Stalk the Moon

by Jessica Lynch

  I edge closer to him. I’m thinking Hephaestus’s magic fire is the only thing keeping the boar back. “You were taking too long. I came to check on you.”

  “I’ve only been a minute.”

  True. “Uh-huh.”

  He curses under his breath. “You should’ve stayed outside.”

  “Yeah.” Could’ve. Would’ve. Should’ve. Instead, I’ve made myself a target. “So, um, what’s that?”

  “Remember the bacon we had for breakfast?” He waits a beat, then adds, “Now you know where it comes from.”

  “Lots of bacon,” I point out.

  I realize suddenly that I’m not afraid any longer. Shouldn’t I be afraid? I can feel the adrenaline as it courses through me. Fight or flight is kicking in again, like it did when I faced off against the scorpion. This time I know exactly what’s going to happen. I’m gonna fight this thing and it’s all friggin’ Artemis’s fault.

  Moving slowly, I reach my hand beneath my cloak, gripping my knife by its handle. I’ve got my bow close but something tells me that shooting arrows at the boar will do nothing except turn it into a pissed off pincushion. Hunter has his sword out. I’m going blade, too.

  “It took seven hunters from a nearby village to take down one of these boars. Calydonian boars never go down easy.” The fire reflects off his sword. He’s rotating his wrist, loosening his shoulders, getting ready to attack. They might not go down easy, but Hunter’s going to try. “I bartered for my share of the meat, glad that I missed out on that hunt. I should’ve remembered they could climb, and they like the dark. I’m sorry, darlin’.”

  Any other time, I would’ve loved to ask him about this village. It’s a relief to know that the Other isn’t only made up of woods and mountains, plus the creepy children’s laughter from this morning isn’t so creepy if it turned out we skirted a village full of people. I file it away to think about later.

  If there is a later.

  “Don’t be sorry,” I say. “Just tell me how we get out of here in one piece.”

  I don’t think it’s going to be as easy as backing up and running away. As if retreating is really an option. Hunter’s not built that way, and I’m supposed to be Artemis, goddess of the hunt. Well, I guess it’s about time I hunt something, right?

  Hunter sets his jaw. The flickering flame throws shadows across his face, making him look hard and determined.

  “I’m gonna distract it. You get the hell out of here before it starts after you.”

  He can’t be serious. “No way. I won’t leave you.”

  “It’ll gore both of us. The Other heals a lot of damage, but that’s pushin’ it too far.”

  I feel a little better when I hear his Southern drawl return. That’s the Hunter I know. Protective and sweet and absolutely insane if he thinks that I’m going to leave him here to take on this monster alone.

  “Is this how the story ends?”

  He spares the smallest glance my way before staring down the boar again. It let outs a loud grunt, stepping out of its corner. Hunter waves the torch, the flame billowing and rising with the motion. The boar’s eyes flash red and it backs up, eager to escape the fire.

  “What’s that?” he asks in a low voice.

  “You and me, being gored by Babe on steroids. Is this how it ends?”

  He never blinks, but he does offer the tiniest quiver of a smile. “You say the strangest things.”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  “That’s because I can’t. We’ve hunted many things together, you and me. But never the Calydonian boar.” Crazy enough, I swear I hear a small chuckle escape from him. “‘Course, that’s probably ‘cause you’re the one who sicced it on the king of Calydon in the first place. Artemis you, that is.”

  He just has to add that. Rising up on my tippy toes, I get loose. Limber. Ready.

  “Well, you’ve got Noelle here to help you take it down. Aren’t you lucky?” I spare him a quick, cheeky grin. “I guess we’ll have to see what happens.”

  The torch won’t save us forever. Eventually, the boar’s fright will get the better of it and it’ll attack. Even if we manage to escape the cave, all it has to do is come after us. There’s not enough room out on the ledge to fight the creature. The most we can hope to do is trick it into charging off the mountainside and there’s no guarantee that he won’t take one or both of us with it.

  Leaving it alone isn’t even an option. That’s why Hunter froze like a statue when he entered the cave. There’s no escaping this thing.

  Matching his stance, I hold my knife out in front of me.

