I knew one wasn’t supposed to judge someone based solely on outward appearance, but their character points went quickly down the drain as well as they argued very graphically over the probable pros and cons of each female standing in their field of vision. Just lovely.
When the decision was made they moved towards the cage, lust in their eyes and movements. The black guy pulled a dagger out of the folds of pelt around his hips and cut his palm. Then he stepped forward and touched it to the thick iron bands. A rusty click vibrated in the air and the cage transformed, a narrow door appearing beneath the man’s blood-smeared hand. A blood lock. Nice. The door swung open with a squeak, and laughing evilly under their breath the three men stepped forward, their gazes settling on Sophie. I pushed her behind me. They were so intent on their prey that they didn’t hear the growling tiger, drawing attention to the cages.
Since they had to step through the narrow way one at a time, I greeted the first one with a kick to the knee followed by a punch to his throat and face. His nose turned into a geyser. The time he recovered from the shock I took care of number two. The third man didn’t even get inside, probably because the black one and Scarface were blocking the way. Seeing his own blood Scarface got angry and tried to launch himself at me a second time but Sophie stepped between us and nailed the bastard. Literally. With the heel of her pump through his cheek. He bellowed. I gave her a high five, before pushing her gently out of the way to finish the guy. But I didn’t have to. The other hunters had come rushing and were already pulling him away, obviously furious.
The black warrior rose, blood running freely from his nose and bloodshot eyes still trained on Sophie before shifting to me. I pulled up an eyebrow. Want some more? He smiled. Another time. His gaze dropped to my neck, to the tattoo. I smirked at him, shaking my head. Ah forget it, buddy. Looks better on me than on you. One last glance and then he went out the prison door.
“Everyone alright?” I asked the women behind me and looked at Sophie. At the murmured affirmations and nods I relaxed. Then I noticed that the hunters had quieted down, and turned to look what was going on.
A dark, tall figure, silhouetted from the fire in the camp, made its way towards the cages. Judging from the impressive deer antler rising above his head and the stretching silence I could only assume that this one was their leader.
“What is happening here?” The voice was dark and deep and held power. But there was also a hint of…weariness?
One of his man stepped towards him and low voices drifted upon the air as he explained what had transpired. The leader gave a subtle nod and then went to inspect the three men that stood to the side a few yards away from our cage, still sandwiched by their fellow hunters in case they wanted to pull another stunt.
Grabbing Scarface under his chin he looked at the hole in the man’s cheek, and chuckled. “Felt the thorns before you even got to see the rose, huh? Let that be a lesson to you. All of you.” He stared grimly at the others. “My orders were clear. If there may be some discord regarding my leadership, you all know what to do to get new rules.”
So it was true, who killed the lord of the Hunt became his successor. Damn it all to hell and back. Why couldn’t it be just simple for once? Shouldn’t it be kill the bad guy, evil looses and good wins. End of story. But no, life was full of Faustian small print no one read.
He stood, calmly looking from one hunter to the next, a mocking smile curving his lips as he waited for a challenge. No one moved.
The Lord of the Wild Hunt nodded, and then cast one glance at the three men. “Going behind my back, or trying to, isn’t the way of a leader. Only cowards resort to doing so. I can’t even think of a proper punishment, though I believe it isn’t needed. Being bested by two women, bound at that.” He laughed, a deep throaty laughter. “You won’t be able to live that down. The memory will be punishment enough I guess.”
Then he turned towards us and I watched his every step as the leader of the Wild Hunt approached. The flickering light from the torches revealed not much of him. He was dressed like the others, in leather and pelts, but the skin visible seemed to be human. My stomach fluttered, a bad feeling settling there. And somehow I knew that I didn’t want to see that man. I stepped back, one small step back into the shadows of the cage, although inside of me I wanted to scramble away from him and what my blood was already telling me.
The leader of the Wild Hunt stopped and looked into the cage. He waved a hand and man came with a torch in his hand.
