone. It rubs me the wrong way. If it isn’t for the fact I just saw him take the pot off the fire, I would gulp that nectar down. Since I don’t want to burn my tongue, I let a little dribble into my mouth.

  It’s still hot, like a freshly brewed version of the coffee he mentioned, with an intense berry flavor that overwhelms me. I have another mouthful of the syrup before I realize how strong it is. There’s no way I’m going to prove him right by spitting it out. I force it down.

  Whoa. He wasn’t kidding.

  I want to cough and absolutely refuse to. With him watching me so closely, I’d rather swallow my tongue first. I try to ignore the way my eyes start to water. Blinking the tears back, I give him my most sincere grin.

  “Mm. Delicious.”

  Hunter’s lips quirk slightly. “Really?”

  “Oh yeah,” I tell him, making no move to take another mouthful. “So good.”

  “I know. Best part is, you can drink it hot or cold. Here, give me that.” I hand it over gladly, and he places the cap back on the canteen. “It’ll set up some as it cools. Thicken up a bit more. Nectar makes a great juice chilled, too. And with the wallop it has, it’s the closest thing to ‘shine from back home.”

  “‘Shine? As in moonshine?” I raise my eyebrows. “Wow. I mean, the accent is one thing, but you really are all kinds of Southern, aren’t you?”

  Hunter throws me another devastatingly handsome grin instead of answering. Then, he gathers up our plates, my fork, his pot and pan and heads off into the trees again. I don’t need his repeated warning to sit tight—I’m feeling a little dizzy from my shot of nectar, not that I plan on ever telling him that—and I lean back on my stump, my fingers rubbing the soft fur lining of my cloak. Between the rising sun, the low flames of the fire, and the fur, I’m pretty damn cozy.

  And dirty. Staring at my hand, I see grey dots and brown streaks covering my pale skin. Scorpion blood and dried mud. I itch to get clean. My hair is a tangled knot resting against the back of my neck. A brush wouldn’t hurt, either. My nightgown is a lost cause. Even though the cloak Hunter gave me covers the worst of it, I still know it’s filthy.

  I’d kill for a shower.

  I think of the water that’s in the nectar and Hunter’s canteen. Running water is out there somewhere and I want it.

  My suspicions are confirmed a couple of minutes later when Hunter comes back with an armful of freshly washed cookware. At this point, I don’t care if he’s using a babbling brook. I’m dying to splash my face at least.

  “Hey, Hunter, I—”

  His head jerks up as I call his name, a curious expression on his face. He looks confused, and his eyes narrow like he’s pissed off.

  My back stiffens. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. “What?”

  Hunter gives himself a little shake. “Nothing. Just wonderin’ something.” I wait for him to continue and, after a few seconds, he gives it up. “You keep callin’ me Hunter. I didn’t notice it much before, but you keep doin’ it. I’m not complainin’. Like I said, just wonderin’.”

  I didn’t even realize I’d been calling him by his last name. It’s not something I do on purpose. In my head, I even think of him as Hunter.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess… it fits you better than Ryan does.” Reaching out from underneath the hem of my cloak, I gesture at him. “You know, the whole rugged outdoorsman thing you’ve got going on here. The swords. The knives. The cloaks. Living off the land, sleeping in a tent. Ryan seems so… well, boring. But Hunter… are you sure you don’t mind?”

  If I wasn’t looking up at him, I don’t know if I would’ve noticed the change. His whole body relaxes slightly, his dimples making a fleeting appearance. The darkness that had been in his narrow gaze is gone. His light eyes gleam.

  “Nah, darlin’. I don’t mind. You call me whatever you want.”

  Right. “And you can call me Noelle.” Hint, hint.

  He grins, a small tug of his lips. One of his dimples plays peekaboo with me again. I decide being Hunter’s darling isn’t so bad after all. At least he hasn’t called me Artemis again. I’ll take what I can get.

  Crouching down, he places the pot and pan, the plates, and my fork near enough to the fire pit that they’ll dry without being dotted with ashes. I’m still perched on the edge of my stump when he turns to me. We’re almost eye to eye, with me sitting and him crouching.

  Before I know it, Hunter reaches his hand out. With the edge of his thumb, he rubs at something on my jaw. I suck in a quick breath. Before I can say—or do—anything, he lowers his hand. There’s a reluctance to his words as he says, “Sorry. There was a smudge.”

  I snort. My whole face is probably a smudge. And as sweet and unexpected as his touch was, that reminds me. Water. Wash. Get clean. Though I’m suddenly unsettled—and, whoa, Hunter is way close again—I start to ask him about the water situation when a shiver skitters down my spine.

  I tense. Hunter’s brow furrows.

  “Darlin’?”

  Ignoring him, I cock my head to the side. The little hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. Goosebumps prick my skin, despite the warmth of my cloak. I don’t hear anything, but I feel something.

