Diaval watches Torben fish, interested in how his bear does it. The wyrm dragon is also a puzzle. But now that I think about it, his interest in me was obvious. He was always in the bar on the nights I worked—only the nights I was there. I would hear him give Mo a hard time with the simplest order, but for me, he would smile slightly. I know the mug I gave him meant something because I saw he'd packed it to bring with him. Just like the gold doubloon with his claw mark on it, it means the world to me. Not only does it offer protection, my unicorn friend told me he'd never heard of it being given lightly.
As much as he cares, it seems he can't bring himself to move forward. He probably has some of the same hang-ups Easton does. There's also the fact that the two of them have been alone for longer than I've been alive. Change can be hard to accept. I know I'm not a big fan of it myself.
Khal paces up and down the side of the road on his phone. He's dressed like he should be in a biker gang rather than his family's business. I watch him for several beats, noting how his expression changes as he talks. He's the nicer of the twins, and I guess you could say he and his brother are like Fi and me. She's quick to lose her temper, just like Khol. Khal and I usually have to talk our siblings off the ledge.
There's a tenseness to the way he's walking, and I know the guys are withholding information from me. It's probably for the best since I don't handle bad news well. Hopefully, whatever the call is about, it's good news. I don't think I can take any more danger for a while. My poor nerves are shot from looking around every corner back in Briarvale.
I'm a wolf being hunted by who knows what, for whatever reason, and I have no clue why. What the hell makes me so damn special? Then again, they could be hunting Fi, and maybe myjourney to Blackmore will be uneventful. I'm not going to hold my breath. Well, a girl can hope that one of her ancient mates will get their collective heads out of their asses and claim me. Laughing to myself, I shake my head and look around slowly.
My gaze returns to the deer trail before me. Old hoof prints line the path alongside new ones. By the smell of it, a yearling passed through not too long ago. My poor bladder feels like it's about to explode if I don't find a place to pee. The pressure urges me to start my trek into the woods.
The wind shifts, and all the scents of the forest assault my senses. The air is alive with the sweet fragrance of damp earth, moss, and a faint hint of pine. Among the towering giants, the narrow deer trail meanders gracefully through the heart of the woods. The path is worn smooth, a testament to the countless hooves that have trod upon it over the years. Each step I take is accompanied by a gentle rustle of fallen leaves and twigs. Patches of moss and pine needles silence my steps.
The trail curves gracefully, following the natural contours of the land. It leads through a cathedral of ancient trees, their massive trunks adorned with moss and lichen, branches creating a verdant canopy overhead. Shafts of sunlight pierce through the foliage, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor. Occasional patches of vibrant wildflowers add splashes of color to the otherwise earthy palette. Butterflies dance from petal to petal while birds serenade me with melodious songs.
My wolf and I feel at home this far from Briarvale—at least the section Fi and I lived in between the bear sleuth and the Night District. The air is almost electric with anticipation of what lies ahead. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I continueexploring. The trail beckons, promising a journey through a realm of untamed beauty.
Here, amidst the tranquil serenity of the woods, I feel as if I was born to be here. My wolf is at peace in the deep woods, enjoying the scents and sounds around us. I remind myself I don't have time to hunt. As I walk further down the trail, I spot a circle of bushes that looks promising. Thick and verdant, they stand as a natural barrier—a perfect spot to hide. I wiggle my way between the bushes and find the perfect area to relieve myself. Amid this tranquil scene, a gentle breeze whispers secrets to the leaves, setting them to a soft, rustling dance. Birds serenade the world around me with their melodic songs. I finally feel like I can relax and enjoy this trip instead of being constantly paranoid.
A sharp, snapping sound pierces the tranquility like a thunderclap.
