The Choosing

by Annabelle Jacobs

  They walk for hours. Serim bounds up ahead to check for signs of either the hunters or the raiders and their prisoners; but each time she comes back silent, just the annoyed swish of her tail telling Jerath she’s seen nothing.

  They manage to find a small grove of apple trees by the side of a stream and decide it’s as good a place to stop as any. It’s only late afternoon, but they’re both tired from the early start. It’s Jerath’s turn to be in his shifted form, and he stalks off to check the surrounding area while Serim sinks down onto the cool grass and leans back against one of the thick trunks. He prowls over to her after finding nothing untoward and flops down next to her with his head on her lap.

  She ruffles his fur, scratching her fingers behind his ears, and Jerath yawns and pushes against her hand. He never thought it would feel this good to be “petted,” but it does, and Jerath can’t hold back the deep, rumbling purr that reverberates through his chest.

  Serim laughs and tickles under his chin. “You’re such a softie, Jerath. You won’t scare anyone like this.”

  He bares his teeth and flicks his tail at her, but she just ignores him and carries on stroking his fur. Jerath closes his eyes with a contented sigh and decides that if anyone needs scaring, then Serim will have to do it. Her panther is much more suited to that anyway.

  JERATH is dozing in his jaguar form, his head still in Serim’s lap, when he smells the unmistakable scent of humans. He flattens his ears and listens. They’re coming from the southwest and Jerath can tell that there’s definitely more than one. He bares his teeth and growls, low and menacing, and slowly gets to his feet.

  Serim’s hand drops to the ground and she startles awake. “Jerath?” she whispers. She looks at his stance: teeth bared and shoulders hunched. “What is it?”

  Jerath hisses and snarls, his tail twitching back and forth, and looks in the direction of the approaching men.

  “We have visitors?” she asks, and Jerath nuzzles her hand in answer.

  He’s just about to shift back when Serim lays her hand on his back. “Wait.” She closes her eyes and sniffs the air. “Southwest and quite a few of them by the sounds of it.”

  Serim had told him that her senses were heightened because of her animal form, but he hadn’t realized by how much before now. He can hear their feet as they march through the grass, their chatter and laughter as they walk closer and closer to him and Serim. Jerath is a little shocked when he realizes that Serim can hear it too.

  “They’ll be here soon, Jerath. We could hide, but….”

  She meets his eyes and Jerath tries hard to convey how much he hates that idea. They need to know if these men can help them, no matter how risky it might be.

  “No. We need to find out who they are.”

  He paces in front of Serim, protecting her as much as he can.

  “I need to stay in my human form. If they’re hunters from the Southern lands, I’ll need to be able to talk to them. But if they’re members of the raiding party….” She’s quiet for a moment, and Jerath can smell a hint of fear. He pushes up against her legs and whines. “If it’s the raiders, then I’ll shift and we’ll run away as fast as we can.”

  Jerath snarls and shows his teeth. The last thing he wants to do is run. If it is the raiders, he’ll tear them limb from limb for what they’ve done. He’ll—

  “Jerath!” Serim hisses. “I can tell what you’re thinking, but that’s your animal instinct. We can’t beat them all, and us getting caught or killed won’t help the others.”

  Jerath struggles to contain his urge to attack. He knows Serim’s right but it’s hard to let it go. She strokes her hand down the length of Jerath’s back and he calms under her touch. They wait in silence. Both have their eyes trained on the trees where the strangers should appear any minute now.

  They don’t have to wait much longer before several voices can be heard, getting louder and louder until a large group of young men breaks through the trees. Some don’t even look much older than he and Serim, and Jerath is almost positive they aren’t the raiders. He feels Serim relax beside him, obviously thinking the same thing.

  “Who are you?” One of the strangers steps forward. He’s tall, with golden skin and almost white-blond hair; he’s one of the younger ones. Jerath licks his teeth and lets his gaze sweep over the length of the man’s body. He has broad shoulders, and Jerath can see a flat and tightly muscled stomach through the open front of his tunic.

  “Jerath, focus,” Serim mutters under her breath.

