Author's Notes:
Hey there! If this is your first time checking out the series, you shouldn't have any problem figuring out where things stand with this chapter/volume, but if you like what you read, please consider taking a look at the first chapter (also on this site and my account).
This chapter was brought to you by the very generous donations and patronage of fans of the series who help me buy food and warm socks so I can write smut for you!
These wonderful people are the reason you're reading this, so please give them a thanks!
Tristan
Alonsis
Asmund Bell
Apothecary29
David A.
Orodreth
Drawkward
*****
Volume 3 Chapter 3
3 – Let the Hunt Begin
Briee was quiet; careful. She stayed at a distance, yo-yoing between a hundred paces and almost triple that. The pounding rain that tore through the dense canopy of trees did a lot to mask her scent, it even helped with some of the noise as she stumbled through the thick brambles and gnarled roots of a forest still trying to claim whatever tiny slivers of untouched earth remained.
She was sure that the humans, slowed now by rain and the slurry of mud that had filled in the feeble 'road' parting the woods, would see her. But despite being in field plate and carrying her shield and sword, neither the humans or the lycan pack seem to pick up on her scent or the noise she made trudging through the mess of vegetation.
The hunt was always to one's preferred skill set. Her father's children lived and, occasionally, died by those restrictions innate to any pact. They were expected to carry out their hunts in a prescribed manner, as though they were some kind of mindless automaton. It was ridiculous, even to Briee. The heavy blade at her belt and years of heavy weight training had ensured she was ready for just about anything, but forsaking tactics and adapting? Was that truly the way of the dragon?
Briee watched over the rim of her red bandanna as the armored soldiers pulled their horses along the trail, trying to avoid the worst of the holes in the slick, muddy road where a rock had been washed away. The grey Alpha was trailing behind them in wolf form, ears perked forward and attentive despite his hair being matted down by constant rain and mud. His pack was only a few steps behind. They both had their own set of tactics, she imagined. Adaptable. Flexible.
They also had obliviousness on their side. No one noticed the short girl in plate armor taking a breather in the shade of the tree. It was insulting in some way, she had come to the Beson forest to hunt down the legendary Corengi pack, to take a trophy that would prove to her father that she was worthy of his blessings, but here she was trailing a bunch of whelps and their human counterparts. Barely worth her attention if not for the horses.
She missed meat. Real meat. Meat from the kind of animal she could give a running start to and actually
relish
the hunt. A dragon had to be patient, though. The year hadn't been in vain, she promised herself. She'd come a long way since her first night. She'd show her father that she wasn't 'too human' to contain the soul of a dragon.
There was a dozen ways this could go, she mused. Something had spooked the Alpha bad enough to keep him at a distance, perhaps the only thing that made this group of soldiers interesting at all. Maybe it was one of the Corengi mixed among the soldiers. . .
Yes! Why hadn't she thought of that sooner? They were notorious for taking human form among their intended victims and wreaking havoc among therm until the intended meal was so confused and frightened that defending themselves from the onslaught to come would be impossible.
Briee closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in the wet earth smell of the forest. She opened her eyes slowly, leering at the precession for what felt like an eternity. She'd prove to her father she was worthy of a pact. She'd catch this lycan and sacrifice him-- in her father's name.
Yes. Yes, she would be accepted. She would show him her true strength and she'd be rewarded for it. Briee swept her gaze over the line of soldiers and lycans once more, settling on one of the men near the back of the line. She mentally marked the first of many targets before the week was out.
# # # #
Amaranth could have sworn she heard something but every time she turned or glanced, she couldn't make out any specific forms in the thicket. The trees were so densely packed that even the shadows seemed layered beyond the road. Elven night vision be damned, between the cold, hammering rain and gloom, she may as well have been blind.
It was places like this that made people paranoid. Rumors, like the ones spreading through the solders' ranks didn't help anything, either. Talk of rustling noises in the camp at night or reports of men wandering about naked who, when confronted walked off into the forest and disappeared. She'd lost several nights sleep trying to catch sight of man, but so far he hadn't made an appearance when she was on guard. That wasn't to say there wasn't anything out there, no. She could feel a pull on the fringes of her soul; a tingling like the kiss of razor wire run flat along her skin.
All told, it wasn't the worst that could have happened in this forest, but the toll the rumors were taking on morale was starting to become a tangible thing. Every night they made camp, every time the soldiers opened their mouths, there was a kind of edge. It was the sound of men too disquieted to focus and too macho to admit their fear.
In the three days since her vicious and beautiful lovemaking with Richard, supplies had gone missing, more shadows had been seen moving about the camp than at a post-wartime brothel, and the general quality of life had decreased to the point that soldiers quietly complained about the sleeping rotations and reduced rations. Worse still, some openly bemoaned the fact that only Richard was allowed to sleep the whole night through.
There was dissension among the soldiers and despite the sergeant at arms trying to curtail it, Amaranth could see the wariness in their glances and the anger in some of their voices when they'd murmur about how they were unjustly pulled from their families to serve a 'knife ear' mandate.
But then, on the forth day of their trek, under a thick blanket of muggy heat and crushing boredom, someone uttered the phrase "Bet ol' Slant dropped a whisper in in his ear. His father'd never do that." Whether it was her hyper awareness in the face of danger or because that particular name had a history, Amaranth picked the conversation out among the din of insects and wildlife.
The name had been something her 'friends' had called her when she was young, something their human parents had used to reference the rearward slant of her pointed ears without coming out and saying that she, a half-blood would never be truly accepted in a human city. Old hatreds died hard, and the elves didn't have many friends as it was, so seeing someone straddle the line between their races always made for a source of amusement. Or anger. Afterall, for her to have been born, both parents had betrayed the purity of their own race. It wasn't any of this that allowed her her position. It was fortune, having been given to a high ranking aristocratic family had kept her alive during the early years, but it didn't make her immune to the jabs of her peers.
Still, the name set the hair on the back of her neck on end. She immediately turned, leaving her horse to stand as equally dumbfounded as Markus. The soldiers surrounding the Duke started to part, but for a split second there was that hesitation.
"Who said it," Amaranth scanned the faces of the men. "Who's the soldier looking to make himself a serf among you."