  Hunter catches sight of the blade and shakes his head.

  “Not the knife,” he rasps out. “You’d only get to use it if you got close enough and we can’t let that happen.”

  I feel the weight of my bow on my back. “I don’t think an arrow will do much damage.”

  “If you aim for the right spot, it will.”

  What the hell is that supposed to mean? “But I don’t know what spot to aim for,” I hiss.

  “Artemis does.”

  He says it so simply, so easily, that I feel kind of dumb. Artemis is the goddess of the hunt which makes me a badass huntress by proxy, right? I already know that I’m gonna hit whatever spot I aim for. Now I just need to use my connection to the goddess to figure out where to aim.

  Because I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, I hold my ground while screwing up my face, concentrating.

  Artemis?

  It’s me, Noelle. The, um, new you. I guess.

  Ugh. This is so friggin’ stupid. But stupid is better than dead, and if I can’t figure out how to hunt this thing, that’s something to worry about.

  Besides, Hunter said that the original Cali-something boar was sent by Artemis. She should know how to handle it.

  Where do I shoot it? How do I hunt it?

  When the tips of my fingers start to shine, I think I’m onto something here.

  I peer at the boar. It’s backed up against one side of the cave, trapped by the stone wall behind it and Hunter’s torch in front of it. It tosses its head again, flinging drool everywhere. Wild eyes dart back and forth as it stamps and readies itself to charge.

  Shit. We’re running out of time.

  Hunter’s obviously resigned to the fact that we’re in this together. Waving the torch, holding the boar at bay, he takes a few steps away from me. He’s distracting the boar, giving me time to unshoulder my bow and reach for an arrow.

  In that same deep rasp, he continues to give me instructions. “If it charges, don’t run. He might chase you out of the cave and there’s nowhere else to go. We need height, but we don’t have it. Dodgin’ the beast and takin’ it out is our only chance.”

  There goes my brilliant plan. No way I can avoid hunting this thing by luring it out of the cave and hoping it takes a swan dive. Pig dive. Whatever. How did Hunter know that was exactly what I was hoping for?

  “Okay.” Don’t run. Dodge. I can do this. “You ready for me to shoot?”

  He raises his sword. “Go, darlin’.”

  I focus on the boar, hoping for a flash of brilliance from my ancient hitchhiker. I blink and, suddenly, everything is perfectly clear. Its bristles are longer, thicker, and more coarse around its body than around its head and neck. The long stretch of its spine is too far from its vitals; a feral boar’s vitals are way lower, near its underbelly. Can’t aim for most of its side because the amount of fat will plug a wound without slowing the damn thing down.

  A shot through the back of its ear would work, only I’m in front of it. My shooting is pretty damn impressive, but even I can’t manage to make these magic arrows act like a boomerang.

  Any second now, Artemis. A little help?

  It hits me. What’s the best way for a clean kill?

  Shoot the giant, feral boar along the midline, near the back crease of the front shoulder. If I can hit it when the boar is leading with the leg nearest to me, it’s a full lung shot. It
won’t survive that.

  All I need is a clear shot at its broadside. On my tiptoes, taking light, cautious steps, I back up and start to loop around in a wide turn without ever looking away from my prey. At first, I’m increasing the space between us, but this is no retreat. While Hunter continues to distract the creature—using his fire and short shouts—I move in on it, searching for the right angle to shoot.

  Almost there.

  Almost.

  If I can just—

  There.

  Twang.

  Yes!

  We’re a seamless team, Hunter and me. The moment I let the arrow fly, Hunter raises his sword and runs at the boar. I can’t tell if it’s another distraction, or if he plans on using my shot as a cover to stick the oversized pig with his sword. Whatever works.

  Time slows. I stay where I am, wincing at the meaty thud that echoes out as the arrow finds its mark.

  It goes straight through, the fletch sticking out on my side, the point of the arrow lost somewhere inside. Rearing up, furious and in agony, the boar bulldozes forward. It’s not heading for me or in Hunter in particular; it only wants to escape the sudden pain in its shoulders. I know that, like I know its pure dumb luck that has the wounded boar barreling right at me as Hunter runs at it.

