“Sounds good. Two teams can be spared from recon and scouting runs.”
She waited until the others left to say, “That better not include my group tonight.”
“You still want to go?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
For a long moment, he stared at her, visible conflict warring in his gaze. But at last he let out a sigh. “Never mind.”
Holding eye contact, Pru acknowledged Dom’s misgivings scattering like startled birds, but she appreciated that he trusted her to decide what was best. She wouldn’t let fear define her.
At the appointed time, she presented herself at the changing room; relief trickled in when she realized Magda would be leading the mission. She recognized Arran, the pride seer, and one of the guards. But when the last member of the team arrived, she clenched her jaw.
“Is it wise for both of you to go?” she asked.
Magda grinned, seeming to find the question funny. “Asserting yourself as pride matron? Don’t worry, I swapped with Slay. I have too much work here, and he volunteered to take over.”
I bet he did.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Not a problem. Your opinion matters, and you’d be right if we were both going. Stay sharp, everyone.”
There was no point in complaining. If Slay wanted to witness her shifting, let him. He said a few words about their unit goal, something about tracking unreported Golgoth movements, but Pru couldn’t focus.
Stop it. Don’t let Slay screw this up for you.
She waved when Magda took off and made small talk with Arran. No amount of composure could erase the weight of Slay’s gaze. It was so awkward stripping down in front of him. He watched her remove each article of clothing with a stare so intense that she fought the urge to turn away.
I have no reason to hide. No cause to cower.
Nobody else seemed to clock the tension, and if they did, they were kind enough not to mention it. Pru put away her clothes and went ocelot; this time, the discomfort was more akin to unexpectedly slamming an elbow against a table. In fact, she could picture the day when it wouldn’t pain her at all.
The group fell in behind Slay. Instead of going out the main gate, they circled through a passage built in the wall and slipped out a concealed side exit. At first she wondered why Dom hadn’t come this way when they returned from the retreat, then she guessed that he likely didn’t want to give away pride secrets on the off chance the Noxblade was still tracking them.
Pru had never been part of a patrol before, but she emulated the others. It was impossible not to notice that she was the smallest cat. Not the size of a human pet, no matter what Slay had said, but definitely not on par with Magda in terms of combat ability, either. She admired Slay’s jaguar form as they prowled away from the hold, and then wondered if that could be construed as disloyal to Dom.
Darkness cloaked the forest, but it also brought new clues. Sensory input nearly overwhelmed her, scent trails wafting to her. Part of her wanted to chase them—to explore—but the group’s focus didn’t permit kittenish behavior. Since this was a recon mission, they had a clear goal.
I just wasn’t listening when he explained. That’s on me.
At this point, she could only do her best not to be a liability.
Snow in the air.
The wind tasted crisp, laced with complicated messages that she could only half-decipher. She padded behind the others, listening now and then, but so far, she registered normal night noises. As the group novice, however, she might not notice subtle yet crucial clues. For hours, they ran as a group, steadily pushing north, and Pru restrained the desire to play. Since the Golgoth were supposed to arrive in a few days, the official convoy must be on the move. It would mean trouble if they found any sign of additional troops inside the borders.
Slay angled his head, an indication they were breaking right. A peculiar smell laced the ground. It carried a chemical tang, but it didn’t smell like any fuel she’d ever encountered. The others circled, appearing equally perplexed. Whatever this was, it scraped the trees and broke branches on the way in. From the depression in the ground, some kind of machine sat here for a while, and it scorched the earth. Her nose whispered of carbon and charred vegetation.
Definitely not our tech.
Animari machines ran on biodiesel.
Plus, we respect the environment far too much to create anything that could do this.
As Pru studied the site, pain pinched her shoulder, and the world went fuzzy. The last thing she saw was Slay’s back as something dragged her away.
Lord Talfayen had
been talking for forty minutes. Once, the Eldritch leader took a long breath, and Dom thought that meant he would have a chance to respond to the litany of complaints. No such luck. Talfayen resumed, and Dom went back to taking notes. From their expressions, Beren and Raff were no happier about the state of this meeting.
