by M. D. Grimm
He continued to back away, his head down. The mother’s head swayed, and she kicked up dirt, her mouth still open. Glenn prayed she would allow him to simply leave. For a moment it appeared she would, leaving him weak with relief. But then the sound of running feet and the crunch of leaves met their ears, and that hunter, who had discovered Glenn an hour before, burst into view, not knowing what he’d just walked into.
Everything froze for a split second. The hunter gasped for breath, hands on his knees, staring at the wild hog in terror. Even the piglets had gone silent, staring beadily at the newcomer. But then they began to squeal again, their shrill whines goading their mother into action. The mother hog, her mouth still open, glared murderously at the hunter. She stomped the ground with her foot. Then all hell broke loose.
The mother charged the hunter. He dodged aside and the hog followed, gaining on him. Glenn realized with a start that the hunter didn’t have his rifle. Fool. Damn fool. Not that Glenn wanted the mother hog to die—her piglets needed her—but the sound of a rifle shot would startle the mother hog enough for him to escape.
For half a second Glenn considered simply leaving the hunter to his fate and making his own escape. But he was curious about the hunter, and the fact was he didn’t want anyone to die this day. Maybe if he saved the hunter’s skin, the man would leave him and his herd alone. And why didn’t he have his rifle?
Glenn charged the hog. The hunter barely managed to leap up and grab a low-hanging tree branch, swinging himself out of harm’s way. His ass nearly got bitten as the hog passed him, screaming with anger. The hunter’s grip on the branch was weakening, his legs flaying. Glenn directed the hog’s attention toward him again, and she charged, now seeking blood. Earlier she’d meant to scare, but this many intruders next to her piglets made her nearly insane with bloodlust.
Glenn managed to keep just ahead of her gaping mouth and hoped the hunter would have the brains to run for it. But as he glanced back at the man, he saw with astonishment that the hunter landed on the ground, looked around for something, then picked up a thick tree branch.
“This way, shifter!” he said.
Glenn nearly tripped. How did he know? His stagger brought his leg within reach of the hog’s mouth, and she bit him. He hollered in pain and fell hard upon the ground, skidding a few feet, twisting and kicking. She bit down hard, drawing blood, and held on tight. The more he thrashed, the more she hung on.
There was a sudden streak of black and a loud thud. The wild hog squealed and let him go. Glenn staggered instantly to his feet, his leg radiating in agony. He turned in time to see the hunter whacking the hog in the face with the large branch. His body was low in a crouch, and he held the branch in front of him, a weapon and a shield. The hog tried to charge him several times, but she always got a smack in the face for her efforts.
The hunter was saving him. Could this day get any weirder?
Limping and dragging his leg, Glenn walked behind the man, noticing that the mother hog was exhausted and just wanted them to go. He would be happy to oblige her. The hunter kept backing up as she kept walking toward him. She was now far enough away from the branch to keep from being hit, but still close enough to be a threat. Glenn clamped his teeth on the back of the hunter’s jacket and began to pull, urging him along. The hunter backed up more quickly, and they were soon out of the mother hog’s den. She stopped and stared after them as they continued their slow backward progression into the forest.
Glenn limped, keeping his leg off the ground. But the pain didn’t subside. He didn’t know how much farther he could go, and he never took his eye off the hunter who was walking beside him, the branch still in his hand, wariness in all his movements.
Finally, when they were safe enough away from the mother hog, and Glenn didn’t think he could walk anymore, he stopped, leaning against a tree. He bowed his head, fighting against the pain.
“I can help,” the hunter said. The man’s voice was deep and soothing. It glided over his ears like a peaceful piece of music. The hunter dropped his bag and took out implements of healing. Cloth bandages, tape, a small first aid kit, and from a smaller pocket, what looked like painkillers. Glenn nearly whimpered with want. Instead, he simply watched the man, not knowing if he should trust him or not.
