Hunted

by Meagan Spooner

  But the two faces flashed again before Yeva’s eyes, and suddenly she wasn’t so sure. She swallowed, her throat dry. “Talk?”

  “Yes.”

  Yeva’s head spun, and she slipped one hand free of her cloak to press her cold fingertips to her temple. “You want me to talk to you? In exchange for rest?”

  The footfalls ceased, and silence spread through the stones like the cold. Then the Beast’s ferocity returned in the form of the reverberating growl that made some primitive part of Yeva’s mind recoil and send urgent commands through her body to flee, hide, defend herself.

  “Never mind,” he snarled.

  And the footsteps retreated, back into the silence and the dark, and Yeva was left alone.

  “You may begin.”

  They were the same words the Beast used every day to signal that Yeva could remove her blindfold for the day’s target practice. He always led her to the same spot, far enough from the building that held her cell that she could not see it, could see nothing but trees.

  But when she pulled the silk down around her neck this time, it was different. The old, gnarled tree she’d used as a target was nowhere in sight, and the forest around her was new. She hadn’t noticed how familiar the other clearing had become. She could see her tracks leading off through the snow, and the Beast’s beside hers, the snow indistinct around his paw prints where his fur and his tail had swept it aside.

  Her bow and quiver were at her feet as usual, but there was no clear target. She hesitated, turning toward the Beast, who sat watching her as he always did. “I don’t understand,” she said slowly.

  “You were correct.” Only the tip of the Beast’s tail moved, flicking side to side where it curled around his haunches. “Real prey does not stand still, waiting to be shot. Today you will hunt.”

  A spark jumped in Yeva’s heart. She stooped to retrieve her father’s bow from the snow without taking her eyes from the Beast. “What am I hunting?”

  “Whatever you wish.”

  Yeva’s fingers curled around the bow grip, feeling where the carving was suited to larger hands, hands that would never draw it again. “And what’s to stop me from running?”

  “I will be watching you.”

  Yeva straightened, feeling a frown crease her forehead. “You’ll drive away the game,” she protested. “They’ll smell you, hear you. They’ll know there’s a predator after them.”

  The Beast’s tail stirred again, the only outward sign of any impatience. “They will not know I am there.”

  “It happened when my father was hunting,” Yeva argued, hand tightening still more around the bow. The fingers of her drawing hand itched to reach for an arrow—the instinct could not be reasoned with, or convinced of the futility of trying to fire upon the creature.

  “No.” The Beast’s reply was curt, the red-gold eyes the only color besides his fur in the snow-covered wood. But as he stared back at her, he seemed to soften, something about the pupils changing, the roundness of the eyes elongating into features more like a man’s. He blinked, then dropped his gaze from hers. “He drove the game away himself.”

  Yeva opened her mouth to protest, but a flash of memory prevented her from speaking. She saw her father bursting into the house after weeks in the forest, shedding snow as he stomped here and there, wild-eyed and impatient. The same madness that had him shoving her to the ground could have swallowed his skill and stealth as well.

  Then a thought stirred, falling into place. “You were watching him,” she whispered. “In the wood, before he died.”

  “Yes.”

  “You have need of a hunter.”

  “Yes.”

  A surge of anger so hot she could not swallow it down flooded Yeva’s mouth with the bitter taste of metal, and her hand shook where it gripped her father’s bow. “He was the best hunter in this country, perhaps in any country. You were following him, you could see his skill—why kill him? Why tear him to pieces and leave him for scavengers to pick over?”

  The Beast’s head snapped back up, eyes fixing on Yeva as they narrowed. He didn’t answer, but instead went still. Even his flicking tail stopped moving, leaving him so statue-frozen that the snowflakes caught in his fur, quivering with each beat of his heart.

  “Why?” gasped Yeva, her voice cracking, passion making her vision blur and body shake. “Answer me!”

  The Beast abruptly rose from his haunches and stalked a few paces, tail sweeping long troughs in the snow behind him. By the time he turned, Yeva felt she must have imagined that she’d seen something other than his bestial nature—his wolflike head hung low, gap-jawed, as a predator might scent prey on the wind. “Why we do anything is no concern of yours,” the Beast snarled, the words distorted as though speaking around his fangs had suddenly become difficult. “You may begin.”

