~ Kit
I run.
With my heart on fire with fear, I fly down the ridge's steep slope. Gravity helps, and in long leaps from the tops of rocks and fallen logs and several slides on soft soil, I reach the bottom in less than two minutes. Then I race out across the open meadow-plain towards the line of trees on the other side.
I've just reached it when a spine-tingling howl rises from the ridge behind and above me. It's Ferrualt, and a moment later the rest of his Wolves join in a discordant clamor. As each Wolf exhausts his breath, the howls cease.
Then it's Dane's turn, and his Pack join him, one by one.
The last voice to join is low and sonorous, and seems to reverberate in my chest, and I stop to listen. It's the voice of my Mate, and as the others fall silent, leaving him to sing alone, I hear his whole heart in the sound.
I shouldn't be wasting precious seconds standing still, but I want to hear every note.
He draws it out as long as he can with his powerful lungs, because when silence falls again, the Hunt begins.
As the note fades, I look down at my shadow, cast by the nearly risen moon. My nine tails swish like a fan, and a thought strikes me. Nine against nine, Ferrault had said — and I've got one tail for each pair. Noah had told me kitsune are masters of illusion and tricks of the mind, and I'd changed my appearance before, but I'd never tried anything like this.
Holding the image clear in my mind, I act on instinct and leap in the air, snapping at the moon as if I could catch and sever its beams in my jaws. Landing with splayed legs, I study my shadow, and wave my tail. Eight other shadow-foxes wave theirs, too.
Then the last note of Monty's wolfsong fades, the moon slips free of the horizon, and three sharp yips signal that the Hunt has begun. I turn and sprint for the trees. The shadow-foxes turn and sprint, too, in eight other directions, like arrows shot from the tips of a nine-pointed star.
~ ☾ ~
~ Monty
In a chaos of snarls and snapping teeth, the Wolves descend the ridge. Gaining the advantage at the start of a Hunt can be the difference between victory and defeat, and both Packs know it as each looks for opportunities to take a rival out.
With my size, nobody gets in my way as I half-fall, half-run down the steep slope; on the other hand, my size slows me down, too, and before long only Ambrose is behind me.
Being the only one of us with no more than human strength and speed, he takes the descent careful and slow. That was the plan, though, as we'd discussed on the way here: Ambrose, with his healing ability and fiery defenses, would bring up the rear, and help any casualties he came across.
We hoped there wouldn't be any, but we knew better than to expect such luck.
At the bottom, I reach the level meadow and pick up speed, gaining ground quickly now that it's obstacle-free. Up ahead, I hear yips and barks of excitement and confusion, see Freya, Martin, Sasha, and Ophelia split off in various directions, each chasing one of Ferrault's wolves. A darting shadow among the pines tells me Darius has spotted something, too, and I stumble to a halt, unsure which path to follow.
A human voice startles me, the sound utterly unexpected in the middle of a Hunt.
"It's a kitsune trick," Noah gasps, the last of his fur melting back into skin as he Shifts, stumbling towards me from the brush. Shifting mid-run is disorienting, as the brain struggles to keep up with a drastic change, and he holds himself up with handfuls of my fur, grasping either side of my head. "Dane's gone straight for the stones, and Ferrault went after him. The rest of us are playing along to buy time."
I lick his face to show I understand, and to tell him to get back in wolf-form before he gets eaten.
"Good luck." He nods and lets me go, Shifts, and takes off after Freya's frantic barks.
I turn my nose east, towards the place where our mom taught Dane how to contact the Fae, and where Dane thinks Julian will have told Kit to go, and take off through the trees.
Over level ground, my size lends me speed once I get going, and soon I reach the other side of the swath of forest and break free into the broad stretch of scrubland filling a wide valley floor, crisscrossed by small streams. Another line of rocky ridges rise on the opposite side, at the base of which is the stony plateau where I'd taken Kit to see the hot springs.
On the far side of the valley, a streak of white shoots across a low rise, then disappears on the other side. My heart leaps with hope that Kit has such a lead, but an instant later, my hope turns to dread.
Two other figures — one black and one white — race neck and neck after him. They've only reached the middle of the plain, but Kit is headed for a box canyon. The plateau above the springs is guarded on three sides by high, sheer cliffs — a literal dead end.
Racing down the slope of an embankment, I plow across a swift but shallow river. It's not as shallow as I thought, though, and halfway across I miss a step and splash into deeper water. Snarls at my back give me just enough warning before two of Ferrault's Wolves are on me, leaping at my momentary disadvantage. I turn and snap at them, regaining my footing, but I don't have time for a fight. I need to get to Kit, and—
Before I can form anything like a plan, another wolf launches itself from the bank above, directly onto the back of my larger opponent. It's Martin, and with the element of surprise, he bowls the other wolf over in a thrash of foaming water. The other is on him in an instant though, and there's no way he can take them both alone.