  And it feels wrong.

  “Noelle?” His voice is more urgent. “What’s the matter?”

  “Hush,” I tell him. I push off of the stump, climbing to my feet as Hunter does the same. He hovers around me. I don’t care. The bad feeling isn’t coming from him. I take careful steps, moving in a circle.

  My hands twitch at my side. I step away from Hunter, moving closer to the furthest edge of t
he camp. I can’t really explain how I’m feeling, but I know it’s not right. Sometimes my mom would shiver and say that was someone walking over her grave. That’s me right now. My stomach tightens. My eyes narrow.

  Someone’s out there. Watching Hunter and me.

  We’re not alone.

  Hunter asks me something. I quiet him with a wave of my hand.

  “There’s somebody out there.” Gritting my teeth, my voice a hoarse rasp as outrage washes over me, I tell him, “They’re stalking me. Hunting me. Me!” I’m suddenly furious. “The huntress is no one’s prey.”

  Hunter takes in a sharp breath. His arm lands on my shoulder and I shake him off roughly. “Artemis? Are you—”

  “Silence!”

  I need quiet. Why won’t he shut the hell up? Can’t he sense the bastard lurking in the trees? I shield my eyes with my hand, squinting past all of the green. I take another step, follow my gut, turn slightly. Then I growl. Nothing. Where is he?

  Hunter doesn’t approach me again. His gaze is on me, I can feel his stare, and I continue to ignore him. Like a magnet, I feel a strong tug pulling me out of Hunter’s camp. The air turns heavy, like the way it does minutes before a big storm hits. It smells of electricity. My cheeks tingle. I breathe in deep. An eddy of wind brushes up against me, petting my ankles.

  Closer. Closer.

  There.

  Twang.

  I whirl suddenly, my cloak flapping with the spin before slapping against my back. I know that sound. Deep in my bones, I hear the bow sing and I recognize at once what that twang was and what’s coming for me. I spin to face it.

  Behind me. That bastard shot at me from behind. And I’m not quick enough to do anything about it.

  A flash of gold in the far distance blinds me, a bright spark that’s there then flames out as soon as I blink my eyes. A piercing whistle sounds as something slices through the air. Time stops, or that might just be me. My whole body tenses. The hypnotic rush of a long arrow heading right at me makes me useless. Death comes and I stand there like a dope, waiting for it.

  To my right, a butterfly flaps its wings. The grass ruffles in a faint breeze too weak to throw the arrow off its path. The arrow’s song grows even shriller. It hits me.

  I’m about to die.

  Me.

  Die.

  From my left, I hear a cry that’s followed by a growl so animalistic I expect it to belong to a bear. All I can do is turn my head because the rest of me is stiff, frozen in place. My sandals are rooted to the dirt.

  It’s Hunter. His expression is wild, a feral grimace twisting his beautiful features. Like an avenging angel, his light eyes go dark as he catches sight of the arrow streaming at me. I can’t fucking move. He takes off like a rocket.

  Last night I watched him run. I saw his speed. He’s fast. Real fast. And now I know he’s almost as fast as a speeding arrow because, at that moment, Hunter tries to race an archer’s shot.

  Almost as fast.

  A split second later and it might’ve missed us. Instead, when the arrow is so close I see the golden feathers fletching its back end, Hunter launches himself at me, grabbing me by my shoulders and tucking me protectively into his chest.

  Thud.

  The arrow hits his back with a meaty sound. His body jerks, he gasps, then spits out a harsh curse. I scream.

  As two hundred and fifty pounds of stunned male stumbles and slumps on my shoulder, my stupid, sudden spell of paralysis shatters. My knees buckle under his weight. I stop screaming because I’m too busy chanting Hunter’s name. He groans, so I know he’s alive. That doesn’t mean much. Giving in, I let his bulk drop me to the ground. If that bastard archer wants to take another shot, I’m not going to let Hunter act as target practice.

  I count to twenty in my head. I figure that should be enough time to allow the archer to reload the arrow, aim, and fire again if that’s what he’s going to do. I strain my ears for the whistle and hear nothing except Hunter’s labored breathing. He makes it worse by stretching out and covering every part of my smaller body with his much bigger frame. Even now he’s making sure I can’t be hit.

  It’s impossible to focus, but I have to.

  Eighteen… Nineteen… Twenty.

  Nothing. I take a tentative breath, trying to calm down, except all I get is a nose full of Hunter’s scent. Somehow that’s worse. Closing my eyes, I focus. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing or what the hell happened. I just go with my gut. Instinct told me before that something was wrong. After a few seconds, I decide that the threat’s gone. We’re alone again. For the moment, at least, there won’t be another twang.

  For the moment.

  Okay. Can’t worry about that. I have to check on Hunter. That’s the only thing that matters.