Shock hit me at the same time as realization did. Thoughts crashed, tumbling over each other. It couldn’t possibly be him. I couldn’t possibly know it was him. I had never seen him. But somehow that logic didn’t seem to matter as my heart and my soul recognized him.
In the light of the flame, I stared at my father.
EIGHTEEN
I had my father’s hair. It was the same color. One that appeared to be dark blonde but upon closer inspection covered all shades from blonde to light brown, with each strand having a mind of its own.
He narrowed his eyes in an attempt to see me better. I didn’t know whether he would recognize me as easily as I had him but wasn’t willing to test the theory and was thankful the shadows cast by the thick iron bands of the cage were distorting my features. My mind was still reeling and I wasn’t up for a confrontation.
How could this be?
How could my father be the Lord of the Wild Hunt?
A wind whipped over the camp and lightning struck. “Arthur?” a female voice, filled with impatience and barely hidden irritation, demanded. “A word with you.”
Morgan. Of course, that sick bitch would stop at nothing. Not even using the souls of the deceased for her purposes.
Anger burned in Arthur’s eyes a second before he closed them. After another sign of his hand the hunters got back to their duties or simply disappeared into the safe shadows of the night and into the folds of their camp, obviously as eager to see the goddess as their leader. Not.
“Now!” Morgan ordered, and he clenched his jaw as if struggling, fighting. I frowned. Was he literally under her direct command? Then he turned to face the goddess.
That was a welcome distraction. Why was my father leading the Wild Hunt? Had he done so ever since he died or had Morgan ripped his soul from the peace he deserved in an attempt to punish him even more ever since she knew about me? Me, the child he had with the woman he loved, a love Morgan had always envied him and hated him for.
I decided to watch this little tête-à-tête, staying close to the shadows so that neither of them might recognize me.
Morgan was dressed like a celtic warrioress - stepping just off the big screen. Strips of dark leather covered her most important parts, and the rest of her bluish skin was free for the wind to kiss. Hair black as the night and intertwined with feathers fell down to her waist. Dark eyes and elegantly shaped lips promised pleasure or pain. She looked beautiful, sensual. Despite her outfit I found it easier to imagine her in a nail studio than on a battlefield, though.
“Why aren’t you hunting? Do I have to remind you of your duties again?”
His eyes narrowed, flashing with a need for blood. Hers? I hoped so.
Shaking his head, a bitter chuckle escaped him. “No, you don’t. I’m more than aware of my so called duties.”
“Oh, is that so?” She looked pointedly into the direction of the cages. “Then why are the prisoners still in the cages and not dead?”
A hiss of fear went through the women beside me. Yeah. That tone of hers had been rather callous given the fact she was talking about wiping out a dozen and more lives.
She continued, “I want you to trial them. Now. And I’ll watch.”
Her eyes glinted at that as she took obvious pleasure out of seeing Arthur grind his teeth at the new order. Sauntering towards the cage where the men were held she studied each of them. Then she walked over to the shifter’s cage.
Morgan nearly purred. “I want the tiger.” At her words I
felt as if kicked in the gut, something hot exploding there. Hell no. I wasn’t exactly jealous. I just didn’t want her hands on him. I didn’t want her hurting him.
Then she turned around again, “Let’s have a look what else you’ve gotten us. When she’s not with them, you will go and hunt. Are we clear?”
The Lord of the Hunt didn’t answer.
I had to think fast. Morgan was holding the strings here, but it was obvious that my father was fighting them. That was good. Oh God, my father. How the hell she managed to pull this off. How the hell had she gotten his soul? It was clear I couldn’t kill the Lord of the Wild Hunt now. Not only would I kill my father but obviously someone who didn’t deliberately hurt people, quite the contrary. Yes, he had put his prisoners in cages, but he had given them food and hadn’t touched them. Because he didn’t want to hurt them.