  Time seemed to slow, as if caught by the roar of Yeva’s blood rushing past her ears, held back by the tension singing through every muscle. Her body stirred before her thoughts did, as if the hand reaching for an arrow from the quiver were giving the commands, and not her heart. She’d fitted the arrow to the string and stepped back on her left foot and drawn the bow before the impulse traveled deep enough to reach her thoughts, and by that time all she could think was I will kill him, kill him, kill him.

  And by the time she turned toward the Beast, he was gone.

  Yeva stood panting, bow still drawn, shoulders shaking with effort and breath steaming the air. The spot where he’d been was trampled, its outer edge more distinct with paw prints, the center only flattened snow and mud. There were no tracks leading away. And as she stood there, even his smell, that strange, ferocious musk, faded into the frost until all that was left was the sting of winter in Yeva’s nose while she struggled to catch her breath.

  She lowered the bow slowly, the tip of the arrow inscribing an arc through the snow as she moved. If you try to kill us again, the Beast had told her, make certain you succeed. He’d vanished before she could make that attempt and test the threat behind those words.

  Woodenly, jerkily, Yeva slung the bow over her shoulder and slipped the arrow back into the quiver, gathering herself to move. She didn’t know whether the Beast’s disappearance was magic or skill, whether he could will himself invisible or if he was simply so in tune with the forest that he could use it to mask even his scent. It didn’t matter. Either way his ability was greater than hers, and she had no choice but to do as he’d ordered.

  So she would hunt.

  Yeva looked up at the sky, what she could see of it through the spindly black arms of the trees. The sun’s position was concealed by a thick gray blanket of clouds, but she thought one spot of the sky seemed brighter than the rest. She’d been unconscious when the Beast brought her to the cell, and she’d been blindfolded each time she was led away, so she could not know where in the forest she was. But her father’s hunting cabin was north through the wood from the town where they’d once lived, and Yeva knew the Beast’s lair had to be farther into the dark heart of the forest than the cabin. So she chose the direction she thought might be south—and struck out.

  Despite the weeks of captivity, she fell into her old habits like she’d fall into a comfortable bed—the long-legged strides that ate up the ground without overtaxing her, the tuning of her ears to register each new sound and file it away as part of the background canvas. Compared to the silence of her cell the forest was alive with color and sound—the shading of the snow beneath an old gnarled tree, ranging from palest ice blue to deeper lilac, told of a hollow there, and a burrow beneath. The stirring out of the corner of her eye of a branch, far above her, betrayed the path of a squirrel leaping treetop to treetop. The harsh cry of a distant jay warned his fellows of an intruder, and told Yeva to move more carefully, more quietly.

  And all around, crossing this way and that like trails on a map of the invisible roads of the forest, were animal tracks. Some were fresh, like the long hopping troughs left by rabbits, or the delicate holes of d
ainty-pawed foxes trotting circles around their territories. Others were older, half filled with snow blown across them, more difficult to read.

  Yeva’s nose caught a faint, quick breath of a musky scent and her heart jumped, thoughts immediately conjuring an image of the Beast—but this scent was different, duller and more familiar. A few moments of searching uncovered a tree with long rents in its bark and tufts of brown-black fur caught in the splinters. Somewhere nearby a bear was hibernating with her young. Yeva could read that signpost as clearly as if it were spelled out with letters, and she gave the area a wide berth.

  Time passed, impossible to track without a clear view of the sun—an hour, maybe two, and the back of Yeva’s mind began to prickle, summoning thoughts that more and more she couldn’t ignore. Where is the Beast? It’s been hours since I saw or smelled even a hint of him.

  And then, Perhaps I can run. . . .

  He’d promised that he could disguise his presence from the animals whose senses were so much sharper than Yeva’s, and it was true that the only creatures startled from burrow and den were driven out by Yeva’s steps, not some unseen predator’s. But did that mean he was telling the truth? Or did it mean that he was no longer following her?

