“I’m sure you won’t disappoint me,” he added smugly, then turned and followed the others outside, leaving her standing by the door, her hands shaking.
“Jessa?” Dani’s voice was small and frightened.
She turned and found her sister staring at her, her book forgotten at her side.
“It’s all right,” she said.
It wasn’t all right.
Dani crossed the room and wrapped her thin arms around Jessa’s waist. Her head fit perfectly under Jessa’s chin, dark hair soft against her throat.
“What are we going to do?”
She closed her eyes, carefully tightening her arms around her sister’s delicate body, and took a deep breath.
“I’m going to take you to stay with Miss Mavis for a few days.” Their elderly neighbor was a kind woman who would take good care of her sister.
“Why? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to find more of that plant.”
CHAPTER 2
The bloodmoss grew in the shadow of the northern ridge where the stone still held frost even in late morning. Tarek crouched beside a cluster of the dark red growth, carefully working a small knife beneath the roots. The plant was stubborn, clinging to the rock face with the same tenacity that kept it alive through the harsh mountain winters.
The knife blade finally slipped beneath the root ball, and he eased the plant free. Its distinctive copper scent filled his nose as he transferred it to the leather pouch at his belt. The bloodmoss made a paste that stopped bleeding and prevented infection, a useful addition to a healer’s supplies. Not that anyone would come looking for his expertise. Or that he would provide it if by some chance they did.
That part of his life was over, but gathering herbs and making medicine gave him something to do during the long days and nights of his exile. Five years he’d been alone now, and he sometimes wondered if that lingering dedication to his previous life was the only thing that had stopped him giving into his beast and going completely feral.
He rose, scanning the ridge for more useful plants. The mountainside stretched above him in shades of grey and brown, weathered stone interspersed with patches of scrubby vegetation. This high up, even the trees hunched close to the ground, twisted by wind into shapes that looked like they were trying to crawl back into the earth.
A flicker of movement caught his eye before the cottma froze, long ears twitching, suddenly aware of the presence of a predator. His beast stirred, his vision sharpening and the scent of the small animal filling his nostrils.
Easy prey,his beast urged, but he had no need for meat and even less desire to release his beast. Each time he gave into it, the harder it was to come back. He forced his breathing to steady and deliberately turned his back on the cottma, refusing to watch as it scurried away in case it triggered the instinct to chase it down.
Instead, he headed down the slope towards the stand of silverleaf trees where he’d spotted wild thyma growing last week, his feet silent on the rocky ground. The Vultor were trained from childhood to move without sound. His time in exile had perfected his skills.
The descent took him lower than he usually ventured, into the woods that covered the lower slopes of the mountainside, and close enough to the human village that he could smell their presence. Woodsmoke on the wind, the earthy scent of turned soil, and the faint animal musk of livestock kept in pens.
He should turn back.
But the silverleaf grove was just ahead, and the thyma that grew beneath those trees was superior to the mountain variety—more potent, better for the teas he made to help him sleep when the nightmares got bad. The fact that after five years alone the evidence of other lives was oddly comforting had nothing to do with it. He’d never approach the human village, just as he’d never approach the Vultor enclave on the other side of the mountain, but he could draw closer to the humans, knowing they couldn’t detect him.
He pushed through a stand of brush, emerging into the grove. The silverleaf trees spread their branches overhead, their bark gleaming pale even in the shadows. The characteristic silver-white leaves rustled in the breeze with a sound like whispered secrets.
There.Wild thyma growing in thick patches beneath the largest tree, the small purple flowers just beginning to bud.
He knelt, pulling a cloth from his pack, and began harvesting it. He worked methodically, cutting the stems and bundling them into neat sheaves. The scent of thyma mixed with the silverleaf’s faint sweetness, creating a combination that reminded him of?—
He cut that thought off. No point dwelling on memories of gardens and halls and places he’d never see again.
The breeze shifting through the grove picked up, carrying additional scents. He caught the familiar traces of evergreen sap, mountain stone, and the distant note of water from the stream that flowed down the mountainside to the valley below. Nothing unusual. Nothing?—
He froze.
Woven through the familiar scents was a trace of something sweet. So faint he almost missed it, but his beast caught it immediately and surged with sudden interest.
A female.A human female, which meant there was no reason why his beast should be reacting, demanding to go closer, to explore that intriguing scent.
