The Alpha's Concubine (Historical Shifter Romance)

by Claudia King

  Vaya's wolf butted into Netya's attacker from the side, the force of the impact sending the cat rolling away from her in a screeching tangle of fur and claws. The huntress growled at her, and Netya wasted no time in clambering to her feet and hurrying back to where Caspian was shoving Fern up over the ledge above them. Once she was safe he climbed half way back down, taking Netya's spear from her and tossing it up before offering her his hand. With his added strength she reached the ledge in seconds, imagining the jaws of the mountain cat snapping at her heels at any moment.

  But Vaya's intervention had sent the last of the predators running. When Netya swung herself over the top of the ridge and looked down the huntress almost seemed as if she was about to give chase, howling at the wounded cat she had cornered as it limped away with the rest of its brethren.

  Only then did Netya let herself start thinking again, and her whole body began to shake as she realised how close she had come to death.

  Caspian put a hand on the back of her neck and made her look at him. "Fern would not have made it up the ridge without you keeping that cat at bay."

  "Or without you to help me," Fern said to him, embracing both of them as she buried her face in Netya's shoulder.

  The rest of the hunters arrived a moment later, helping them up and calling for one of the seers to attend to Fern. Though Netya had not been injured, she found it difficult to walk without the aid of her spear propping her up. She was still wide-eyed and trembling. Her body felt like it was still trapped in the fight, heart racing and muscles tense, her senses so sharp she jumped every time someone brushed past her.

  When Vaya clambered back up the ridge with the help of the others Netya opened her mouth to thank the huntress, but before she could say anything the other woman silenced her with a vicious scowl, growling something under her breath as she shoved past the hunters who had helped her up and disappeared among the pack.

  Netya caught Caspian watching Vaya with a grim look of his own before she disappeared. The pair of them shared a look, and a shiver went down Netya's spine as a moment of understanding passed between her and the male. Even though Vaya had come to her aid in the end, for an instant she had been willing to let Netya die. If not for Caspian's command, almost that of an alpha himself, the huntress would have left her to her fate.

  —22—

  Revenge

  Several people had been wounded in the ill-fated hunt, but much to everyone's relief the entire party was eventually accounted for once the last few stragglers found their way back. The chasers had run straight into the mountain cats before anyone else as they ran up the sides of the ravine, and in the ensuing chaos the group that had been sent ahead with Vaya turned back to help, thankfully arriving in time to save the stranded chasers and drive most of their attackers off. Nobody seemed to know whether it was the cats or the early arrival of the forward group that had turned the drove of horses around. In the panic that followed, nobody had managed to make a single kill.

  The plan had failed, but despite the morose mood among the pack as they retreated down the opposite side of the ridge, Hawk reassured the others that the great hunt was far from over. When they began tracking the horses again it became apparent that they had not split and scattered, and there was a good chance of chasing them back down the following day. They were incredibly fortunate that no one had been killed in the ravine, and Hawk chose to take it as a sign that, despite everything, the spirits were still with them on this year's hunt.

  Netya was shaken for several hours after her fight with the mountain cat, but once dusk fell and the group stopped to rest she began feeling a little better. There seemed to be two tales of her encounter circulating among the hunting party, and she could guess where the less flattering one had come from. Some of the group believed she had made a brave stand to protect Fern while Caspian helped her to safety, while the rest seemed to think that she had gotten herself almost killed by a mountain cat, forcing Vaya to come to her aid and abandon her own kill in the process.

  It was hardly the first time Netya had been the subject of divided opinion, and after everything that had happened to her she cared little for the latest gossip. She stayed by Fern's side at their small fire, eating from her bowl of nut meal and dried meat as she slowly began to feel a little more like herself once again. She touched the talisman of beads braided into her hair, silently thanking the spirits for watching over her that morning.

  "Hawk is sending me home tomorrow," Fern said glumly. "Brae said my foot will not be better for at least another day or two, especially not if I plan on hunting. At least you still have a chance, though."

  "You still think I might make a kill tomorrow?" Netya replied.

  "Caspian said he will let you ride on his back. After today, bringing down a horse should be no trouble for the pair of you!"

  That finally coaxed a smile out of Netya, and she edged closer to her friend beneath the cloak spread across their laps. "I suppose horses do not seem very threatening compared to mountain cats, that's true."

  Fern sighed, squeezing Netya's hand. "You really must make a kill for us now. For me and Erech both. It seems I will be spending another year as a chaser again."

  "Do you really want to join Vaya and the other high hunters so much?"

  Fern shrugged. "It would be something. Until I find a mate, I have little status."

  Netya gave her a playful nudge, hoping to cheer her friend up. "But Fern values love over status, does she not? And from everything she has taught me, I think I do as well."

  "I suppose you are right," Fern smiled, but there was still a hint of sadness in her eyes. "I only wish love could be found by killing a horse or two."

  "You have my love," Netya said, making her mind up. "And I will prove it by making that kill for you and Erech tomorrow. I promise."

  Fern put her arm around Netya and kissed her, before resting her head on her shoulder. "I am sure you will. An alpha's consort and a hunter. I told you your hair meant there was a great destiny waiting for you."