“Look,” the hunter said, his voice gentle, and his dark brown eyes seemed sincere. “I know what you are, and I don’t want to hurt you. Let me help, please? You’re bleeding heavily and you must be in a lot of pain.”
Understatement.
“Please,” the hunter pleaded. “We just saved each other back there. And I know you saw my rifle. I didn’t shoot you then, so why would I harm you now?”
Good point.
“My name is Hunter,” the hunter said. If deer could raise an eyebrow at irony, Glenn would have.
“I think it would be better if you shifted before I help you.” Hunter’s voice was still gentle as he knelt beside his offerings of peace. “I have painkillers, but I don’t know how they will affect a deer’s biology.”
Another good point. Added to that was the fact that Glenn suspected he needed stitches, and he would have to stay in whatever form he got them in until they were taken out. Did he really want to be in deer form for a couple of weeks? Unable to talk?
Glenn took a breath, feeling himself weaken as he continued to bleed, and decided he had no other choice. He couldn’t run away from the man and, damn it, he really wanted those painkillers! And he was also just really curious about this strange hunter.
Glenn closed his eyes and thought about his human form. He focused on his dulled senses as a human and the way it felt to have fingers, to grab and grip. He remembered the slide of material on his skin and the way his hair fell into his eyes. The inefficiency of bipedal movement.
The shifting was gentle and natural. The shimmered and pulsed around him, his skin warming and tingling pleasantly. His leg still throbbed with pain, but it didn’t worsen or lessen with his shift into human form. When he opened his eyes, he was leaning back against the tree, trembling with pain and cold. Naked and vulnerable, Glenn felt a spurt of gratitude toward Hunter when the man handed over his large jacket. Glenn slipped it on silently and couldn’t help but notice the way Hunter considered his form. Glenn was certain he noticed appreciation. Hunter was thicker, broader, and slightly taller than Glenn; the jacket was large on him and long enough to cover him for modesty’s sake. Glenn slid down to sit on the ground and allowed Hunter to patch up his leg.
Hunter handed him the painkillers before going to work on his leg. He worked silently and efficiently. His hands, though large and scarred, were gentle, and Glenn actually felt his body react to Hunter’s nearness. Embarrassed, Glenn pulled the coat closer to him, hiding his evident pleasure. At least the cold wouldn’t allow more than a stirring interest to form.
The hog had bitten him along his calf, and the deep gashes required stitches. Glenn looked away as Hunter sewed him back together after cleaning away the dried blood. He would have to get word to his herd that he was fine. But he couldn’t bring Hunter along. They would never forgive him if he brought an outsider, a hunter no less, among them. He could just hear his father’s angry voice and see his mother’s disappointed look. He should ditch the man and head out on his own. But was he even physically capable of walking?
The grass was cold and wet underneath Glenn, and he was still weak and hungry. Shivers ran down his spine. He didn’t know how much he should trust Hunter. What was the man after? How did he know about shifters? Did he know any? Is that why he didn’t shoot? But it wasn’t even deer hunting season! So why the hell was he here?
“Done,” Hunter said a short time later. He wrapped Glenn’s leg securely with the bandages and started to put away his supplies.
“Why are you here?” Glenn asked.
Hunter didn’t look at him and continued to load his bag. “I think introductions should be made first, before intentions are known. I told you my name. Will you not tell
me yours?”
Glenn gave him a look and sighed after a moment’s contemplation. “My name is Glenn.”
Hunter finally turned and looked at him. He had a broad and masculine face. His skin was very dark and pretty. Glenn had never actually met an African American before. All he knew was his herd and the small towns around the park he sometimes visited. But curiosity compelled him to question more, to stay in this hunter’s presence.
“Glenn,” Hunter said softly. “Good name for you.”
Glenn raised an eyebrow. “So, now that you know my name, will you tell me why you’re here? And how you know about shifters?”
Hunter sat down across from him, drew up his knees, and laid his arms around them, clasping his hands in the front. He took a moment to compose his answer, and Glenn immediately wondered if he was about to be lied to. Also, he got the impression that Hunter was young and nervous.