  Remembering what Hunter said, I spin out of the way, avoiding the sharp tusks by mere inches. My momentum takes me to the hard, rocky floor of the cave. The impact on my bare knees has me cursing before I complete a swift turn and pop up a good ten feet away from the boar.

  A crazy cocktail of adrenaline, fear, and pride rushes through me as I immediately lift my bow high again. I grab an arrow, set it and draw on the bowstring so tightly, my cheek stings as I slice it.

  The boar is down. Its last charge will be its only, I realize. It’s down and there’s no way it’s getting back up again.

  Hunter reverses course, then slows, stopping when he’s a few feet away from the boar. With a practiced eye, he gauges the shot and, like me, can tell that it’s fatal. But not instantly.

  Chest heaving, he lowers his sword. He jerks his chin at the snuffling beast.

  “One more,” he tells me.

  I know exactly what he means.

  This time I aim a little lower. Pinning its shoulders, shooting through its lungs… my first shot already guaranteed that I’ve won this hunt. It still deserves the decency of a quick kill, a humane death. There’s no reason it should have to suffer. I target its heart.

  Once the arrow is lodged in the boar’s underside, Hunter lunges forward. He tosses his sword away, the metal clanging against the rocky ground. The torch follows and, true to Hephaestus's boast, the flame flickers but doesn’t die out.

  Looming over the boar, it’s obvious that he knows that it’s no longer a true threat to either of us. Drawing the longest of his blades from his belt, he proceeds to make sure of it. Just like with the deer he hunted for me, Hunter bends down, presses the point of his knife to the boar’s throat and slices. He’s careful not to get blood on his hands or his cloak, backing away as quickly as he fell on the wounded animal.

  And like that, the boar is dead. The threat is gone.

  The hunt is over.

  29

  I’m stunned. Literally stunned. That happened way faster than I thought it would and ended a lot better than I expected. I mean, I still have a third arrow nocked in place, ready to fire another shot. What the hell just happened?

  Before I can even ask Hunter, he drops his bloody knife and, stepping over it, zeroes in on me. I relax my arm, lowering my bow as I slip the arrow back into my quiver. He’s in front of me the next second.

  In the light of the spilled fire, I can see that his eyes are locked hungrily on mine. The look he’s wearing on his gorgeous face? I know what it is, even if I never expected his chiseled features to form it. Lust. Desire. Want.

  Holy shit.

  He’s not breathing hard because of the fight. He’s totally turned on.

  After the way he’s looking at me? I am, too.

  I’m suddenly reminded of my first night in the Other. How amped up he was at dinner, long after we killed the two scorpions. He busied himself at the camp, but even that wasn’t enough to calm him down. And then he convinced me that we had to race.

  I remember thinking that it was a shame that he couldn’t think of another way to burn off his excess energy. Now, though? He looks like he finally has a different type of exercise in mind.

  And, if he plays his cards right, he won’t have to talk me into doing any of it.

  I make the first move because, well, if I don’t, there’s a good chance that no one will. It’s like Hunter’s standing on a precipice, too cautious to even try to spread his wings and fly. All he needs is one little push.

  Or a pull.

  Rising up on my toes, I grab Hunter’s linen shirt and pull, hard and fast. He isn’t expecting that and I manage to close the gap between us before he can come up with a reason why we shouldn’t do this. Since I want him with me all the way, I lean in and press my forehead against his chest. A quick set of close-lipped pecks and then I tilt my head back and check in on him.

  He looks like I sucker-punched him. His mouth is slightly open, soft pants coming out a little harsher, more strangled as his breathing picks up. Warm gusts of air blow the stray hairs from my braid. The lust in his eyes has glazed over some.

  So far so good.

  He doesn’t try to push me away. I take that as my cue to keep going. Growing bolder, I step into his space, careful to stay up on my tippy toes so that my giant is easier to reach. I know I’m gonna have to get a little creative here. I stretch so that my middle touches his.