  It takes me a few seconds to figure out how to wiggle out from underneath him without hurting him even more. I hear him murmur the word ‘no’ into my hair. I can’t stay down any longer, though he obviously wants me to. He’s crushing me.

  After awkwardly patting his side, I say, “It’s okay, big guy. We’re safe now.”

  He doesn’t argue. With a soft moan, he lifts his torso up enough to let me slide out from underneath him, then stretches out flat again. He keeps his chest to the dirt and stays down. The second I pull myself to my knees, I can see why.

  The goddamn arrow is sticking straight from his back. It pierced through his leather cloak, lodging in the meat of his lower right shoulder. Blood seeps out of the wound, staining the light brown of his cloak an inky black.

  I almost puke.

  He’s hit. I mean, I knew the arrow struck him, but seeing it… I can’t deny it. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. That’s a real arrow sticking out of Hunter’s back. If he hadn’t protected me, the arrow would be sticking out of my skull.

  The realization slams into me the same way the arrow hit Hunter. Someone tried to shoot me. That arrow was meant for me. And this guy… this stranger I met less than twelve hours ago purposely jumped in front of it.

  I gulp, trying to keep my breakfast down. I scramble away from Hunter, my hand in front of my mouth. I speak around trembling fingers. “You… you took an arrow for me.”

  My eyes are drawn to the dark stain growing even larger. The blood makes a lopsided circle around the thick length of wood protruding from the center. The more I stare, the worse it looks. I can hear Hunter panting, his fingers scrabbling at the dirt. He’s in so much pain.

  And I could’ve been fucking killed.

  I’m choking back big gulps of air so quickly that I hiccup. The high-pitched squeal sounds so funny, so entirely out of place, that a frantic giggle escapes me. Holy shit. Holy shit. I’m gonna lose it.

  I think Hunter can tell. Despite his injury, he starts to move again. Slowly, using only his left hand for support, he pulls himself up to his knees. The panting slows until the only sign he’s hurting is the way he breathes slowly through his nose.

  “I did,” he says, his voice hoarse and strangled. He grits his teeth. “It was on purpose. I meant to jump in front of that arrow. So now I need you to do something for me.”

  “Anything,” I promise.

  “I need you to help me get it out.”

  I flinch. “Anything but that.”

  “Noelle—”

  Shaking my head, I fold in on myself. “You can’t ask me to do that. I’m not a doctor. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

  “Simple. You pull and yank. Listen to me,” he says, cutting me off when I start to argue. “Right now, I’m a sittin’ duck if that archer comes back. With an arrow in my shoulder, I can’t do anything to stop him. You’ve got to help me… so I can help you. Archer might be gone now. Don’t mean he won’t come back.”

  Guilt curdles my belly. He’s worried about me. Hunter’s been shot with an arrow—and he’s worried about me.

  I can do this. I can do this—

  Grabbing the middle of the arrow, I brace myself, ready to pull. Fresh blood conti
nues to seep from the wound. The arrow is slick, stained a vivid, sickening red at the point where it disappears past the tear in Hunter’s cloak and into his flesh. God, it’s really in there.

  And I so can’t do this.

  “I’m sorry. I… I can’t.” Wiping my trembling hands on my thighs, I tell him honestly, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Oh, it’s gonna hurt like hell. I won’t lie about that. But, trust me, it’ll hurt a whole lot worse if you leave it where it is.”

  “Can’t you… I don’t know—”

  “Pull it out myself?” he asks, guessing right. “If I could, I would. I don’t want you to have to do this. But the arrow is stuck back there. Damn bastard was too far away for the arrow to go clean through me. The only way to get it out is for someone to yank it out from behind. And you’re the only one who’s here.” His left hand is balled into a fist. He bangs it against the dirt, then spreads his fingers wide, grasping at the grass. Pleading. “Please, Noelle. Help me.”

  How can I say no when he says my name like that?

  11

  “Okay.” I nod, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay. I’m gonna do it.” I wrap my hands around the arrow again, then hesitate. “Problem, though. I’ll have to pull it out through your clothes, too.”

  “Do it. Whatever you have to do, do it. Just do it now, Noelle.”

  Noelle again. Shit.

  I gulp, my hands sweaty and slick against the shaft. I don’t understand why I’m fighting so hard against this. Last night I watched him skin a deer and didn’t bat an eye. Why am I wussing out now? I can do this. I can rip this sucker out of Hunter’s back. I can. Besides, this is all my fault. The guy took an arrow for me. Least I can do is help him get it out.

  Kneeling over him, I tell him, “On three. Okay?”

  His breathing is choppy, but he nods. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

  Oh boy. I only wish I was. “One… Two—”

  I tug. Hunter bellows in agony.

  Shitshitshit!

  It’s harder than I thought it would be, and just as awful.