“I’m here because I’m on a mission,” Hunter said. “A mission I have no desire to accomplish, but I must if I am to be accepted. Yet it would seem that I am to fail in my mission. Because of you.”
Glenn was taken aback. “Me? What do I have to do with the mission you have to complete?”
Pain entered Hunter’s gaze. He looked away a moment before turning back, his eyes now shuttered. But Glenn had seen the reaction to his words and wondered at it.
“I have this… gift, you could say,” Hunter said. “I sometimes see future events, usually only a few minutes ahead in time, but sometimes hours or even days. When I saw you that first time as a deer, I also saw you as a man, the way you are now, and we were—” Hunter paused. “Together.”
Glenn frowned and shook his head, confused. “Why would you see that?”
Hunter dragged his hand over his short-cropped black hair and let out a sigh of frustration. “I don’t know. The future’s never set in stone but—seeing you stopped me from killing you.”
Glenn felt a gnawing sensation in his stomach. “Wh—what do you mean, killing me? Why would you kill me?” A strange sense of foreboding came over him. “You’re not a deer hunter who’s hunting out of season, are you?”
“No,” Hunter said quietly.
“Then what are you?” Glenn asked, dreading the answer, almost knowing it before Hunter spoke, as if he had the same gift as Hunter did.
“I’m a knight.”
Chapter Three
Six years earlier
Hunter lay back against his pillow as his mother pulled the blankets up to his chest. She tucked them around him, and he smiled when she kissed his cheek. Hunter had spent half a year with his mother and the organization she belonged to—something called “the Knights.” He’d finally found a home. But there were a few things that still bothered him.
“Mom,” he said tentatively.
“What is it, Hunter?” she asked in a soft voice. Her eyes were warm and pretty, but Hunter had already found out how easily they could become hard and fierce.
“I just have a question—about the shifters.” He picked at the comforter, his voice quiet, as if wishing she couldn’t hear him.
Janice nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. “What about them?”
“Well, I just wondered if—if anyone’s actually tried to, you know, talk to them?” he asked, hopeful. “I mean, like a conference? Like the governments of the world do? Has a truce ever tried to be made? I remember learning in school that—”
He stopped. His mother’s eyes had flashed with annoyance, and he knew he was treading close to getting punished. He swallowed hard.
“What a thing to ask,” she said. Her tone was still soft, but there was a hard undercurrent to it that cut like a blade. “We cannot have a conversation with bloodthirsty animals, Hunter. A truce cannot be made between us and shifters any more than one can be made between a bomb and its victims. The shifters are a bomb, Hunter. They are soulless, Godless fiends who will never know anything but hate and bloodlust! They are the disease plaguing this world, and the only way civilization will be saved is if all of them are exterminated. Do you understand?”
Hunter didn’t, but he nodded, forcing a smile. He’d begun to feel a pressure in his head as she talked, and the moment he nodded, it lifted. It was the oddest thing. He’d often felt it when she visited him at the orphanage, and he wished he knew what it meant.
“Good boy,” she said, but her eyes were now hard and blank. “Go to sleep like your brothers.”
Hunter nodded, and as she shut the door, with the familiar click of a lock, he turned his head to look at the ten other young boys, just like himself, who slept in the room. The lights went out, and he stared up at the ceiling. It just didn’t make any sense.
He’d always been taught at school that there were two sides to every story. Sometimes more.
Fear grew in Glenn’s large green eyes and Hunter hurriedly tried to take it away.
“Just hear me out—” he started.
“Stay away from me!” Glenn struggled to his feet, using the tree as his support. Hunter stood as well, keeping his distance from the deer shifter. The desire to flee was obvious in the shifter’s eyes.
“Please listen, Glenn!” Hunter said. “I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t you understand? If I’d wanted to kill you, I would have done it, right? I wouldn’t have left my rifle back there, would I?”