  The way our bodies line up, there’s no denying how much my teasing is already affecting him. The long, hard length of him burns hot against my belly. Holy shit. He’s as big here as he is everywhere else. Of all the dirty thoughts I’ve had about him, it never occurred to me that he might be too big.

  I’ll make it work. Creative? Ha. Consider me a friggin’ Picasso because I have every intention of making sure the two of us fit.

  Just the thought makes me crazy. I lick my lips, the moan slipping out all on its own. The kiss I place against his chest this time is open-mouthed, wet and warm.

  Hunter’s hands are on me in an instant. I flipped his switch without ever even realizing he had one.

  He spares only a few seconds to brush my cloak away from my shoulders, presenting him with his very own canvas to play with. Starting there, he runs his big, calloused hands down my arms in a caress so gentle, it’s at odds with his rough, huntsman mitts. Looming over me, he tucks me into his embrace. I recognize what he’s doing, even if I can’t find the words to call him out on it.

  He’s protecting me. He’s keeping me safe.

  Guy’s a fast learner. The rasp of his stubble burns against the sensitive skin of my throat as he marks me, rubbing his cheek back and forth, leaving his musk behind.

  Then, when the burn becomes too much, he mimics the kiss I gave him. Soft yet firm, his lips give relief only for the heat of his mouth to set me on fire as he starts to nibble and suck.

  I moan again.

  Hunter answers me, his voice so hoarse and so deep, I can’t be too sure what he said. It sounds like Noelle, though, so I’m going with it.

  He lowers his hands, brushing the backs of them across my boobs, hardening my nipples with a passing stroke. Turning his hands, he trails his palms down my front, leaving the heat from his skin as a marked trail across my body. He widens his stance, drawing me securely between his legs as if he thinks I’m about to dash away.

  Yeah, right.

  He shapes my hips with his hands, sending a shiver up my spine. My cheeks tingle, the butterflies in my stomach flapping wildly. The flats of my palms are pushed up against his hard chest, my fingers curling in as I tug, tug, tug, trying to keep him close without climbing him like a friggin’ tree.

  Then, before I do something desperate like te
aring his shirt straight down the middle, Hunter’s hands go right for the hem of my dress. I’m almost vibrating in place, I want this so bad.

  And then he lets go of me.

  Pulling away from my neck, leaning back, I grab for his hands—I don’t care, I want them on me again—when his fingers head for my throat. I trust him. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back. He murmurs again and, this time, I hear it.

  I have no clue what he says. It’s not in any language that I know. But Artemis hums in appreciation somewhere in the back of my mind. Since it’s the only time I’ve noticed her after the hunt, I figure it’s okay.

  And then I feel the weight of my cloak slip away. Hunter’s nimble fingers removed it. Yes!

  Back home, I’m going through a pretty long drought of my own. But Hunter? He leans down and kisses me like it's his first time, all messy and frantic. I love every second of it. I’m straining, standing on my toes, matching him stroke for stroke. So what if our teeth sometimes clash? This? This is a kiss.

  Then he drags his mouth away from mine. Before I can try to pull him back, he takes his hands off my face and, in a flash, I remember what he was doing before he kissed me.

  My eyes spring open and I watch as his very focused attention returns to the hem of my dress. I’m all for him hauling it up and off of me. So what if I left my dirty nightgown back at the lake? If he rips this dress or ruins it, I’ll figure it out later. If anything, I still have my cloak behind me somewhere. That’ll do.

  His ear is right there. The impulse to nibble and bite is too strong for me to deny. With Hunter bowed over my body, I take the chance to lean in and leave a trail of kisses across his jaw, behind his earlobe. His musk is intoxicating, the muffled groan he buries in the top of my hair utterly exciting. I want more.

  Why isn’t he giving it to me?

  Turning away from his neck, I peek up at his face, stunned by what I find. Hunter is frozen, stiff and unyielding. His muscles are locked, from the tight grip of his forearms to the set of his jaw.

  What the hell?

  He gives his head a clearing shake. Then, as if realizing what he was seconds away from doing, Hunter lets go again. My hands are still entangled in his linen shirt. I’m blinking, super confused, as he eases my death grip off of the material. Once he frees himself, he backs up.