Chapter 3

S carlet frowned and pulled Rain to a stop outside her grandmother's cottage. Scarlet sat still, her long ears twitching as her eyes meticulously moved from side to side. No matter how long she searched, Grandma wasn't here.

The weather grew colder, the ground becoming slick with a mix of mud from the horse. The cottage and barn were blanketed in a thick layer of snow, ice clinging to the roofs and trees like a glittering cloak. Not even the animals had ventured outside to disturb its pristine appearance.

The feeling was back, that pit in her stomach that said get ready. It always hit before an ambush or a fight at the tavern. Her dad had always smiled with pride whenever she'd warn him about this feeling. He never doubted her, so she never did, either. It had saved her life more than once.

The stillness in the air was nearly suffocating, like all the Feral Forest waited with bated breath. Scarlet's heart raced, the emotions threatening to cloud her judgment, even as she stretched her senses as far as they could go.

Grandma wasn't in the house, the barn, or the garden... but a brilliant blue and gray aura swirled within, barely visible through the walls. Someone else was in the kitchen, someone with two auras.

The swirling blue and gray was like two different auras in one. She saw it on Eirwyn to a degree, with the pregnancy. But this was vastly different. More entwined instead of two separate auras of two different people.

That couldn't be right. The thick wooden walls of the cottage must be throwing her off. Built into the side of a giant living tree, the roof intermingled with the pine branches above.

The hair on her nape stood up, and her tail swished against the horse's flank. She watched the house as she led Rain along the outer edge of the clearing to the back side of the barn. Nothing broke the stillness except the crunch of Rain's hooves on the frozen ground. Not a bird or a squirrel or a rabbit.

Her nose twitched as she sniffed the air. The aura hadn't moved in the house. It was alive, whatever it was, and it was unusual. Most people had a single aura. They came in a variety of colors and strengths, but this one… Being able to penetrate walls with her senses was a new gift.

She scowled and slowly slid off her horse, leading her to the warmth and safety of the barn. No, it wasn't a fucking gift. It was a curse, one that she intended to end. And if it couldn't be fixed, there was the matter of how to get revenge on the queen. She'd have to be careful in how she went about it, since she didn't want to alienate Eirwyn. Her sister-in-law still seemed attached to her childhood friend and brother's widow.

Eirwyn. Scarlet blinked and sped up her movements. She had to find Grandma and bring her back to help Eirwyn deliver the dragon egg. Maybe the person in the cottage would know where she'd gone. It was probably a Robin from the village.

The aura was all wrong, though. No other Robin looked like that. She'd just left the village that morning, and the villagers and the Robins were the only people who knew where the cottage was.

A Robin, most likely.

Are you trying to convince yourself? What do your instincts tell you?

Her jaw clenched at the echoing memory of her father's voice in her head. That feeling drove her heart rate up and her stomach twisted in anticipation for a fight.

The stranger was dangerous, perhaps had even hurt Grandma. If she was dead, that would explain her missing aura. The thought sent her into quiet action.

She slid off Rain's back and led her into a stall with food and water. There was no time to unsaddle; she had to find out if Grandma was safe.

She padded on silent feet across the clearing to the kitchen, the crunch of snow loud in the stillness.

The last time there'd been surprise visitors here... She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, but the fear remained. Her hands hovered over her dagger sheaths as she focused on trying to mute the sound of her steps.

She stopped at the window beside the back door and peeked inside, her heart in her throat.

A great, hulking dark shape lay on the floor. She could barely see the shadow of it through the window. Her mind warred with her rising panic as she cautiously withdrew her hidden daggers. One pointed down to stab and the other she held with the blade along her forearm to block or slash. Some of the fear abated with them in her hands.

She breathed deeply, evenly, waiting and watching, but the threat didn't stir. There was no sign of struggle or Grandma either.

She crept to the rear door off the kitchen and cracked it open. It creaked, making her freeze in fear as her heart skipped a beat. But the figure on the floor didn't move. She bent her knees and turned sideways to fit her antlers inside, hugging the wall.

Her eyes fell on the body, and her breathing grew loud in her ears. Her body shook, but she couldn't move. Terror flooded her, reminding her of the dungeon, the helplessness.

The herbal scents of the cottage flowed over her, calming her with each panicked breath until she was breathing long and slow. She had to assess the situation and think logically like she'd been trained.

On the floor lay a real-life Growler, a massive gray and black wolf, larger than any normal animal.

This was the type of monster that had killed her mom. Tightness pressed on her chest, and her pounding heart morphed the fear into anger at having her mother ripped from her.

If the Feral Forest's magic didn't kill intruders in the forest, the Growlers would. They only knew how to hunt, kill, and fuck, and those who met Growlers face-to-face didn't live to tell the tale. She had to get rid of him before he jumped up and killed her or worse.

The thoughts raced through her mind as she took a deep breath. She would not give in to the fear or let this monster escape.

She launched herself at him, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and anger. She straddled his back, pressing the daggers against his skin with trembling hands. Her heart raced with adrenaline, urging her to hurt him, while her conscience—her grandmother's voice—tugged at her, reminding her that violence wasn't the answer. With each dig of the dagger, she felt torn between revenge and remorse.

The blades barely drew blood. It wasn't nearly enough to hurt him for what his people had done to her mother. She wanted to hurt him, to make him pay for what they had done, but as she pressed harder against his neck, her hand trembled and her heart raced.

As she stood in front of the giant, wolf-like creature on the floor, the flickers of humanity in its blue and gray aura swirled like a stormy sky. Despite his monstrous appearance, there was something undeniably human about him. She'd never second-guessed taking a life before. Thinking back to past missions, even her first kill hadn't given her this inner turmoil. Those jobs had all been thorough, cold, and calculated. She'd known exactly what kind of person she was hunting.

