The night was dark, the moon was full and the hunter roamed. Unafraid of any horrors the dark had to hold, or uncaring. Either way, a fool’s heart and an arrogance that would be punished. But the hunter was unaware that anything haunted these woods apart from her and the usual collection of creatures.
But it was out there. It breathed in time with the night’s pulse, watching the hunter, watching, waiting, *intelligent*. The hunger was there, always the yearning that was not physical but mental. The urge to purge. Blood called to it and the werewolf howled.
* * * *
The air was still, not even a breath of wind cooling her skin. Light played on the shadows of trees and turned them into a child’s nightmare, patterns seeming to move with life that was not there. She heard the crunching of dead leaves and other things under her feet, even though her steps were light as a cat’s.
She was human and she loved the night.
It was not merely the solitude, the time to think she adored so much, but the feeling of being part of something that was greater than yourself, that was powerful and merciless at the same time, that was composed of elements, of an earth magick that resounded with a deep pulse, of the hunter and the hunted. Knowing at any moment it could turn on you, swallow you up with teeth sharp as words.
The girl pushed back a branch, feeling her muscles flowing smoothly, the way she had been trained, in a fluid walk, her vision telling her practically nothing but her other senses mapping the night. The cold tang on the air, the sound of animals creeping about far away, the scent of woodland plants and creatures that hung around the place, the broken paths where game had passed.
Sica Aldernik smiled to herself as she walked through the woods, silent as a cat. Far to her west, she could see a manor house black against the luminous moon. The owner of these woods lived there no doubt. Probably he would kill her – or worse – if she got caught trespassing…but what the eye don’t see, the heart don’t grieve.
She was out tracking a deer to feed her and the family she was staying with, poaching in short. She had got very good at it and Sica knew of a few lords who had a bounty out on the hunter who kept killing all their best game.
She was carrying her longbow in one hand, a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. There was a knife tucked in one boot. Apart from that, Sica was unarmed. She didn’t need weapons, she was a true warrior and besides she had something that those nobles would never attain. A mind.
She was well known in the area – hated and hunted by the aristocracy, liked by the people. A sixteen year-old rebel prodigy. She had no family – when the new lord moved in, he had done it by force, killing Lord Baunes and anyone who had worked for him. Sica’s parents among them. Her sisters were taken to work in the manor – she should have been too, but they hid her with another supposedly childless family. They had looked after her, until they had been found out. Sica had spent most of her childhood being ferried from one house to another.
Years of being lonely, of being scared and tired, of weeping silently where no one could hear her. It had been tough. More than that, savage at times.
Of course, that had all been ten years ago, and time had mellowed Lord Redfern. He had provided for the childless families, given them a small ‘gift’ of money. But that didn’t stop the children being taken. The village people only referred to them as callers in the night, the cloaked people who came from the castle and took, and took. All they gave was fear. What they took was everything.
In a way, she had become the whole village’s child. The only one to slip out of the clutches of Lord Redfern, she was their hope. So they had made sure the last hope could fight good as any soldier.
Boys were sent away to the army, girls, if they were pretty enough were kept to work at the manor. If they weren’t pretty enough…Sica had heard some pretty horrific tales. Lord Redfern was a barbarian, that was the opinion of everyone in the village.
She looked after the families she stayed with, moving from one place to another all the time. Sica could go anywhere she wanted in this region’s villages. She was welcomed because of her hunting skills and the way she could ‘acquire’ wealth from any passing noble who stood still long enough for her to pickpocket them.
Silently, she crept through the trees, hoping to find one of the deer that roamed here. The tender beasts fed the aristocracy, kept them healthy while others starved on whatever they could grow, whatever didn’t die in the harsh winters. It made her mad, the way some glutted themselves while others had nothing. It’s life, she had been told repeatedly. The way things were. Well, not anymore.
She heard a twig snap behind her. Sica spun, pulling the longbow off her back and fitting an arrow to it swiftly. She squinted into the darkness, back up the slope. Her heartbeat had accelerated alarmingly, muscles tensed almost painfully. Her hair was falling into her eyes, but she couldn’t brush it out of the way. A shadow flitted across her vision. Sica aimed at it carefully. Whatever it was, it was big. No deer, this.
The excitement tingled through her. The danger was the best part, knowing there was a risk that death could pounce in a wolf’s hunt, or an arrow’s flight. That in an instant, everything that you were, or would be, could be eradicated in a second. It sent thrills through her and sharpened already honed senses.