I knew from my research that the Hunt had a goal, a Hunted, most often it was said to be a boar or a maiden. This time it was obvious what Morgan had asked them to get her, though – me. And I was here. At least I hoped it would mean they wouldn’t go on another trip to Paris, or anywhere else for that matter.
So how could I put an end to Morgan’s sick, little game? I couldn’t kill the Lord. At first I had envisioned it, but knowing that the leader was under her direct command had me change my mind. I didn’t want to be her puppet, so it was not an option anymore. I was the Hunted, the victim, the deer to be preyed on, which meant technically their chase had been successful. But would that stop her from using the Hunt on others or just for fun? I very much doubted it. For Morgan the Wild Hunt was another toy, an amusement to while away the long hours of forever. The lives and people she destroyed not even worth wasting one thought. Now she was looking at my father like a furious, spoiled brat realizing her toy was somehow broken.
I almost smiled. Arthur might have been under her command. But what good did it do if your power wasn’t respected and you had to repeat the orders again and again?
“Are.We.Clear?”
“No.”
Morgan looked shocked at first and then literally seethed, her skin turning from calm and cold blue to a blotchy red with anger. She didn’t look that pretty anymore. “What?”
My father smiled, it was a little on the devilish side since he seemed to enjoy this moment very much. “No. We aren’t clear.”
To the letter. He was using any opening he could get to annoy the hell out of her. I felt a pang in my chest and realized it was pride at seeing him standing up to the bitch who had destroyed his life and love, and I recognized myself in him. I was such a mess at that one instant, I didn’t even know whether to laugh or to cry and realized I did both. I grinned, probably the way he was, and silent tears ran down my cheek at the same time.
The goddess calmed, her eyes gaining a lethal, eerily calm edge. “The tiger will be brought to me and then I want to see every prisoner. Now.”
Turning on her heels she marched away, into the camp until she disappeared from view between the tents.
My father glanced over to the cages, sighed and followed her into the camp, calling for his men.
Ten minutes later the camp was awake and the hunters were preparing the prisoners to be led before Morgan and the Lord of the Wild Hunt. Five of them had been busy taking Kylian out of his cage and into the main tent – a chain as a leash. As if he were a goddamn dog. I clenched my jaw at the sight of him, my chest hurting. At first I thought he would rip through them right then and there, but after the goddess and my father had disappeared I had found him watching me intently with those blue eyes of his that saw entirely too much. So in a way I wasn’t surprised to see him letting them believe they were in control and slowly, elegantly following them. He was curious and wanted to wait before he pounced. Well, I felt the same way.
A group of hunters approached our prison and a door was once again opened with blood. Out of nowhere that damned rusty chain they were apparently so fond of here appeared again, running from one heavy collar to the next, shackling us to each other. Grr. I really started to hate iron. One guy pulling the chain and the others guarding as at the side and rear, we were led like animals across the camp, passing the fire pit and simple tents.
From the corner of my eye I watched for possible escape routes. The hunter’s tents were simple and stood side by side, not leaving the slightest gap. Ah, but the leader’s tent was an entirely different matter and set apart from the others. The way opened to a sort of clearing, with another fire pit and enough space that led eventually into the woods. No matter what the Hunters had watched out for, the woods couldn’t be worse than being enslaved by the Wild Hunt. Or at least I hoped so.
The tent housing the Lord of the Wild Hunt would have been easily recognizable even without the respectful distance to the others since it was the biggest and with its red-and-white bands looking like those ridiculous, somehow castle-like pavilions one could see in medieval films. It could have been such a cliché, a movie prop, if not for the patches, the old tissue gone rough and gray, and the red color dulled by weather and sun looking like old, dried blood.
In front of it, sitting on thrones made out of impressive antlers, were Morgan and my father, the flames of the burning fire flickering dancing shadows across their bodies. At the goddess’ feet lay Kylian in the form of his blue tiger, the iron chain from his collar running up to roll around Morgan’s wrist. She was so damned arrogant and self-confident, not even considering that the calm tiger at her feet could rip her arm out of its socket in the blink of an eye. Her mistake and hopefully my upcoming highlight of the day. I had to stifle a mischievous laugh.