  There is something out there, her father had whispered, as he stared mad-eyed and wild at the fire in the hearth. Something cunning. Tracking me.

  Yeva, alone in the forest, shivered because she knew she wasn’t alone.

  Despite the hairs lifting on the back of her neck, her heart seemed to lift too, surrounded by the world she knew, the world she loved. Though she was still a captive, for these few hours she was free, and freer than she’d ever been on her hunting forays from her father’s cabin. Something about this world, the Beast’s valley, made her life at home seem like a far-distant memory. Her steps came easier, and the ache in her ribs seemed to ease as she breathed the fresh winter air. The tiniest tendril of a feeling flickered in her heart, licking out like flames to warm her freezing toes and aching fingers. She felt . . . at home.

  She came across the fresh tracks of a solitary deer almost by accident, her thoughts preoccupied. She had rarely hunted deer on her own before—her bow was not heavy enough to consistently puncture a deer’s thicker hide. But her father’s bow was. She pointed her boots in the direction of the deer’s tracks and set off.

  Without knowing when the last snow had fallen, or whether there had been recent wind to disturb the top layer of snowfall, it was impossible to know how long ago the deer had passed this way. It could have been an hour, or days. But she had no other choice than to follow where the tracks led, and hope it would bring her some success. By whatever measure the Beast was using.

  She’d been following the trail for an hour or two when a sound, distinct from the background tapestry of noises she’d cataloged, interrupted her. She paused midstep, one hand reaching for the bow over her shoulder, and listened.

  Something was coming toward her, and coming fast. Too large for fox or rabbit, but too small for bear or boar. The cracking, crashing noise of underbrush told of a creature with great, leaping strides, and as the seconds stretched, she heard labored breath coming in great renting gasps.

  A wolf?

  Yeva grabbed for the bow, pulling it off her shoulder and nocking an arrow to the string in a second. She braced herself, facing the sound of the oncoming animal, eyes searching the frozen wood.

  There. A torrent of motion, a furrow of flying snow and twigs. She caught a brief flash of fur amid the underbrush, not the shaggy gray she’d expected, but a pale gold. A wheezy yelp split the air, and Yeva froze, confusion washing through where certainty and had been moments before. That’s no wolf, that’s . . .

  The creature burst out of the bushes and flung itself at Yeva, knocking her backward into the snow. All was fur and yelps and whines and a tongue bathing her face, and freezing-cold paw pads stabbing at her gut, her thighs, a tail beating at her knees, her face, as the creature turned and turned and barked and panted hot breath on her skin.

  “Doe-Eyes!” Yeva cried, her voice tearing, grief and love and relief and fear tangling in her throat. How long must her dog have been searching for her? And in the kind of snow and cold she was not bred to withstand. “Oh, Doe-Eyes—you bad dog, you wonderful, terrible thing—”

  Then Doe-Eyes stomped on her chest in her enthusiasm to get as close to her mistress as possible, and Yeva’s ribs, still only partially healed, seared white-hot. Yeva let out a shriek of pain before she could stop herself.

  And then the Beast was there.

  He came from nowhere, snarling rage and fury, fangs bared and fur bristling with readiness. He leaped toward Yeva, turning her yelp of pain to a scream of genuine terror, and she pulled herself in tightly to shield herself from the blow she knew was coming—

  And then she opened her eyes to find the Beast standing over her, growling and shaking himself, staring down Doe-Eyes, who was now only a pace or two from her, all four legs planted in the snow, her own teeth bared.

  She felt the Beast gathering himself to attack, felt it like she could feel her own intentions, and she threw herself forward, grabbing for his shoulder, too suddenly fearful to realize it was the first time she’d touched him since the blindfold fell away and she saw who—what—he was. Too fearful to process what she’d seen—that he was protecting her.

  “No!” she cried, and felt his muscles bunch and halt under her hand. “No! She’s my friend—don’t—”

  The Beast paused, the lupine head turning so he could fix his eyes on Yeva once more. The pupils, dilated with the rush of the hunt, suddenly contracted in the snowy glare as the fight left his gaze.