It was circling her, she realised eventually, slowly making its way down behind her. She turned with it, trying to get a clear shot of it, but the creature kept disappearing into bushes, behind trees.
She lost it. Damn, she didn’t want something like that to get near her.
She stared into the darkness, straining to see anything, but the dim light the moon was throwing off meant she could barely see a thing.
Something growled behind her. Sica leapt around and fired at the shape heading towards her, just seeing two glowing yellow eyes. The arrow sunk straight into its right eye. It howled…a wolf? But there were no wolves in the area. It had to be a trick of the light.
The thing turned to run and a stray beam of moonlight caught on its thick fur, showing the muzzle, glint of teeth and its sole burning hateful eye, an arrow protruding from the other one. It *was* a wolf. What the…?
The wolf turned to stare at her, seeming to stare accusingly at her. She had the unnerving feeling it was memorising her face. Almost panicked, Sica shot it again, hitting it in a paw this time. It snarled and for an instant she could have sworn it was *cursing* at her. But that was stupid. Wolves weren’t intelligent, they were just jumped up dogs. It disappeared into the woods, silently as it had arrived.
Sica shrugged and walked in the opposite direction, still searching for the deer.
* * * *
It wasn’t long before her patience was rewarded. There was a single deer grazing in the clearing, separated from the rest of the herd. Stupid thing, Sica thought. The rest of them are probably resting and this thing got up to get a midnight snack.
It was a fairly small deer, as this herd went, but it would still feed Alys’ family for a while. The doe didn’t even notice Sica, crouched downwind. She was staring right at its head, the two huge eyes against the shimmering white coat.
It was a moment’s work to put an arrow between its eyes.
The deer slumped forwards, hitting the ground with a heavy thump. Sica got up from her hiding place and went to check on her prize.
She leaned over, ran her hands over its hide. Alys could use that to make blankets for her two children, Sica thought, pleased with herself. Mari and Rafik wouldn’t have to complain about the cold anymore. The meat would fetch a fine price on the local black market, as well as food for Alys’ family.
“That was very skilled,” a voice remarked next to her ear. Sica started and spun, pulling out her knife.
It didn’t faze the young man in front of her. He smiled, white teeth flashing in the darkness. “Care to explain why you’re poaching off his lordship’s lands?”
“I’m not poaching,” Sica retorted. “This deer is to be taken back to the house – *for* his lordship,” she added meaningfully.
The young man looked amused. “Why does he send a girl like you,” he looked her up and down scornfully, “hunting in the dead of the night?” He leaned forward suddenly, either forgetting about the knife she was holding or ignoring it. Stupid, whichever it was. “Do you even know his name, girl?”
There he had a point. Lord Redfern’s lands didn’t extend this far. But Sica wasn’t about to let that deprive her of a good meal. “Do you?” she challenged softly.
To her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed up at the purple-black sky. But then his face sobered abruptly and when he spoke again, his voice was sharp and humourless. “Lord Larch Blackthorn owns these woods, girl.” Sica frowned. Wasn’t Larch a tree? She forgot about that, though as he carried on. “ I think I know my own name.”
Oh hell. Could her situation get any worse?
The lord of the land continued quietly. “I think you had best come with me.”
To be punished for trespassing, poaching and whatever else he could think of? Sica had no wish for a fresh collection of whip marks.
“I don’t,” she snarled and stabbed at him with the dagger, straight in the heart leaving him dead in the leaves.
At least that was what should have happened. But somehow he grabbed her wrist and snapped it.
Sica heard the sharp crack that split the air, felt pain explode into her arm. The knife fell from her nerveless fingers as he pushed her away violently. She fell onto the ground, automatically putting her arms out to break her fall. Sica hissed as her broken wrist twisted on the soil, adding more pain to humiliation. How could he be so gods-cursed *fast*? He knife was lost under the leaves that covered the woodland, but she figured, if he got close enough…. She glared accusingly at him.
He stared back coldly and she could swear he was trying not to laugh. Arrogant aristocrat. “Well,” he said softly, laughter glinting in his eyes that were dark in the night. “It would seem I have you at my mercy.”
“Not likely,” Sica answered and leapt to her feet, ignoring the pain in her arm.