  She sounds a mixture of angry and amused, and Jerath knows he’d be blushing right now if he was human. He huffs and flicks her with his tail.

  “I am Serim, of Eladir.”

  Jerath curls around her legs, baring his teeth at the men.

  “Eladir?” The young man looks confused. “You’re a long way from home.”

  “You know of our village?” she asks, and Jerath studies the man some more.

  He has a dark wooden bow slung over his shoulder and a large, serrated-edged knife tucked into his belt. Definitely hunters. They all look too young to have been with the hunters who visited Eladir before, but it’s possible they could be from the same village.

  “Yes, we’re familiar with the villages of Eladir, Lakesh, and Westril. You’re shifters, yes?”

  Serim nods, and her hand tightens in Jerath’s fur. Not everyone is comfortable with shifters, and Jerath waits to see how they will react.

  The young man steps forward with his hand outstretched, and Jerath instinctively crouches low to the ground and snarls. The man falters and holds up both hands instead.

  “Hush.” Serim strokes her hand down Jerath’s flank and looks up at the hunters. “You’d best stay there. We’ve recently had some trouble and my friend is a little protective.”

  “Okay, okay.” The man looks wary, but doesn’t step back. “I’m Meren. And we”—he waves a hand over the men standing behind him—“are all from the Southern lands of Kalesaan. We’re on a hunt, looking for food for the winter. What are you two doing so far from home?” Meren’s gaze falls on Jerath, and he looks at him with an almost awed expression. “Is she a shifter too?” he asks, before Serim has a chance to answer any of his other questions.

  Jerath huffs in amusement.

  “Yes, he is,” she says. “And we’re traveling south to find the hunters who helped our village five years ago. They were from the village of Chastil. Do you know it?”

  The men behind Meren start to talk among themselves, but it’s too quiet for Jerath to hear clearly. Meren holds a hand up and they fall silent. “We are from Chastil. I believe my father may be one of the hunters you’re looking for.”

  Serim gasps and flings her arms around Jerath’s back, burying her face in his fur. “We found them, Jerath. We found them.” He turns his head and nuzzles at her until she laughs and stands back up.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, and wipes a stray tear away with the back of her hand. “It’s just that we’re so glad to have found you. We really need your help.”

  MEREN’S camp is about half an hour’s walk from the apple grove. Jerath and Serim walk beside Meren at the front of the group. Jerath is still in his jaguar form—he doesn’t trust them enough to shift back yet—and he listens closely as Serim fills Meren in on what happened to their village and its people.

  “What did they look like?” Meren asks. “The raiders, I mean.” His eyes flicker down to Jerath as he speaks, and Jerath can already tell Meren’s one of those who are fascinated with the idea of shifters.

  It makes Jerath feel a bit strange, as though he’s something of a spectacle, but regardless of that it’s a nice feeling to have Meren’s attention. He has lovely deep-blue eyes with dark lashes, and Jerath wonders if they’ll still seek him out as much when he’s human again.

  “They were dressed much like you and your men,” Serim answers, and gestures to Meren’s clothing. “They carried bows and hunting knives too.”

  Jerath watches Meren�
��s face for his reaction. Meren frowns and shares a look with a couple of the men on his other side. “They sound like hunters from Kalesaan, but no one I know of would raid a village for slaves.”

  “Oh… they had whips too,” Serim adds, and Jerath feels the anger rush through her body as she no doubt thinks about Ghaneth. Her fingers are hanging down by her side and Jerath nips at them, licking her palm to let her know he feels it too.

  “Eww, Jerath.” She glares down at him and wipes her hands on her loose trousers, but the anger has gone and Jerath hums with approval. Serim strokes the soft fur behind his ear and whispers, “Thank you,” so quietly only Jerath seems to hear it.

  “Isn’t that weird?” Meren asks. He’s watching Serim and Jerath closely, and Jerath can sense his curiosity.

  “Yeah.” One of the other men joins in the conversation. “Aren’t you worried that he might bite you?”

  Jerath would raise an eyebrow if he could, because what a ridiculous thing to say. As if he would ever bite Serim.

