Hunted [Wild Hunt Series: 1]

15: The Hunt

In the green light of an ominous morning Chrio moved at a different pace. Over the course of the week he'd done a good job of disappearing for long stretches at a time, appearing at daylight's close and leaving by the following sunrise like an illicit lover. Not that I wanted him as one. So he had the nicest body I in my short life had ever had the chance to get up close beside. (Excluding, of course, nude models from art class whose parts I'd gone blind to. I'd never been the kind of artist who found leaning into a stranger's privates particularly romantic.).  

I knew, when I smooshed my head back into the comforts of a pillow for the last time in who-knew-when, maybe ever, I knew exactly what I was doing: delaying the inevitable. Last night I'd only drifted into restless sleep when I stopped imagining what'd happen to me if any of the demons caught me.

And now I was face to face with one of them, and my mind was on the defensive, trying to paint Chiro into something better than he was. Yes, he the closest thing I had to a friend after Shail and the Walrus, but he was part of the reason I was here.

"Let's go," he said.

Groaning, I convinced myself to throw off my blanket and abandon the pillow. Chiro had played his part in putting me here in this world that felt like a dream most days. He forced me into this cursed landscape that had me fighting for survival. I was still angry at him for that, and he was still annoyed that he had a human and her marginally trained wild cat stinking up his room every night.

This morning the Prince didn't rush out the door. A quiet intensity possessed his steely eyes with a terrifying focus. When he turned them on me, I shivered, feeling like a spring antelope before a leopard. And somewhere deep down in my lizard brain, a primitive instinct rather liked it.

"Let's go," he repeated, reaching for his shirt.

I propped myself on my elbows. "Don't mind me," I hummed, pretending to stretch. He turned away with an impatient grunt. A cotton undershirt covered the inked sabertooth on his muscular shoulder and I caved into temptation, letting my nervousness hid behind physical admiration.

He was hot. Back in my minuscule hometown, I'd have bragging rights forever in my small town if I bagged a man like that.  Lucas would've been so jealous. The officer wasn't mine, but I missed his friendship. I could've used his advice right about now.

And so anger for the man before circled back around. My one chance to leave that tiny town, to see the world, to make new friends and find love... and Chiro had stabbed it in the chest.

"What the hell are you doing?" the Prince snapped. He stood over his desk  now,  flipping quickly though small documents. When he found whatever he was looking for, he shoved it into a small breastpocket and hit my shoulders with a pillow. "You aren't anyone's bride yet. They won't be content to wait for you."

And at his sharp tongue the foggy, dreamlike morning dissolved. My stomach felt off. My hands shook. I lost the energy to rebuke him. Instead I slunk around to the far side of a yawning Shail to get changed into proper attire. 

Turned out that heavy armor was easier to draw on my female characters than it was to actually wear it. They had experience and muscle and in some cases, supernatural abilities. I just knew what bits went where. On a week's notice, 'light armor' was as good as it got for me. After experimentation with the Walrus, we'd decided that leather worked best. I wasn't terribly agile or quiet in anything else. I was either getting stuck, creaking, or smashing around roots in the dark forest. I couldn't hide from Shail and I couldn't sneak up on a castle rat. So flexible, supple leather it was.

Of course, in the Walrus's personal assessment, if I got hit in the vitals by any one of the Hunt Lords, neither steel nor leather was going to save me. "Besides," he'd said, clasping my shoulder in his giant, sweaty palm. "Sneaky bastards belong in quiet material."