His desperate yelp tells me he knows this, though, and speaks more clearly than words, urging me to take the chance he's giving me, and go.
For precious seconds, I'm torn between helping my brother and going after my Mate, and other snarls and barks in the distance tell me this is not the only scene of combat where I might make a difference in a fight.
Then Martin breaks free of the others and dashes straight for the tumbling rapids further downstream. They're on him again as he reaches it, and the three disappear in a foam of water flecked with blood, but another pained yelp convinces me.
Martin's not asking for help.
He's asking me to honor his sacrifice, and to make the most of it.
So I do, and though I leave a piece of my heart in the bloodied river, I turn away and strike out again after Kit.
~ ☾ ~
~ Kit
I'm about halfway across the open plain, headed in the direction Julian described, when a chorus of frenzied barks breaks out in the distance, coming from the edge of the woods. The last of those fooled by shadows have caught on to the trick, and my illusion is undone. Nine-tailed once more, I risk a glance over my shoulder, and a shock of adrenaline spears my heart. Two wolves run nearly even with one another, already halfway across the open ground and gaining fast. Ferrault's terrible form stands out even in the moonlit distance — all muscle and sinew, and unnatural proportions: a side effect of Hunting forbidden Prey, like humans and other Wolves. Mere paces behind him, Dane's darker, more elegant figure follows like a shadow, snapping at his heels, but even as I watch Ferrault starts to pull ahead.
He'll reach me first, and in very little time.
Turning again, I sprint up a steep slope, struggling over rough stones, until I gain the top of a long, level plateau, extending inward between two arms of the high, stony ridgeline. I'm near the place where Monty brought me to see the hot springs, and I smell the faint odor of rotten eggs on the air — sulfur, Monty had told me.
I hesitate, losing precious seconds. Ahead of me, I can see the end of the narrow plateau, where the sharp slopes of scree rise to sheer rock on three sides. It looks like a trap, but there's no other way to go and still follow Julian's direction. After a heartbeat of indecision, I run on, straight into the narrow, flat-bottomed ravine.
Racing over smooth stone, polished by glaciers long ago, I skirt outcrops of scraggly trees and leap little rivulets running through gaps in the rock. All too soon, I run straight up to the bottom of the broken scree — tall piles of rock shards shorn from the cliffs by the chisel of time — and stare up at the sheer cliffs above. Foxes are better climbers than most canines, but there's no way I'm scaling that in fox form.
With the snarls of the Alpha and Dire drawing near, echoing from the far end of the plateau, I make a desperate choice, and Shift.
As a human, I can climb, and if I have no other choice, I can end the Hunt myself from a great enough height.
No Prey, no Prize.
The rocks are sharp, and I haven't taken two steps before I slip and cut my foot on one as I scramble up the steep piles of stone. It's high — maybe forty feet before I even reach the cliff face — and panting and a clatter of stone alerts me that the Wolves have caught up with me.
I twist and look down, and see Ferrault attempting to scale the loose scree. It slows him down, though, and then Dane is on him in a flash of snarling teeth and fur. Dane is strong, but Ferrault is a monster, and as the two tear into each other, he gains the upper hand. Dane yelps as the other wolf's teeth sink into his shoulder, biting deep and twisting to tear through flesh.
He breaks free and rounds on Ferrault, lips drawn back and a growl in his throat, but his fur is wet with blood, and he favors his wounded side.
The hackles rise on Ferrault's back as he lowers his head, seeing his advantage and ready to go for the kill, but he snaps up again as a deep howl reverberates down the canyon. I look up, too, just in time to see Monty's enormous shape crest the far end of the plateau.
He races towards us at a thunderous gallop, foam flecking his lips and sides heaving, and doesn't slow down a fraction as he bowls right into Ferrault and joins the fray. He's not coming to his Alpha's aid, though; he's defending his Mate, and he'll defend me to the death.
Between the two of them, Monty and Dane might have a chance, but before I can get my hopes up, more barks and snarls announce the arrival of the rest of the Packs — or what's left of them. I see Freya and Noah, two of Ferrault's wolves, and my half-brother Stefan.
As for the rest, the unknown possibilities make my blood run cold.
I can't let anyone else get hurt.
"Hey! Ferrault!" I scream at the top of my lungs, and somehow the sound reaches the Wolves through the cacophony of snarls and growls. They break apart and turn up their bloodied snouts to look at me. "Is this a Hunt, or a bar fight? You want me, come and get me!"