  Fern went to sleep early, but Netya still found herself restless from the day's excitement, and once she had wrapped the cloak around her friend and left her curled up by the fire she decided to go for a short walk and relieve herself.

  She picked her way through the circles of slumbering wolves and people alike, listening vaguely to the low murmur of conversation from those who were still awake. Some of the hunters were discussing their plans for the next day, while others continued to recount their heroics in the fight with the mountain cats.

  The tongue of the Moon People had become so familiar to her that she already found herself thinking in their words from time to time. It had been months since she heard a person, even herself, speak with the same cadence of voice that her own people used. But the thought warmed rather than saddened her. She had begun to look, behave, and even sound like the people she now lived with. In a few months it would be a whole year since she left the village. Had her existence back there really been so unhappy that she did not miss it?

  No, she reflected. She missed Layon, her mother, and her sisters every day, but she would not trade away her life with the Moon People just yet. She would see her family again, but their reunion could wait. She needed time to become the woman who had always hidden within her old self, and that side of her could only flourish out here in the wilderness, where she was free.

  The pack had made camp a few hours to the east of the ravine, where the craggy terrain was more overgrown and difficult to navigate. A line of trees separated them from another steep drop down into a lush valley, and it was in that direction which Netya headed once she had made her way out of the camp. She carried her spear with her, reassured by the presence of the weapon. It had saved her life that day, and proved to her that she was not some helpless girl unable to defend herself. She may not have had the body of a wolf to call on in times of need, but with her spear at her side, the night time wilderness no longer seemed so threatening.

  It
made her realise why her mother had kept the weapon hung over their hearth for so many years after her father died. It was more than just a tool or an ornament, it was a window through which a warrior could find their inner strength and bravery. Without it, she was prey to the mountain cats, but with it, she was their equal. Her father's spear had let him stand toe to toe with the warriors of the Moon People, and it had symbolised that inner bravery for years when it hung in her mother's house.

  Netya reached the trees and looked out over the valley below, crouching down to empty her bladder as she tried to make out the features of the land before her. There was little moonlight that evening, and the dim canopy rippled like murky water as the wind dragged through it.

  She did not realise that anyone had followed her until she stood back up, and froze at the sight of Vaya and three others blocking her path back to the camp. Trying to hide her shock, she inclined her head politely and made to step past, behaving as if the hunters had only come out for an innocent stroll of their own. But as soon as she made to walk by, Vaya caught her by the shoulder and pushed her back.

  Fear quickened Netya's breath. Vaya's companions, one young man and two women, moved around to encircle her, cornering her up against the trees. The huntress worked her jaw back and forth in contemplation, making a show of examining Netya's spear as she stepped forward.

  "You would have been dead today without this thing, as useless as it is."

  Netya gripped her weapon protectively, wondering for one panicked moment whether she might be forced to use it. Strength seemed like the only thing Vaya respected. Netya kept her chin up and responded as calmly as she could.

  "I expect you would have been too, without your teeth and claws."

  "Those are a part of me," Vaya said. "They are my gift from the spirits of life. What is your gift? A weak body that must flail with tools of wood and flint to survive."

  Netya took a deep breath, fighting the urge to back away as the taller woman loomed over her. "I know you dislike me, Vaya, but I have never tried to make an enemy of you."

  "You made me lose my kill today." The huntress glared at her. "Slaying a mountain cat would have won me the hunter's prize. This year's great hunt was mine to claim by right."

  "I did not ask for your help —"

  "No! Worse, you have made even Caspian and the alpha indulge your weakness. They protect you without seeing the harm they inflict on their own pack," Vaya spat.

  As the huntress took another sudden step forward Netya backed away, jerking the point of her spear in front of her.

  Vaya laughed, then grabbed the shaft of the weapon in one hand and twisted it out of the way. "Give me that."

  Netya glared at her, refusing to release her grip. Vaya tugged again, then growled and yanked the spear hard, shoving Netya backwards as she tore the weapon from her hands.

  "You insult me every moment you remain in our pack!"

  Netya looked to the others in fear as she stumbled into a tree, but they only met her gaze with cold, unfeeling eyes. Whatever the three of them thought about what was happening, their loyalty to Vaya clearly mattered more.

  "I am forced to endure you back at our camp," the huntress said as she brought the point of the spear to rest against Netya's chest. "But I will not tolerate you defiling our hunts."

  The flint tip dug into Netya's skin, pressing sharply against the spot at the base of her throat until she felt a trickle of blood running down her chest. Even though her hands were now trembling, she curled them into fists and forced herself to speak.

  "Give me back my spear," she said.

  Vaya leaned in closer, lifting the flint tip until it rested beneath Netya's chin, forcing her head back. Then she smiled, stepped away, and snapped the spear in half over her knee.

  "Go and fetch it," she said, then drew back her arm and threw both parts of the broken weapon over the edge into the valley below.

