Wyld Fire (Wyld Heart 2)

Chapter 4 - Moon Gate

HUNTER

The bronze-skinned warrior curled his lip at the muddy remnants of the lake, nudging one of the corpses stranded on the beach with his toe. It had been a small fox, or perhaps a large hare, but it was impossible to tell without peeling the sagging grey meat from its bones. It was bloated beyond recognition, its hide long since peeled away by the boiling water that many animals had mistaken for refuge in the midst of the wildfire. No doubt the creature's hide had joined the festering raft of flotsam that formed a new skin over the deepest part of the lake.

More of a stagnant puddle than a lake, Hunter thought sourly, reluctant to give voice to his thoughts in present company. He snuck a glance at the raven-haired lycan by his side, wondering when the yellow-eyed boy had suddenly become a man. Despite numbering the same years as Hunter, Bradon had always seemed rash and immature, prone to childish fits of anger and violence. His worst qualities had only been amplified by the enabling presence of his late twin. Kadon had lost his head to a monstrous Orchid Mantis only two days ago, cleverly glamoured as the woman of his dreams.

Perhaps it was loss that matured him so quickly, Hunter thought, turning back to the lake. After his initial outburst of grief, Bradon had settled deep within himself, though Hunter could sense something simmering quietly beneath the closed lid of his composure. He only hoped it would not blow up in his face.

"This water is foul," Bradon muttered, eyes narrowing with displeasure. His voice was hoarse, stretched taut by leagues of silence. "Not even boiling it will suffice to remove the impurities."

"Aye," Hunter replied, rubbing at his jaw. He usually preferred a close shave; the itch of this stubble was driving him mad. "Perhaps we should have buried Kadon instead."

It hadn't taken long for Hunter to realise it was the funeral pyre they'd left unattended that sparked the raging forest fire. After sensing that Red was in danger through the mate-bond, Hunter had been so hellbent on finding her that he'd forged into the woods without a thought for what he was leaving behind. That mistake had very nearly cost him his life.

It had all been pointless, in the end. He was still too late to save her.

"No," Bradon said abruptly, his fingers curling into fists. "The pyre was a fitting send off for my brother. He would have been proud of the destruction he wrought, even in death."

Hunter felt a flicker of unease, recalling -- as he all too often did -- the way the twins had delighted in pulling off butterfly wings and grinding them to dust between their fingertips. "That he would," Hunter said, though it was far from a compliment. Until recently, the twins had been his life long rivals, and for good reason. He couldn't help but feel relieved that there was one less of them in the world.

"Mayhap Gordon's search fares better than ours," Bradon said, pivoting on his heel. "It would be unwise to cross the desert without refilling our canteens."

For once, Hunter was inclined to agree. Caustic irritation ate through his thoughts; he couldn't help but think his predicament was somehow Red's fault, for running away from the Blood Moon village to spite him. He'd seen the destruction left in her wake: the tortured remains of a Bone Snatcher; an entire forest laid to waste, first by a storm, then by a flash fire that ripped through the ancient trees as if they were nothing but parchment. It had drunk all the streams, eaten the flora and fauna, and flattened the rolling hills in its gluttonous rampage. He'd never seen anything like it in all his years of roaming the Wylds.

Now all that remained of Hunter's favourite hunting grounds were the Ashen Plains, a barren wasteland with no food, water, shelter or vegetation to sustain them. While Hunter believed his small party could cut straight through the Plains in a single day, he knew they would risk dying of dehydration if they were somehow waylaid. Only a fool would cross without refilling their skins and drinking deep in preparation.

That was proving difficult, however, as the only water they could find was beyond purifying. Hunter scowled, wishing fervently that he could skip the three days travel and find himself home, where finding water was as easy as pulling a bucket up from the bottom of the well. To think that he could have been home right now, blissfully ignorant and secure in his routine, warming the bed of whichever maiden took his fancy! What had he been thinking, leaving behind all of those creature comforts to chase down Red?

Ah, but the temptation of that old habit rolled off him like water off a duck's feathers; those women were ghastly shades compared to the vibrant woman he'd found in the Wylds, his perfect match in every way. Red had been utterly transformed by her independence, and she'd shone in his eyes like a star when they'd finally reunited. Her heat, her scent had filled every inch of him with desire so intense his loins stirred even now at the thought of it.

Hunter's daydream settled in like smoke, and suddenly it was Red sharing his bed, his breakfast table and his pedestal in the Gathering Hall. It was Red he shared his body with; his deepest and most vulnerable thoughts, alongside the inane and mundane. Dear Goddess, he saw a future with her!

Something seized in his chest. Hunter clutched at it, gasping quietly as he felt her heart stop all over again, as if her pain was still echoing through the mate bond. He felt the Weaver's venom sear through her veins, bore witness yet again to her life of suffering, suffering that he had so callously ignored.

To think that he'd thrived all those years, utterly oblivious to her agony. To think that he'd initially dismissed her as a potential mate, on account of her weak heart; a condition prescribed by his father, for a reason that ultimately eluded Hunter. She'd been frail and sickly then, with the pallor and sunken eyes of a corpse, but who might she have become with Hunter's support? If only he'd welcomed her with open arms the day their mate bond had snapped into place! If only his father hadn't poisoned her for years, so he might have recognised his perfect match at first glance!

Instead, Red was dead, her corpse no doubt infested with Weaver eggs that would hatch and strip the flesh from her bones. And Hunter's future was gone along with her, because he'd been too stupid, too arrogant, to follow her to the ends of the earth and protect her along the way.

No, none of it was her fault, he thought despondently, spiralling into self-loathing. It's entirely my own. I was too foolish to see that what I wanted was right in front of me all along.

But a thorn wriggled at the edges of his conscience, and he had to pinpoint it before he could yank it out. Hunter accepted the blame for his current predicament, but had to acknowledge that his father had a hand in it, too. His own hands curled into fists.

"It will never go away," Bradon said. Hunter flinched, startled by the reminder of his presence. "But you will learn to bear it."

"Perhaps," Hunter allowed, turning his back on the watering hole of death and decay. "Come, let us see if we can find Gordon."