Respect showed on his handsome face for an instant before he smiled sardonically. “But you have no weapon and believe me girl, it would be just as easy for me to break your other arm.”
She didn’t doubt that he meant it, but Sica had been brought up to fight. He was just lucky, she told herself. He caught you off guard, that was all. “You surprised me,” she said flatly. “Had you tried that any other time, you would have been flat on your back in three seconds.”
His eyes widened in mock shock. “An interesting concept,” he murmured. “I had heard about village girls, but I had no idea….”
She had walked right into that one. Sica glared at him. “I mean it. You come near me and I’ll hit you into next year.” She had heard as much about aristocrats as he had about village girls. Droit de seignur for one thing. What kind of twisted idea was that?
“Will you?” he said quietly. He moved suddenly and before Sica had time to react, he had caught her other arm in his gloved hands, putting enough pressure on the bone to warn her he had been making no idle threat.
The young man grinned at her discomfiture. “So, girl, do you come with me or do I have to break all your bones one by one?”
“You’re a real charmer, aren’t you?”
He gave her a wolfish grin. “No one has ever complained,” he said dryly. “Well, stay or go?”
“Do I have a choice?” Sica muttered under her breath, but he heard her and just laughed.
“Follow me.” He walked across the clearing and out into the woods. Sica followed him cautiously, wondering where he was taking her. She thought about running – these woods were huge, but Sica knew just how much trouble she would be in if he found her.
They came out onto the track that ran parallel to the woods. A horse was tied up at one side of the road, coat glossy in the moonlight, almost ethereal white like a ghost creature.
Sica stared at the horse in horror, only too able to imagine how much riding was going to hurt her arm. The young man leapt onto the horse easily and held out a hand to her.
She shook her head stubbornly. “I’ll walk, thanks.”
Larch sighed impatiently. “I won’t hurt you, girl.” The horse whickered softly, shifting uneasily on its hooves.
“Can’t you get past your ego?” Sica snapped, thoroughly annoyed by his arrogance. “I am not afraid of *you*. I do not want to ride because I would prefer to walk in pain than ride in agony.”
He slid off the horse, a dim shadow and before she knew what was happening, he had picked her up and somehow got her onto the horse.
“What are you doing?” she yelled and tried to jump off, but found he was holding her waist with unusual strength. Sica was slender, but strong and she should have been able to move him easily.
“I don’t have time for you to walk, no doubt complaining all the way.” He saw her face. Sica was trying not to think about her broken arm and failing miserably. “You’ll live,” he said shortly. “A little broken bone never killed anyone.” Larch sat behind her. It was then Sica realised. The horse was reinless, stirrupless and saddleless. Oh *no*.
As a last ditch tactic, she slammed her good elbow back, hard. He didn’t flinch. Sica was amazed…and grudgingly impressed. She had heard grown men scream when she did that to them.
“Hold on,” he whispered wickedly, then like a lightning strike the horse began to gallop, pounding down the track. She gritted her teeth against the grating pain in her arm that became worse the faster the horse galloped along the road leading back to the mansion.
She kept herself upright, keeping as far away from Larch as was possible on a horse, but that meant she had nothing to hold onto, making the pain, if possible, worse. The wind whipped her hair, chilled her. At least *he* had a cloak wrapped around him.
Soon Sica began to see black spots and her vision blurred dangerously. She swayed and realised dimly there was no way she could stop herself falling…
Arms caught her and she was pulled back against a strong body that was tense with anger. ”For a trespasser,” she heard Larch snap, “you are far more trouble than you’re worth.”
“You got yourself into this mess, your *lordship*,” she drawled through the pain of her arm jolting with every step the horse took.
“Don’t remind me,” he said, voice quiet and purring. “Or I might be tempted to rid myself of the problem.
“Isn’t that what you were planning anyway?” Sica muttered, unconsciously shivering in the wind.
Larch frowned at her absently. “You are proving to be more than the average thief, girl.” Sica shivered again and he pulled his cloak around them both, warming her hands in his glove-covered ones. Fire shot through her arm, jolting senses, waves of pain and a dizziness that threatened to overwhelm. Darkness closing in an endless rhythm, wrapping around her, dragging her in. Pain was the world, nothing mattered. The real world ceased to exist, there was only the night. And the night became the void. Black hell dragged her unwilling eyes shut and pulled her from the waking world.
She woke slowly, painfully, of course. He slowed the horse to a trot and Sica looked up to see that they had arrived.