Although this Growler, this monster should be an automatic kill on sight… she couldn't bring herself to do it. Call it an unspoken bond, a familiarity like reuniting with a long-lost friend, a shared connection, an animal sense of understanding how hard it was to live with a dual nature—whatever the fuck it was, she couldn't kill him.

The scent of blood filled her nostrils, and she pushed aside her emotions to logically categorize the situation.

A thin layer of gray, black, and white matted fur oozed sticky blood in several places, not just from her knife. The fur was thick in some places like his chest but barely peach fuzz everywhere else.

Oh damn, how could a four-legged wolf have fucking biceps like a wrestler? A tail stuck out just below the waistline, exactly like hers. Her long, red tail swished from side to side, some part of her recognizing him.

She was not a Growler, deer, or rabbit, but some other abomination instead. Some deep part of her didn't want to hurt him. Her mind shied away from questioning why not. That way led to more emotions, and she didn't want to give into those.

He shifted on the floor underneath her, trying and failing to push-up onto four feet, and she stiffened on him.

"Don't move, you fucking monster."

Her gaze met the eerily golden eyes of the animal over his shoulder. Other than blinking slowly, he didn't move, but the sense of familiarity made her whole body run hot.

She licked her lips, her mind stuttering to comprehend. Try as she might, she couldn't kill him, not a wounded creature in her grandmother's kitchen. He was a monster, one she'd run from for years. She'd never been this close to one. They'd never been this real .

Braced between her thighs, he was hot as lava and clearly sick with fever. How many creatures had Grandma patched up in this kitchen? She'd be mortified if Scarlet killed one, even a dreaded Growler.

She cleared her throat and moved to take her weight onto her knees and off his body, shifting her head to re-balance her antlers. What good was a Hunter who wouldn't kill a monster? What the hell was wrong with her?

Disgust and anger warred within her.

She kept the daggers pointed at him, ready to pounce again if necessary. "What are you doing here?"

He blinked slowly and whimpered, the high-pitched whine of a dog. He struggled to lift his head, but he had no fight left.

Looking at his elongated face reminded her of who he was though...what he was.

The last time a Growler had pushed through the magical boundaries around the cottage, Scarlet's mother had been killed.

She dug one pointed tip of the dagger against the jugular of his neck. "Did you attack my grandmother? Where is she, and why are you here?"

Dear gods, don't let her be dead. Emotions clawed at her throat, but the Growler's eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped to the floor. The pool of blood was spreading, and for the first time she noticed that the front door was open. A trail of blood and snow led straight to him.

She reached over to touch it and rubbed her fingers together. He'd been here a few hours already based on the blood, and he wasn't going to move on his own, not with those injuries.

With a quick glance around, she got up and strode through the kitchen to the living room, her eyes taking in every detail as she shut the front door. Tidy kitchen, clean countertops, and neatly stacked dishes in the open cabinets. The long, wooden table separated the living room, which had two plush chairs flanking the large fireplace.

Nothing was out of place, other than the Growler bleeding all over the floor. The scent of herbs filled the air, covering up the tangy metallic blood that always made her heart race. Both rooms were neat as a pin, and Grandma would throw a fit if she saw the mess he'd left through the great open room. Bloody footprints marred the shining wooden floor, mixing with melted snow and ice.

Scarlet took the stairs two at a time, jerking to a halt when her antlers tangled with some drying herbs.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered, going slower as she removed leaves and plants from around her head and searched the rooms upstairs. Grandma's hairbrush and toothbrush were gone, along with her favorite floral print carpet bag. Maybe she went to the old druid's circle again to talk to the spirits?

Six months ago, if she would've found a Growler here, she would've slit his throat with no hesitation and said good riddance.

But she wasn't just a Hunter anymore. She had responsibilities to help the other cursed villagers. Plus, the wolf part of her curse complicated things. It was the only reason she hadn't killed him, why her stomach was so knotted at the thought of ending him. That had to be it.

If grandma was at the druid's circle, she'd not be back for days. She needed to clean up his mess before Grandma returned. If she was going to be here in the cottage with him, she might as well patch him up too.

Scarlet went back downstairs and stood over him. He didn't move, so she nudged him with her boot. He didn't grunt or groan or open his eyes.

Her heart raced again, and she knelt to feel for a pulse. She breathed a sigh of relief to feel a thready and weak heartbeat. Then she scowled and jerked her hand away. What did she care if the fucker died? That would be so much easier.

She ran her hands over his head. The fur was more like a mane of knotted and matted gray and black hair. Her hands tingled at the tickle of his fur, and they came away from the back of his head covered in the sticky juice of life.

She searched the rest of him, down his neck, and over his back. Carefully, she rolled him over and winced. Her chest ached at the sight of so many injuries.

Several gaping wounds still bled steadily at the shoulder, ribs, neck, and foot. Red mixed with the black, gray, and white fur all over his muscular body. Smaller scratches had caked with dirt and congealed into crusty scabs, sticking to his thick layer of fur.

She watched his chest, barely rising and falling. Her chest tightened as she looked up at his battered and bruised face.

He was going to die. She should be relieved to be rid of one more monster in the world, but strangely the fear threatened to choke her again. She knew in her soul that she had to fight to save him.

Besides, Grandma would want her to fix this. It wouldn't have mattered to Grandma whether he was a Growler or not. He'd obviously come here for help, and with him passed out cold, he was harmless and close to the Beyond.

She pursed her lips and got to her feet, pulling out a pan to start boiling water. She'd work to save him, but she wasn't going to rush around in panic.

Instead, she set the pot on the stove and lit it with a match, before going to the medicine cabinet and setting out herbs and jars for a poultice.