I freeze immediately and listen intently. Hopefully, it's just a deer being clumsy on the trail to the north. The rustling leaves still, and the woodland creatures freeze in their tracks, senses attuned to the source of the disturbance. I stay motionless, listening to everything around me. Even the birds fall silent. Fear spreads like wildfire through me, and I hold my breath, waiting with bated anticipation. The forest transforms from a haven of serenity into a realm of unease.
A second branch snaps, louder this time.
Panic ripples through the bushes as creatures scramble for cover. The potent scent of rotting flesh and musk drifts to me, and my nose works overtime trying to identify it. Is there something dead over the hill? I pull my pants up and stare in the direction of the scent. The chill that moves up my spine makesmy chest tighten as fear grips me. For the sake of my sanity, I get out of the bushes and start moving toward the scent.
More branches crack. A bone-chilling roar breaks the silence, and then I see it come crashing through the undergrowth.
The creature before me is an embodiment of primal terror. It emerges from the depths of the forest like a living nightmare, towering at an unnatural height, skeletal and emaciated. Its grotesque form is wrapped in tattered, rotting flesh. Its limbs stretch impossibly long, each jagged joint resembling a gnarled, skeletal tree branch.
Its eyes—hollow sockets filled with malevolence—glow with a sickly, otherworldly light that pierces the shadows like eerie lanterns. Sharp, yellowed fangs protrude from its gaping maw, perpetually stained with the blood of countless victims. A rancid stench, a mix of decay and death, hangs in the air as it approaches, sending a wave of nausea through me.
The creature's hands end in gnarled claws, each capable of inflicting unimaginable agony. Its skin, if it can even be called that, is pallid and stretched taut over its skeletal frame, with patches of frostbitten blue and ashen gray. It moves with unsettling grace, gliding through the forest with bone-chilling silence that defies its monstrous size.
The sight is enough to freeze the blood of even the bravest souls—a grotesque fusion of human desperation and unquenchable hunger. It takes several moments before my brain engages. My wolf rips free, taking over, and we run for our lives. My fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, and I howl for help, hearing the thundering crashes of its feet behind me.
My wolf breaks right, heading toward the open meadow. She knows if my guys are coming to my rescue, the open field is the best option. I run for what feels like forever before we break into the open expanse of the meadow. I howl again as panic sets in, thinking I won't live long enough to see my guys again.
The whooshing sound of beating wings closes in on my location, but I dare not turn. The fear of the rotting beast chasing me far outweighs my curiosity about who's behind me. Suddenly, the surrounding ground illuminates, and I feel heat embracing me.
It can only be one person. Easton. A thunderous crackle fills the air as the heat intensifies. A ring of fire sprays around me, capturing my wolf within the roaring inferno. I skid to a stop so as not to set myself on fire.
The howls and screams of the creature fill the air. The scent of scorched flesh and earth fills my nostrils, and my wolf suddenly gives me back my human form. I stare at the horned skeletal beast through the flames as a cone of fire is breathed down upon it until it succumbs. I watch its burning body hit the ground and finally still after several moments of jerking randomly in the fire.
I huddle near the only bush, naked, arms wrapped around me. Fear has embraced me, and I can't stop trembling as I watch the ten-foot-tall flames dance around me. Fire and flesh—or fur—simply don't mix well.
Eventually, I make out a form through the flames. It seems to pass through. Easton walks through the fire, impervious to its damage. He stands just inside the ring of fire, not a single scorch mark on him and, by some miracle, his clothing intact. He searches the interior until his eyes lock on me.
I get up without a second thought and run to him.
Our bodies crash together, and I press my forehead against his neck, wrapping my arms tightly around him. I feel him shrug off his jacket and wrap me up in it. Tears I've held in run like rivers down my cheeks when he scoops me up, carrying me bridal style. I raise my head for a moment and watch him lift a hand. The flames lower. The charred remains of the creature smolder outside where the ring of fire once stood. In the distance, I can see the rest of my mates running toward us.
My biggest fear has been realized. I am no longer the hunter, but the prey.
Chapter 5
Easton