* * * *
She was unceremoniously shoved into a large hall that had paintings hung all around the walls. Sica stared up at them. Larch Blackthorn’s ancestors, no doubt. Most of the portraits were in shadow. The hall was as dark as outside, just one or two torches burning on a wall.
The one nearest her showed a man with blood coloured hair and golden eyes. Tall and hawk-faced, he reminded Sica of Lord Redfern. In fact, this man was an exact replica of him. She leaned forward to look at the dates.
Lord H. Redfern, 1243-
Sica blinked a couple of times in surprise. Where was his death date? If that ancestor were still alive he would be…hundreds of years old, at least. That couldn’t be right.
“Are you going to stand there staring all day?” the now familiar voice rapped out behind her. Larch was standing in a doorway that led into a large room. Sica just caught a glimpse of a fire behind him. Warmth, she thought. Finally.
She walked into the huge room and slumped down by the fire, glad of the almost burning heat on her skin. It dulled the pain in her arm a little and she was grateful for that.
A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see Larch standing over her, the fire throwing strange lights on to his face that made him look demonic and inhuman.
Beautifully inhuman though. Night black hair and intense ice-grey eyes together with his face that could have been painted by any artist had a devastating effect. If he weren’t such a bastard, Sica might have liked him.
He sat opposite her, long legs stretched out lazily, looking at her in a peculiar way. Giant cat, she thought. Guess that must make me the mouse. What fun.
“So, what do I do with you now?”
Sica smiled coldly. “Apologise for breaking my arm, give me some money and I’ll get the hell out of here.”
“Or I could kill you.” He didn’t smile, just looked perfectly serious. Oh, god, he meant it. Sica sighed inwardly. So now she had to find some way to beat him – it would have to be a dishonourable fight of course – and get back to Alys’ before she started worrying.
Sica was about to reply when a door on the other side of the room squealed open. A couple stepped in. The woman caught Sica’s eye first, with her bright red dress that clung so tight Sica was sure it must be crushing her, long fair hair that was elaborately styled and big…purple…eyes?
Larch smiled with sudden charm and stood up. “Dalia, you look stunning,” he declared, walking towards the lady. Sica couldn’t believe his instant transformation. From killing to complements.
The woman smirked back and twirled around. “It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Then her eyes widened as she saw Sica. “Larch, what is *that*?” She started to stride forward then, Sica noticed with black humour, swapped it for a stately glide.
Larch didn’t turn to look at Sica, but she heard his voice. “A common thief, my dear, nothing to worry about. At least, not for much longer.”
The redhead laughed and fluttered her eyelashes. “Hungry, Larch?” He shot her a black look for some reason Sica couldn’t understand. “Which course is she? Or which wine, more importantly?”
Sica glared at the haughty woman for an instant before she turned her eyes back to her dress. Sica had never seen clothes so beautiful, and no doubt expensive. The red velvet went well with the woman’s south European complexion, and the exotic black flower bracelet was a nice touch, two black dahlias – a play on words probably – twined around one another with a petal clasp.
“She doesn’t *look* dangerous to me,” the woman commented, turning her violet eyes coldly on Sica with the strange snake-like stare she seemed to cultivate.
Larch turned to look at Sica thoughtfully. “She isn’t. Just a girl with over-ambitious ideals. Probably a ‘rebel’.”
Sica dropped her eyes, smiling into the fur rug. If only you knew, she thought. You wouldn’t be laughing then.
“Not at all dangerous then.” The woman sounded disappointed.
Dalia’s consort spoke for the first time and Sica had a strange feeling of déjà vu. “I wouldn’t say that.”
Sica scrutinised him carefully. Young, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Stocky with silvery brown hair that looked vaguely furry, one yellow green eye that glared maliciously at her. The other was covered by a patch. The next thing she saw the angry red mark on his hand, a half-healed lesion. Sica had seen that kind of wound before…it was an arrow wound. But that was…she looked at the guy’s angry face…and recognised him somehow. He was the wolf.
She saw realisation dawn in his face at the same time. This just got worse and worse.
“Rocyon, what’s wrong?” Dalia looked concerned, eyes flicking between the two of them.
Sica put a shaking hand to her mouth. “You…you’re the wolf. How can that be?”
The one eyed boy called Rocyon hissed into the silence. “She knows, my dear. She knows about us now.”
* * * *