Hunter pointed vaguely over his shoulder, his gaze never leaving Glenn, who was still struggling to stand. Glenn’s face, already pale because of the blood loss, was now completely bloodless, edging toward green. He obviously knew what being a knight meant, and the fear and hatred in his eyes were genuine. For some inexplicable reason, those emotions ripped through Hunter’s heart. Why should the shifter affect him so?
“Don’t expect me to know how a knight thinks,” Glenn said, eyes faintly glowing, his skin rippling strangely. “You’re all heartless bastards, monsters who have no respect for any other living creature in this world. You make me sick!”
That last was said with such venom Hunter actually flinched, as if he’d been hit.
“Don’t say that, damn it!” Hunter said. “I’m not like that at all! I don’t—why did I help you then, with the hog? Why did I stitch you up if I’m a monster?”
“Can’t have a damaged specimen.” Glenn swayed slightly. “Can’t learn anything good from something that might die before you can poke it and ask if it feels pain!”
Memories churned and Hunter brutally stamped them down.
“I’m not like that!” Hunter’s panic and desperation grew as he searched for a way to prove to Glenn that he was sincere. He spun around and grabbed his bag before dumping out everything he had in it.
“Look, damn you! Look!” He vaguely realized he was shouting. “I have no other weapons here. No tranqs, no guns, no fucking bows or arrows. Here, look—”
Hunter grabbed his satellite phone, his radio, and his GPS and tossed them away into the brush surrounding them. Then he turned back to Glenn, who was looking at him with suspicion.
“There! Now I’m completely at your mercy. I have no way to contact the Knights or anyone else, and I could easily get lost in a place like this. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Glenn opened his mouth the same time his legs gave out from under him. Hunter caught him before he hit the ground and laid him gently on his back, pulling the coat tighter around him. Glenn had obviously fainted; his eyelids fluttered and his mouth was slightly open. Hunter shook his head. This was not how he had planned for this to go. Then again, he hadn’t actually had a plan when he decided to ditch his gun and go after the shifter. He still didn’t know what possessed him or why he was going against everything his family taught him. His mother. He knew his mother’s heart would be broken if she knew he was helping and caring for a shifter. But what about his vision? Hunter’s gut, his inner voice, was telling him this was the right thing to do. But if that were true, did it mean his family was exactly what Glenn said they were?
Monsters?
&
nbsp; Hunter couldn’t believe that. They were just misinformed, confused, and hurt. That had to be the answer. If he could prove to them that not all shifters were beasts…. Hunter nodded to himself and stared down at Glenn. He really was beautiful. The vision hadn’t lied about that. Hunter didn’t know how he would handle his attraction toward the shifter—should he feel attracted? Did it mean there was something wrong with him?
Glenn’s face appeared to have been made by a graceful and talented hand. Even something so beautiful could be deadly. Or so his mother always told him. But Glenn was a deer shifter—how bloodthirsty could a deer shifter be? Deer themselves were passive creatures—more interested in flight than fight.
That made Hunter wonder: how much did the animal side dictate the personality of the human side? A question his family always wanted to find out. A question Hunter wanted answered. Hunter returned his supplies inside his bag before lifting Glenn into his arms. He felt smooth skin under his hands, but it was cold and sweaty. He had to keep this shifter alive. Glenn was the only one who could truly help him with his dilemma. With Glenn he could get the other side of the story, the other part of the whole.
But first he had to earn the shifter’s trust. And considering where they left their discussion, Hunter knew he had his work cut out for him.
Glenn stirred slightly and opened his eyes. He was lying on his back underneath a man-made canopy of leaves and branches that protected him from the elements. He was cold and hungry, and he still wore Hunter’s coat, plus a warm, lightweight blanket was tucked around him. His leg still throbbed but he endured it as he sat up. Glenn was tired and confused and he didn’t like either sensation. His mind replayed Hunter’s words and he still couldn’t believe them. He couldn’t trust a knight!
