Wicked Hunt

Chapter Ten, Part III

Halle swallowed. "I-"

"And you." Bruce slid his eyes to her face. Halle swallowed under his penetrating gaze. "You're hiding too. Behind that veneer of nativity, a warrior waits."

"Stop speaking in riddles." Abruptly, Halle tore her gaze from Bruce's. "No one can speak plainly here." She shook her head.

"I spoke plain to you," Bruce said as he leaned against the outer wall. "I told you that my father likes things to be done his way, and if you challenge that, everyone pays for your folly."

"Your father is an overgrown child who throws a tantrum when he doesn't get his way." The last word was cut short as she looked around her to make sure no one had overheard what she'd said. Unease prickled the skin at the back of her neck as she turned to Bruce expectantly.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to tell," he said with a finger to his lips. "I'm not going to actively seek my father's company." Again, Halle found herself studying him curiously. Here was a man who should have been cruel because of his father, but he rebelled against it, craved to be everything that his father wasn't.

"How did you find your way out of the forest?" she asked suddenly. "It was pitch black and all the trees looked the same, yet," she raised her brows, "you made it out with ease."

"I have walked that forest a thousand times." Bruce picked a loose string from his black jerkin and flicked it over the side of the walkway. "My father has sent me into the Shadow Wood many times in search of poachers and wolves, any enemies of the stags. They are sacred here and must be protected."

"You like the silence the forest offers," Halle observed. "The wood is your sanctuary, the trees your shield."

Bruce jutted his chin out defiantly. What of it?"

"I wouldn't call that forest tranquil." She toyed with the fabric on the front of her dress, an image of black antlers and sinister red eyes rising up inside her mind. "I saw the Black Stag," she blurted out. "It spoke to me."

Bruce looked unsurprised. "I see him often when I am amongst the trees. He will not bother you unless you bother him." His eyes narrowed at her accusingly.

Halle's brow furrowed. "He was furious with me, angry that I was in his forest. He told me to run and get out, that the forest and trees didn't want me in there."

Bruce glanced at her. "He's never made such demands of me." He tapped his fingers on the wall. "You're a foreigner here. He is like all others in Verlic: they don't take kindly to intruders."

"Maybe..." Halle thought about the malice that had emanated from the stag. Could it really be as simple as her being a newcomer, an intruder into his realm? She wasn't entirely sure, but the stag didn't seem to bother Bruce, nor did it seem to mind when he traveled through the trees. She glanced at him, and when his unsettling eyes met hers, she felt her cheeks pinken. She quickly looked away.

"And now you think you know me," Bruce remarked dryly

"I never said-"

"When, in reality, you know nothing about men. Nothing of Verlic," he continued as if she hadn't piped up. Halle's mouth set into a stiff line. Slowly, she rotated her whole body to stare him down, annoyance easily sketched upon her face.

"I've only been here a short while, but I have figured out quite a bit," she told him sternly. "About the forest, about your father, about you-"

"As have I," Bruce countered, raising his brows. The same wicked smile his father had danced across his features, his teeth seeming to grow and sharpen, the sunlight glinting off of them. He stepped closer to her, bringing a chill. Halle's resolve began to falter; she fought to keep control and not step back. Her chin remained raised. "Your façade is crumbling," Bruce informed her. "You're too soft."

"I am not," Halle replied through gritted teeth. She felt like a child arguing with her brothers again.

"Only time will tell." He looked back out at the landscape with a nonchalance that reverberated from Halle's skull down to her toes. She could see amusement with which he regarded her with. He did not take her seriously. All of their conversations thus far had been a jest, a test for him to see just how far he could push her. Her mouth opened so she could spit something hateful at him, but she closed it just as quickly. She would not rise to the bait, not succumb to his spiteful opinions. If she was destined to be alone here, then so be it. She would draw strength, not sorrow from that loneliness.