  “I—” he said, and then Doe-Eyes leaped.

  She was a fraction of his size, and built for speed, not for fight—her long slender limbs let her vault as high as his shoulder, her teeth sinking into the flesh there and gripping. Her eyes were frantic, wild, full of fury toward the Beast she thought was attacking her mistress.

  The Beast gave a little roar, no more than a sluggish ripple of annoyance, and gave his great body a shake that dislodged the dog and sent her flying. Yeva’s heart shriveled, then snapped as Doe-Eyes collided with a tree and dropped into a heap in the snow, unmoving.

  BEAST

  I moved without thought.

  Instinct. Animal. Nothing more. The actions of a predator defending its kill, its territory, its property.

  And yet we did not decide to act, I did. Alone. I heard her voice, her stories, her softness as she spoke of her family, and her iron as she spoke of me—I heard her scream, and I moved without thought.

  We need her skills. That is all. Only she can free us from this torment, and that is what we were protecting. Our freedom. Our lives. Our hope.

  And yet . . .

  TEN

  “NO!” YEVA SCRAMBLED FROM beneath the Beast, who was still standing over her. Ignoring him, she lurched to her feet and sprinted to the spot where Doe-Eyes had fallen.

  Her dog lifted her head, and Yeva gasped for a breath as her heart started once more. Doe-Eyes whined at her, tail thumping once in pathetic appeal. She tried to stand, fumbling in the snow and yelping in pain.

  “No—stay.” Yeva pressed her hand against the dog’s head, firm and warm. “Lie down, don’t move.” That she was hurt somewhere was obvious, but Yeva could not see where. If she was bleeding, it was internal.

  She felt the Beast move up behind her, but could not find any spare feeling for him—her attention was on Doe-Eyes.

  The Beast rumbled once, an echo of the growling roar he gave when he reappeared. “She will die,” he said, voice as still and calm and emotionless as it ever had been.

  Yeva whirled, the movement kicking up snow. “No! She will not.”

  The Beast dropped onto his haunches, staring at her with those disconcerting eyes, wrapping his tail around himself and tilting his head like a great cat, unconcerned. “Why should it matter?”

  “Because I love her,
” Yeva snapped back. “She’s mine. She came here searching for me. She’s my responsibility. Do you not understand loyalty? Love? Do you have no concept of anything other than the hunt?”

  The Beast did not answer, continuing to stare, continuing to sit, continuing to exist in that hateful way, as though everything Yeva said was of no consequence. As though everything she thought or felt or did was a minor irritation to him, an annoyance to be borne and dismissed.

  Yeva spat a wordless cry at him and turned back to Doe-Eyes, reaching out to run a light hand down her dog’s body, watching her and trying to see if any spot caused her pain.

  The Beast’s voice came again after a moment. “Her leg is broken.”

  Yeva glanced over her shoulder. “How can you know that?”

  The Beast blinked. “How can you not?”

  Yeva ran her hand down first one foreleg, then the other—then jumped as Doe-Eyes yelped, her tongue lolling out immediately after, as if apologizing for having felt the pain at Yeva’s touch. “That’s the only injury?” she asked, eyes still on her dog.

  “Yes,” said the Beast.

  “You said she would die,” Yeva protested, stroking her dog’s head, doing her best to keep her still.

  “She will. In this cold, unable to walk or feed herself, she will die of starvation or exposure. It is . . . it is merciful to end her suffering.” The Beast paused, his gaze troubled again, that same look as before, like a man would furrow his brow. “I will do it if you wish.”

  Yeva’s hands trembled, and she kept one on Doe-Eyes as she stared at the Beast. One part of her longed to scream at him for his callous dismissal of life, to rail against the cold heartlessness of his offer to kill her beloved Doe-Eyes, her only friend in this bleak wood. But there was another part of her, the same corner of her heart that could read the scratches in a tree and tell the difference between the rustle of a rabbit and that of a squirrel. And that part of her heart ached with sudden understanding.