Our row of prisoners was led before the Lord of the Wild Hunt.
Ooh, ladies first. How civil.
The first woman was shoved by a hunter beside her to stand before the thrones. I remembered her and her case file. Forty-two year old mother of two kids that had worked late the night she was taken, closing up the family restaurant. She had tried to soothe the other women here, and now that strong woman trembled but refused to let it show.
“What’s your name, Madame?” My father asked in a demanding but nevertheless friendly voice that had Morgan roll her eyes.
“Daphne Deschêne.”
“Today you will be held responsible for your actions.”
“My actions?”
“Disrespect and ridicule towards the Wild Hunt.”
“What?…But I don’t understand.”
Morgan sighed audibly with barely kept impatience. “Blah blah, yadda yadda yadda. You’ve been found guilty.” The goddess smiled with an obvious pleasure only she could get out of this. “Servitude or death? What’s it going to be?”
“How long would I have to serve?”
God, I loved that woman for keeping her head in the game and now even more so for standing up to the goddess.
My father answered before Morgan had a chance to. “One cycle, that’s seven years. Choose wisely.”
Viviane had stumbled over a paragraph claiming that the Wild Hunt chased only every seven years through the sky. We hadn’t been quite sure what to make of it since we both weren’t able to explain why Morgan would have put that kind of restriction on one of her favorite toys. Seeing her face now, I guessed it wasn’t a regulation she liked and therefore not one she would have come up with herself. But who would have done so? Was there someone else the goddess had to answer to? Somehow that was quite the scary thought.
“Servitude,” Daphne replied, her head held high, and then she was led away by a hunter to stand closer to the fire.
One by one the women stood before the goddess and my father, to finally know their punishment. One by one they gathered in a growing circle around the crackling fire. The Hunt loved blood and I was pretty sure they would want it in a vow for servitude. As long as they hadn’t done that the women were safe. It made me breathe easier.
Soon it was my turn since Morgan didn’t care for the names of her victims or for lengthy explanations and dispensed w
ith the whole preliminaries. I hid my face behind strands of hair that had escaped my braid and looked at my feet, or at least I pretended to. As I stepped in front of her and the man that was my father one of the hunters leaned towards his Lord to whisper something into his ear.
“What is it? What did he tell you?” Morgan wanted to know right away. That woman was like a pest, a demanding child that wanted to hang out with the cool guys.
“This night three of my men craved some female attention. Now my man tells me that this is the woman who bested two of them in a way the third didn’t even get close.”
She looked disgusted as she spat, “Wasn’t she bound?”
“She was.”
Morgan huffed in disbelief, eyeing me and then commanded. “Let me see your face.”
I noticed Kylian tense, preparing to fight, though for other eyes he seemed as calm as ever. Here it comes. Standing straight and lifting my head, I looked my father directly in the eyes before smiling at Morgan. I was told I had my mother’s eyes and apparently that was quite true because my father sucked in a sharp breath and my nemesis hissed.
“You!”
I flashed my teeth. “Me.”
Quickly regaining her calm, she rose from the throne and moved towards me, keeping a safe distance as she circled me. Thanks for the compliment, Aunty. “What is your name?”
“Oh, now you want to know?” I looked at my father as I answered, “Maiwenn Cadic.”
He sat still and was silent but was watching Morgan’s every move. I knew he didn’t want to give Morgan even more ammunition than she already had but he would have to work on his eyes. They gave away everything. And the wonder I saw there was a stab to the heart, especially after realizing that however this ended today we wouldn’t see each other again. There was just no way. Not knowing how Morgan had pulled this of, how she had gotten his essence and even his body didn’t matter, it wouldn’t change the fact that the moment his soul was set free from her grasp it would return to wherever the hell it was the souls of the deceased went.
The Hunt is On (The Patroness) Page 19