“Lord Talfayen,” he cut in at last. “I’m aware that the Eldritch have many concerns about the current accords, but official talks don’t commence until the Golgoth arrive. Any concession we make now would be denounced as unjust.”
“That… is true,” said Talfayen in his measured way.
“Perhaps we could change the tone. It’s time for a break, and you mentioned your desire to tour the winery?”
“Another time.” The Eldritch lord rose with a dismissive gesture. “I hadn’t realized the hour was so late. You’ll be wanting your evening meal and a rest.”
“You’re welcome to join me,” he invited.
Please, no. If I have to eat with him—
“Very kind, but I need to go over some private matters with my nephew. I’ll see you in the morning. With respect, please see that the meeting is more productive.”
As Talfayen sailed out, Dom snapped his teeth at the air. It would give him great satisfaction to let diplomacy explode like a grenade, but the pride would suffer. Beren made a noise that sounded like he might be strangling on a beehive as Raff paced the length of the room.
“How can fate be so cruel?” Beren wondered aloud. “That I should survive long enough to suffer through this a second time. I’d prefer a quick death in combat.”
“That can be arranged, old bear.” Raff didn’t seem to be joking, either.
“Enough.” Dom sighed, wanting only to get back to Pru and find out how her mission went. But if he left these two so riled, there was no telling how things would play out tomorrow. “Let’s have a drink to settle our nerves. Talfayen is a harmless blowhard, and if he
wasn’t
whining, then we’d really have something to worry about.”
Raff went to the sideboard and poured three shots. “I thought he’d never shut up about that pastureland. Supposedly your grandfather stole it from his old man?”
“Ah, but that land is magical,” Beren mocked. “Their goats must eat the white flowers specially pollinated by consecrated bees and then they can make sacred cheese, or some such.”
Dom rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The Eldritch live a long time, and apparently they don’t forget grudges.”
“There’s probably a ledger. ‘On this day the first of May, eighteen hundred and eight, the Ash Valley pride, in collusion with Burnt Amber and Pine Ridge, did swindle from us two hectares of pastureland.’” Wearing a disgruntled expression, Raff passed out the drinks.
Despite himself, Dom laughed as he swore. “Can you believe it? All of that wind over…” he quickly did the math, “…not even five acres of land.”
“Those are mine now,” Beren said. “And after making me listen to all that moaning, he’ll have them back over my dead body. Cheers, you rotten cubs.”
After clinking glasses with the other two, Dom drank up. The liquor burned pleasantly on the way down. Another glass tempted him, but he’d only just climbed out of a bottle, so he covered the top of his when Raff tried to pour more. Between Beren and Raff, they emptied the decanter, and both of them were steady as rocks when they left the conference room.
Though he wanted to head home, work still beckoned. Mentally grumbling, Dom found Magda poring over surveillance footage. He hadn’t even known they had cameras near the retreat. Due to an old seer’s edict, the lodge itself was off-limits, but the approach and surrounding terrain had hunting cameras posted, and from her cranky face, Magda had been watching the feeds for a while.
“Anything?” he asked.
“Shadows. Wildlife. The Noxblades are good, so it was a longshot that I’d find actual evidence this way.”
“What about the bodies?”
“I sent a team to investigate this afternoon, and the place has been sanitized. We found broken furniture, but the corpses are gone, along with all trace evidence.”
Dom swore. “If I’d acted sooner…”
“I won’t say you handled things right. You made my life harder, no exaggeration. But I’m willing to cut you some slack. You’re rusty as hell, and at least you kept yourself safe.” Magda gave his shoulder a bracing pat. “Along with Pru.”
“Yeah, but now we can’t lodge a formal complaint about the attack. If I hadn’t dropped the ball, we’d have two dead Eldritch on ice, and I’d get to see Talfayen’s face when I confronted him.”
Losing that opportunity pissed him off. The Eldritch leader couldn’t control all his physiological reactions, but it would be an empty accusation without proof to back it up. Talfayen could even allege that Dom was lying to gain traction in negotiation.
“Crying, spilled milk,” Magda said with a dismissive shrug. “If you feel bad, do better.”