  Some of the others start to speak now. “He’s a wild animal, after all. Shouldn’t you have him restrained, or on a lead?” The men behind them start to laugh until Meren barks an order for them to be quiet.

  Jerath snarls, his sharp teeth glinting in the fading light. He might not bite Serim, but he could quite easily sink his teeth into one or two of the hunters.

  “I apologize for my men,” Meren says, and Jerath is more than a little surprised to hear him call the group “his men.” He doesn’t look old enough to be their leader. “They aren’t used to your kind.”

  Serim smiles and Jerath recognizes it as her sly and calculating one. “That’s okay. But they’d better not say anything else. Jerath can be quite vicious when he’s upset.” Jerath growls loudly, just to add weight to Serim’s words.

  “Sorry.” The men look warily at Jerath. “You won’t tell him, will you? I don’t fancy being on the receiving end of those teeth.”

  Serim grins and Jerath waits for the punch line.

  “I don’t have to tell him, he can understand you just fine.” Serim tickles Jerath under the chin. “Can’t you? You big, vicious meat eater.”

  Jerath roars, startling the birds and making one or two of the men jump back. Serim laughs loudly at the shocked and slightly pale faces around them, and Jerath rubs up against her thigh.

  “I suggest you tell your men to keep a civil tongue in their heads from now on,” Serim informs Meren as she keeps a hand on Jerath’s back. “You never know who’s listening.”

  Meren smirks and shakes his head. “I think they got the message.”

  The rest of the walk back to their camp is relatively silent. Jerath feels nearly everyone’s gaze on him, but none of them dare to speak and Jerath wonders how awkward it’s going to be when he shifts back.

  THE camp is much larger than Jerath expected. There are seven tents in total and a large fire in the middle where something—and it’s definitely not rabbit—is being roasted. Five more men appear from inside one of the tents and they walk forward to greet Meren. They look a little older than the others; their bodies are filled out with thick muscle and they have the air of experienced fighters. All five of them give Jerath and Serim curious looks. Well, the look they give Jerath’s jaguar could be classed as curious, but Serim garners rather more interest. Jerath doesn’t miss the way each man’s gaze sweeps over her body and lingers on her breasts.

  He growls out a warning and walks in front of her, baring his teeth and stopping the approaching men in their tracks.

  “I don’t think the cat likes you leering at his mate.” Meren laughs as the men look between Jerath and Serim with confused expressions. “They’re from Eladir,” Meren says, and Jerath can see the moment they realize what that means. It seems everyone has heard of their village.

  “Shifters?” one of them asks. “A bit far from home, aren’t you?” He looks at Serim expectantly, but it’s Meren who answers.

  “They’ve had some trouble from raiders.” He pauses to take off his bow and prop it up next to one of the tents. “Southern raiders, looking for slaves. Have you heard of any such hunters in Kalesaan?”

  The man scratches the back of his neck. “Only rumors, Meren. Your father asked us to keep an eye out for trouble before we left.”

  Meren mutters something under his breath, which Jerath is almost sure is a string of curses. “I’ll take it up with my father when we return.” He turns to Serim. “I assume it’s my father that you want to talk to? He’s the leader of our village now.”

  Serim looks down at Jerath for confirmation, and Jerath realizes that it’s probably safe for him to shift back now. It’ll make communicating a lot easier too. He concentrates hard, pictures his human form, and feels the air shimmer around him as he changes.

  Jerath opens his eyes to see everyone staring at him. Serim coughs next to him. He turns to face her and is met with a raised eyebrow and an amused expression.

  “I think you might need these.” She hands Jerath a bundle, and his face heats up in an instant as he recognizes his clothes.

  Oh, yes. Shifting back means nakedness. On second thought, maybe he should have done that in private.

  The group of men is chatting animatedly between themselves now while stealing glances at Jerath. Hopefully they’re discussing his shifting display and not his current lack of clothing.

  “Thanks,” Jerath mumbles and snatches the bundle of clothes out of Serim’s hands. He drops the whole lot on the ground and starts to get dressed. Jerath chances a glance up at Meren, about to ask him about the journey back to his village, but he discovers that Meren is looking at him—well, staring would be more accurate.