I turn back to the cliff-face and begin to climb, though my limbs tremble and shake, my one foot is slick with blood and my hands with sweat.
I've only gained a few feet when another voice freezes me in place.
"Kit — don't! Please!"
It's Monty, daring to Shift to his vulnerable human form while only yards from the most murderous Wolf alive. My heart seizes with fear and regret. My desperate idea, though done for his sake, is the worst thing I could do to him. Especially after he'd told me what happened on his last job. In the meantime, Ferrault has turned at the sound of his voice, too, and sees his chance.
His muscles bunch for a spring, and Monty's name leaves my lips on a scream, and then something sparks off the stony ground at Ferrault's feet. He takes a step back, surprised, and a new voice calls down from above.
"Hold, Wolf. A move, and the next shaft goes through your eye."
Three Fae warriors stand on the clifftop, aiming drawn bows at the Dire. Monty's mother, Astrid, stands at their side.
Radiating outrage, Ferrault Shifts with a rending crack and snap of bone, his spine fairly bursting from his skin as he morphs. Human again, he glares up at the newcomers, hands balled into fists. Dane Shifts as well, clamping a hand to his shoulder, from which blood flows in a steady stream.
"What is this interference? You dare bring Fae filth to a Hunt?" Ferrault snarls, directing his words at Astrid.
"There is no Hunt," Astrid answers calmly. "This land is no longer Wolf territory. It is the protectorate of the Summer Queen. You have no right to challenge for it."
"What?" Ferrault's eyes bug from his head, and blood-flecked spittle flies from his lips as he stares up in rage. "You would cede your territory to Fae rather than lose it to a worthy Wolf? Traitorous bitch! Traitor to your own kind! No wonder your pack is degenerate filth. You—"
"Silence, wolf."
One of the Fae warriors speaks this — a woman, I think — though it's hard to judge gender from this distance, when they all have long hair and flowing clothes.
Ferrault glares, but three drawn bows held by Fae is nothing to ignore.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Packs hang back, and Monty mounts to the base of the cliff, reaching to coax me down. I climb down carefully, and fall shivering into his arms. Together, we slip and slide down the scree, as Astrid and two of the Fae descend by a slim path I hadn't noticed before, covered by the remaining archer.
Everything about the Fae is beautiful — from their faces to the way they move. Julian is beautiful, too, I realize, but he veils himself most of the time without even meaning to. These Fae aren't interested in hiding.
Even their weapons are lovely, I think, as I bend unconsciously and pick up the arrow that had struck the ground, admiring the filigree on the silver tip. To be slain by something so lovely might almost be a compliment.
Monty tightens his hold on me, and I lean into him, letting his solid warmth absorb my shivers.
Drawing even with us, Astrid addresses Ferrault again.
"You have a choice, Dire. Leave, and give up all design on this land and its Wolves, or perish as Prey yourself."
Ferrault glares at her. "Give me the fox, and I'll never trouble you again."
"Kit stays," Astrid says, before anyone even has time to protest. "He belongs to my son, and my son to him. He is Pack.
My breath catches in my chest. If Astrid Hunter didn't already have my eternal devotion, she has it now.
A call echoes down the valley, drawing attention away from Ferrault. At the end of the Plateau, more figures approach, and relief floods me as I see Ambrose supporting Sasha and Ophelia on either side, and Darius carrying a limp wolf in his arms. A second wave of relief washes through my heart. It's Martin, and if he were dead, he'd have regained his human form.
Obviously as relieved as I am, Dane lets out a soft groan and falls to his knees. He's still losing a lot of blood, and the Dire's bite won't heal on its own. Monty calls for Ambrose and releases me as he drops to his brother's side in concern.
That's when Ferrault strikes.
Seeing his final chance, he seizes it, and launches himself at me, Shifting in mid-air, jaws and teeth lengthening as they aim for my throat.
I fall back with a cry, and instinctively thrust the arrow at him, holding it like a tiny spear. I go down beneath him, and his body jolts with the impact of multiple Fae shafts.
It's the one through his heart, though, that gets him.
Slowly, he morphs back to human shape, staring down at me with a bloodless face.
"I told you I wouldn't miss," I whisper. Though, to be fair, I hadn't really aimed.
He makes a noise in his throat, as if to speak, but only a wheezing groan escapes him. He collapses, and I push him off me and role to the side.
He gasps twice, and convulses with a shudder — the throes of death — and then he lies still.
In the meantime, Monty snatches me in his arms, trembling as badly as I am and murmuring senseless apologies.
"I got you Kit," he whispers, stroking my hair as he crushes me against his chest. "I got you, now. I got you, and I won't ever let you go again."
I let him hold me, and shut my eyes.
And so, I am caught, and the Hunt ends.