“You still have the blade I gave you?” Wyatt asks, climbing out of the front seat.
Nodding, I slip my hand into my crossbody pouch, noting the silver hunting knife safely snug inside of its sheath. I take Wyatt’s hand and step out of the old hatchback. With an aching heart, I look back one last time at baby Sylvie and press a kiss to her delicate brow.
Maurleen gives my ribs a proper squeeze. Her cinnamon scent eases the nerves brewing inside of me. Stepping back, she says, “Remember the abandoned cabin near the clearing. The wolf with lightning in his eyes. Trust no one else.”
“I’ll remember,” I say with a sniffle.
She grins, unable to conceal the tremble in her own lip.
Wyatt is quick to intervene. “Ladies, we agreed on no tears. Time to get on with it.”
He grabs my bags and walks up to the attendant’s booth that’s currently unoccupied. So far, we’re on track with the plan—slip into the forest early enough so that my human scent will not be obviously detected once the hunt commences. I lift the shawl up over the bridge of my nose and follow.
Wyatt removes the registration forms from his coat pocket and clicks his pen, offering both to me. I jot my name down on the designated line.
Entrant 49: Vespera Lemaire.
Along the line that requires a pack name, my pen leaves a hesitant dot. Ultimately, it stays blank and Wyatt deposits the papers into the collection bin.
The wind is sharp as glass against my brow, causing me to flinch. My loyal guardian wraps an arm around me and walks me to the timber gates, where I will pass through before the bell is rung.
Wyatt clears his throat, hung up on what to say. As a man of few words, it’s not unusual.
Clasping his hand, I take the lead. “Thank you for all you have done. I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”
Wyatt pulls me in and kisses the top of my head, reminding me to send word once I’m settled. The hairs of his chest tickle my nostrils, snow flurries swirling around us. I manage to smother a shivering sob in my throat.
This isn’t what it looks like,I tell myself. You are not abandoning another family.
His voice is uneven as he forces himself to step out of the embrace. “Best you get after it, Vessa. No matter what happensout there, you keep running. The second you hesitate, you’re done for.”
Chapter 4
VESSA
As a performer, one might assume that my greatest fear was rejection or forgetting my lines onstage, but neither of those things come close to the harrowing forest. For hunters, Shanoah is a playground. For wild beasts, a shelter. For me, it’s nightmare fuel.
My breath dissipates in a thick cloud. I am no stranger to the cold. For the last ten months of my residency with Glacier Meadow, most days resembled this one: pale skies and perpetual subfreezing temperatures with windchills that practically gnaw on your bones. By now, my blood has thickened to endure the snow, the lashing winds, the pulsing pink throb in my nose. And yet, I’ve never felt more vulnerable than here in the untamed wilderness.
There’s a multitude of deaths waiting for me beyond the thick wall of granite cliffs at the border. Apart from the desperate lycans, there are bears, mountain lions, and native lesser wolves that travel in packs. My daily lavender ritual should be enough to ward off my scent while keeping other curious predators at a distance. While I am armed with a knife, what I really need to make my way out of this alive is a rifle. But that would draw too much attention.
The entire marked course extends about twelve miles, so even with an hour’s head start, I will have to move quickly if I want to avoid any lycans before I reach shelter. Thinking back to my previous briefing of the terrain, Maurleen had said to avoid the rocky clearings and keep an eye out for an isolated log dwelling around mile number eight. A series of creeks flow just east of the house which I can follow to a main road if something goes awry. Once the sun sets behind the evergreens, my chances for survival will plummet.
Beneath my shawl, the zipper of my powder grey suit chafes against the underside of my chin. I note a series of boulders coming into view, indicating the fourth mile marker. Since I am making decent pace, I pause to take a swig of water from the canteen clipped to my corset. The frigid rim of the bottle stuns my lips as the liquid seeps down my throat.
Several yards away, a doe grazes, using her snout to search for any vegetation that may be holding on for life amidst the frost. If she is aware of my presence, she is unbothered by the crunches of my feet disturbing the carpet of decaying leaves.
Twisting the lid of the canteen, I suck in a breath. It’s so quiet. Too quiet. Can I even trust my senses out here?
A howl ripples through the treetops, startling the deer.
Shit.How long ago did the bells ring?
The detection of danger sinks into my stomach, driving me onward. With every step, slick rubble slides beneath my boots. As my stride accelerates, the air chafes my lungs like sandpaper. But the cold is the least of my worries now that the hunt has begun. Light as a field mouse, I vanish into heavy brush. My hands reach for the shawl, and I coil it tighter around my neck.
After a silent stretch of meandering through the pines, I force myself to rest a moment. I curse at the pastel sky, astounded by how it could possibly drop ten degrees in the span of two hours. This suit provides some insulation, but at this point, the onlything that might give me the energy to continue is the food in my pack. I wasn't planning to eat the snack until finding the cabin, but my body is on the verge of fainting. With shaking hands, I open the pouch and toss back a handful of nuts. Just in time to realize that I've made a mistake. I never should have trusted the silence.
A predator has keyed in on me. The wolf cocks his head curiously, eyes sweeping over me. I straighten my spine, keeping my gaze trained on his burgundy hide as I reach for the hunting knife . . . and break into a full sprint.