  Meren smiles when he gets caught out. “You’re lucky to have such a fine-looking mate.” He addresses Serim before his eyes settle back on Jerath’s chest.

  Jerath’s mouth drops open. Did Meren just describe him as “fine-looking”? He doesn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. He’s not livestock; he’s human and he’s standing right here. Serim laughs at his stunned expression and Jerath glares between the two of them.

  “Yes.” Serim smirks as she turns to Meren. “He is fine looking.” She ignores Jerath’s huffs of indignation. “But he’s not my mate.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Meren apologizes, and Jerath thinks he looks far from sorry, if the smile tugging at his lips is anything to go by. “I just assumed….”

  Serim turns around and lifts the back of her tunic to show off her tattoo. “Jerath.” She motions for him to do the same. “We’re not matched,” she explains, looking back over her shoulder after Meren has had time to look at their tattoos.

  “Serim and I are just friends.” Jerath turns around and Meren snaps his gaze back up to his face. His eyes are wide, and Jerath wonders if he’s ever seen a shifter’s tattoo before. Maybe he’ll ask Meren about that later. “I’m Jerath, by the way. In case you wanted to talk to me directly or anything.” Jerath is quite aware of how petulant he sounds, and not at all like the adult he needs to be if they’re going to get Meren’s father to help them.

  Meren at least looks slightly sheepish, but Serim just raises an eyebrow at him.

  “Forgive my rudeness.” Meren dips his head slightly in apology. “I’d just got used to talking to Serim while you were shifted.” He rubs a hand across his eyes and Jerath sees for the first time how weary he looks. “We’ve started off badly and I appear to be doing nothing but apologizing. Come, let me make it up to you. If my father learns of my lack of manners, he will not be pleased.” He walks toward the fire and gestures for them to follow.

  Serim sidles up to Jerath as they walk. “He likes you,” she whispers.

  Jerath narrows his eyes at her. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he hisses back, and she grins up at him.

  “I thought he might swallow his tongue when he saw you naked.” Jerath stumbles over the tiniest rock at her words, and she stifles her giggles with her hand. “And when he saw your tattoo�
��.” She pretends to fan herself with her hands.

  Jerath pointedly ignores Serim and keeps walking, but he can’t quite ignore the warm feeling that stirs in the pit of his stomach.

  Chapter 7

  “WHAT meat is that, exactly?” Jerath points to the fire.

  One of the hunters is currently carving long strips off the joint of meat and piling it on a huge plate. It smells delicious and Jerath’s mouth is already watering in anticipation.

  “It’s white-tailed deer,” Meren answers as he sits down next to Jerath. His hard, muscled thigh rubs up against Jerath’s as he shifts position, and Jerath swallows thickly. He can feel the warmth through his pants and he wants to shuffle closer to get more of it, but manages to keep still.

  Jerath may be a shifter, but he doubts Meren would appreciate it if he started rubbing all over him like a cat. He focuses back on the conversation just as Serim speaks.

  “Aren’t we too far north for white-tailed deer?” She accepts a plate of meat from the hunter and pops a piece in her mouth. “Oh, it’s good.” She licks her lips and Meren smiles at her.

  “It is, isn’t it?” He takes a plate too, and passes one to Jerath. “And yes. We are too far north for most of them, but we found a stray herd a few a days ago.” Serim nods and falls silent as she continues to eat.

  Jerath picks up a piece from his plate and bites into it. He can’t help it—he moans. It’s more like a low purr in the back of his throat, but the meat is so soft and tender it practically melts in his mouth. He licks the juices from his fingers, sucking them into his mouth to get every last bit. When Jerath looks up, Meren is staring at him again. His eyes are heavy lidded and he’s biting his lip.

  The hunter who was carving the meat walks over and sits down opposite them. “A fine-looking man, indeed. Eh, Meren?” He pokes at Meren’s foot with his boot.

  Jerath stops eating and looks between the two of them, not sure he understood correctly.