“It’s taking me longer to remember how to lead the pride than I’d like to admit.”
Magda turned from scrutinizing the three screens before her. “Never thought I’d hear you say that. But… in my book it’s enough that you’re aware. The rest of us will pitch in until you’re completely back to your old self.”
Is that possible? Or wise?
Dom figured he’d shown enough weakness for one day. “Status on the assassin?”
“He went into his room an hour ago. Still there, according to the guards.” She flicked a few switches, transferring focus to the external corridor in the guest wing.
Courtesy prohibited monitoring equipment in private areas, but Dom wished he had access to the room the red-eyed Noxblade was using. As he watched, the footage flickered. Puzzled, he leaned in at the same time as Magda. On the surface, it could be nothing, but then precisely thirty seconds later, it flickered again.
“Something’s not right,” he said.
“I’m on it.”
The security chief tapped at the keys. A moment later, Magda snarled a curse. “It’s looping. Someone’s tampered with our equipment.”
His first impulse was to sound the alarm and alert all personnel. There could be no good reason for a Noxblade who had already tried to kill him once concealing his movements. Magda sat rigid, awaiting orders.
“We can’t let this blow up, can we?”
She shook her head. “Definitely not. Even worse, there’s no evidence the Eldritch did this. They’ll argue it could’ve been our own people or a traitor in the Pine Ridge or Burnt Amber camps. In this scenario, there are
so
many ways an angry accusation breaks bad.”
“Then I’ll hold it in until we know more. Find out what you can. Quietly. Talk to the guards assigned to that corridor personally, and report back here.”
“On it.”
Magda raced out of the control room, leaving him to scrutinize the footage. He didn’t have her way with tech, so Dom didn’t learn anything new. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since lunch, and then, not much. He went back to the records his security chief had been inspecting and found where Pru arrived at the base of the mountain.
On screen she hesitated and then started the long climb, a small woman in a puffy jacket, her head bowed against the wintry wind. She couldn’t have had any clue how things would turn out—that she’d learn to shift and swap her love for Slay for the good of the pride.
Wait, what was that?
He paused the feed to be sure. An icy chill crawled up his spine when he realized he was looking at two shadows on the stone steps.
Two shadows?
Pru… and a Noxblade nearby, maybe. So they were watching? She could have died on the way to me, and I wouldn’t have known.
Dom clenched the edge of the table until his composure returned. Checking various camera angles, he couldn’t see much of the retreat and the range didn’t extend to the clearing where she’d left the Rover. Hunting cameras weren’t meant to provide high levels of surveillance, but he swore regardless.
When the door banged open, he expected Magda with an urgent report.
But it was Slay, wild as Dom had ever seen, too winded to breathe properly. Somehow he got the words out. “Pru… Pru…”
Fear went needle sharp inside him, and he grabbed his second. “Speak. Now.”
That touch seemed to take Slay’s knees out from under him. “She’s missing.”
“W
ake up.”
The lilting accent in conjunction with an acrid snap catapulted Pru back to consciousness. Someone waved the stink beneath her nose, and a deep inhalation stung her sinuses. As her eyes watered, she struggled to make sense of her surroundings—rough walls and a dirt floor. This seemed to be an outbuilding, nowhere she’d ever been before. The place smelled of moldy grain, spider webs big as a bed canopy overhead.
At some point after passing out, she’d reverted to human form, and someone had wrapped her in a man’s overcoat. Fear spiked when a shadowy figure resolved into the sharp features of the red-eyed Noxblade that had tried—and failed—to kill Pru before. Crouched before her and clad in black, he was the stuff of nightmares, the goblin king from an illustrated storybook that gave Animari children delicious shivers. Pru fought to keep her breathing steady. Whatever torture he intended, she wouldn’t crack.
“You must be wondering why I’ve taken you, if I plan to play.”
She swallowed and tried not to show her fear. “No.”
“My name is Gavriel. Not so vicious now, hm?”
“I…what?” If she thought it would work, she’d go cat and try to escape, but in the gloom, she couldn’t find any gaps that she could slink through, even as an ocelot.