  Even the punch that broke Netya's nose had hurt less than the moment her spear cracked, the sight of it disappearing over the edge into the darkness, and the sound of the broken wooden pieces rattling down the slope below. It was enough to fill her with such desperation and anger that she wanted to lash out and break something of Vaya's in return, but instead she threw her energy into an act that was perhaps far more reckless, and even more surprising to the huntress.

  Before Vaya could grab her, Netya turned and threw herself down the slope after her spear. The instant her feet his the ground she knew they would go out from under her within seconds. The descent was too steep, the ground too uneven, and brambles tugged at her moccasins and threatened to trip her up with every step. She was not thinking, and she cared little for her mad descent as she stared wide-eyed into the darkness, searching frantically for any sign of where her spear had fallen. It was hers. It was her father's. It was everything she had become since living among the Moon People, and she could not bear to let Vaya take it away from her.

  But in the darkness, she was blind. There was nothing ahead of her but black undergrowth. A hundred places where her spear could have fallen out of sight, tangled in a bush or the branches of a tree where it would be lost forever. She fell, the momentum of her body taking over the motion of her legs. Her palms dug into the moist dirt as it forced its way up beneath her fingernails, then the weight of her legs dragged her into an unstoppable tumble head over heels down the side of the valley.

  Brambles scratched at her arms and rocks bruised her hips as she rolled. She tried to grab on to something to slow her descent, but the moment her fingers closed around the branch of a bush it was whipped out of her grasp again, skinning her palm in the process. Any moment she expected a rock or tree trunk to halt her progress, but she continued to tumble, again and again, until her body felt like it was about to break and her stomach threatened to turn.

  Netya swung her leg out in one final attempt to steady her fall, and the valley slope took mercy on her as she skidded, threatened to topple, and then caught her foot in a tangle of branches that held on long enough to bring her momentum to a halt. She lifted her hair out of the dirt and looked up, but there was nothing left for her to see. Pitch blackness met her in every direction. She had fallen so far the trees had overtaken the night sky, and only the sounds of rustling leaves reached her ears. Her head swam. If her body was broken, there was nobody within reach to help her back up. Every bit of her ached or stung or throbbed. She made one desperate effort to begin lifting herself back up the slope, then collapsed.

  —23—

  Alone

  When Netya opened her eyes she saw green leaves. The stem of a plant twitched a few inches from her nose as a beetle crawled up it. Her whole body was sore. One by one she tried moving her limbs. Everything hurt. Bruises and scrapes covered her arms, and the morning dew that had soaked into her clothing brought with it a clammy chill.

  The more she moved, the less painful it became. She did not think she had broken anything. After a few minutes she lifted her cheek out of the dirt and tried to sit up, putting a hand out suddenly to prevent herself from slipping. The ground was still steep and uneven, and she risked another fall if she so much as shifted position too quickly.

  Tears pricked her eyes as she remembered her lost spear, glancing around with the vain hope of catching sight of it now that it was daylight. But there was nothing to see save bushes and trees in every direction. She could make out neither the summit of the ridge above her nor the valley floor below. Her throat was parched and sore, and she doubted she could call out even if she tried.

  Careful not to disturb the beetle, she picked a broad leaf from the plant in front of her and curled up the edges to create a small dip in the middle. Then, ever cautious that the slightest wrong movement might make her slip, she moved from leaf to leaf, tipping them so that the beads of dew ran off into her improvised cup. Once there was enough on her leaf for a small mouthful she sucked it up hungrily, then repeated the process. Each drink was barely enough to wet her throat, but after a fe
w minutes she felt ready to try her voice.

  Filling her lungs, she called out as loud as she could. The noise echoed off the edge of the valley, startling nearby birds from their trees. Netya waited a few moments, then tried again. Silence was her only answer. How far had she fallen? Were the others still in earshot? Had they moved on to track the horses already? If Vaya had any intention of letting them know where she was they would likely have found her by now. Fern would have noticed her absence, but if Hawk had sent her home early she might not even have had time to realise her friend was missing among the bustle of the oversized hunting pack.

  Once more her fear returned, and she called out again, louder. By herself, could she even find her way out of this valley, let alone back across the plains to the safety of the outcrop? There were mountain cats in this territory, and likely other wild animals too. Without her spear, she was defenceless.

  The necessity of survival spurred Netya into action. She knew the seers used the leaves of these plants to treat cuts and shallow wounds, so she took the one she had picked and pressed it over her raw palm, binding it gently in place with a twist of long grass. It was still painful to move, but not so much so that it hindered her. She could endure the discomfort if it meant finding her way back to safety.

  Once she had found her footing she began to edge carefully back up the slope, half crawling, half climbing, making sure she always kept her uninjured hand on a sturdy piece of foliage that would hold her weight if she slipped. It was a miracle she had not struck any of the trees on her way down, and she made her way from one trunk to the next, trying to retrace her fall as closely as she could.

  It was not long before she came to an impassable tangle of brambles, and it took several minutes to pick her way further along the slope so that she could circumvent them. The going became more treacherous with every step, and it took Netya the better part of an hour to make her way barely a hundred yards up the slope. She constantly had to stop, find her footing, secure her grip, and spend long moments determining which route she could take that would not either send her toppling to her death, or leave her feet full of thorns.