Episode Twenty-Seven The Hunt

D eklan

I love to hunt. I love everything about it: the trip to the hunting grounds, the way I must use every one of my senses to find our prey, how I have to sneak up on the animals, and the task of picking out what will be the tenderest of the herd.

I don't like killing, but I pray to the gods in thanks for feeding those of my pack. And I use every part of the animals' bodies so they don't die in vain.

This isn't the first time I hunt to feed my mate. Though I've been Mirron's mate for many seasons, this is the first time I hunt for our prize. When I return with the beef, I'll sear thick steaks and ensure both she and Mirron get the tastiest morsels. Who am I fooling? I'll be certain my brother gets a thick, juicy steak, too.

Luka and I are hiding behind a rise, watching the herd below in the valley. Wordlessly, we point out the two animals we've chosen. Just before I kiss my bowstring and let my arrow fly, I feel as if I've been struck by an arrow.

The pain is so forceful, it knocks me backward with a grunt.

As my hands scrabble at my chest, feeling for the arrow that must have pierced me, Luka hurries to my side.

I hear the herd take off running, something cows seldom do. Did I cry out when I was hit?

"Am I dying?" I ask my brother as I pant through my pain. I must be. I can't even feel the arrow that must be sticking out of my chest.

"Of what? What happened?"

"I've been shot," I whisper through the agony and the fear.

"Where?"

My eyes had been closed, helping me cope with the torment, but my lids pop open to assess the damage.

There is no arrow, no blood, no indication I've been struck in the chest. The realization hits me that this must be the matebond. I've heard of this, but never expected it.

"Mirron! I'm feeling Mirron's pain. He's been shot." A different type of suffering washes over me when I realize the agony radiating from my chest is my mate's agony. "Help me up."

As soon as Luka pulls me to standing and I take a deep breath, the pain dissolves and fades away. What does that mean? Is he dead? No. I feel the slightest relief. The bond is weak. A moment later, it begins to fade.

Terror seizes me like I've never felt before. I can't lose Mirron.

"My mate is in pain. He's badly wounded. We need to get back," I say, my tone so serious Luka would never challenge me.

"Can you walk, brother? You're okay to travel?" he asks, concern written all over his face.

"Yes. We're going to run until our sides ache, then walk only long enough until we can run again. I'm not even sure he's alive, Luka."

My gaze connects with his. When he was young, I often hid my emotions from him. I didn't want him to sense my fear when rations were low, or winter was coming on fast and we hadn't begun our move south yet.

Now, though, he's grown. I share my terror with him by the panic in my gaze.

"What are we waiting for?" he says as he takes off at a dead run.

Luka

I've always been the youngest. First, the younger brother, then the youngest of the pack. Even with the addition of Alliana, I still might be the youngest of all four of us. When she and I discussed it, we couldn't figure out which of us was born first. We giggled when we decided to celebrate on the same day. She says it's coming up.

Being the youngest is an easy position to play in the pack. Little is expected of you. I'll admit, I've used it as an excuse to be lazy at times. It's allowed me to sit back and watch others do the biggest share of the work.

That all changes today. Right this minute. For the first time, my brother needs me to step up, and I will.

Instead of him, it's me who blazes the trail. When I look at him and see his mouth open, panting, his hand clutching his side as if he's cramping, I'm the one who insists we stop.

When our water rations run low, I only pretend to sip the water, letting Dek have all he needs. He looks hollow, like he's only half the male he's always been. His mate is wounded, perhaps mortally. He can barely watch where he's going. He's consumed with worry for the male he loves.

I try to focus on my pounding feet, pushing my worries to the edges of my mind, but they muscle their way back to the center of my thoughts.

Alliana. She's with Mirron. Mirron is three times her size. He's skilled with a bow. He could intimidate the fiercest enemy. Is it the wolven pack? Those motherfucking, shit-slinging monks? Have they launched a sneak attack?

It's the only way they could have gotten the drop on Mirron. He's a minotaur, for gods' sake. And if they shot Mirron, perhaps killed him, what have they done to my prize?

Was she dragged to the wolven lair or up to the treetops with the monks? Could it be the centaurs? The water monsters? The ones they call the griffons? That's a type of monster I've never seen before, only heard of. We're not even in a peace pact with half the monsters on Earth. My mate could have been carried off by any number of things. She could be anywhere.

She could be dead.

That idea sears like a hot ball of lead in my stomach.

Why didn't I bite her? Give her my mating mark? I thought I was being honorable, waiting until we all did it at the same time. It seemed the right thing to do, but look where it's gotten me. Now I don't know if Alliana is alive or dead and won't be able to follow our matebond to find her.

I try to focus on Dek, making sure he keeps up, forcing him to take sips of water from our quickly depleting waterskin, but my mind is consumed with worry about the female who has so quickly become the center of my world.