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The mission is what matters. He’s not here to prove himself to the hollow—or the humans.
While he and Nur keep watch, the humans set up trap lines along the river banks and bring a stream of small game into the camp. In the cup of the valley where the river widens intoa wetland, waterfowl gather in flocks amid the cattails—both abundant sources of food, as well as fresh tick filling from the birds’ downy breasts. A water purification station goes up at the far end of camp. Arsene watches all this from above, halfway up the cliff. From there he can see the camp and the humans marching up and down from the wagons, filling them with supplies. At night the main bonfire throws light up the cliffs and makes the shadows dance like ghosts, and he stalks the hillside, making sure none of the ghosts turn into enemies.
When Arsene isn’t on watch during daylight hours, he scouts, following the trap lines and tracing the humans’ steps up and down the valley, looking for disturbances.
At first there’s nothing, and he begins to wonder if he’s been paranoid. But soon enough, minor signs crop up. Traps robbed of their bounty. Dogs whining at invisible enemies during the night. Then there are bigger anomalies, like a lack of large game. Deer and buffalo should be drawn here—it’s the only source of water for miles. That was certainly what the humans hoped for. Yet they remain conspicuously absent, and he can’t find even old trails or dried scat to suggest big animals ever visited.
It’s clear there are chimeras about, but what kind?
That night he chews on his findings as he swallows down a hot meal from the fire. Lack of sleep makes him hungrier than he’s been in a long time, and the bountiful valley and more permanent cook tent means the food is hearty. Thick oats with tart wild berries, leavened bread, trout seared on the flame. But he hardly tastes any of it, caught up in his thoughts. Even the bustle of the camp fades into the background.
Instead of solutions, thoughts of Nur swim in his mind. The judgemental scowl that deepens every time they switch off. His coldness, so far removed from the way he melted into Arsene’s arms under the stars.
He’s not mine.
But the refrain has a perilous undercurrent.I wish he was.
Would things be different between them? Would Nur be sweeter and more understanding, his sharp edges filed away? Would Arsene even want that?
Of course he would. A true bond is unconditional, and conditions are all that exist between them.
Except when Arsene is buried deep inside him.
Lost in the turmoil of his thoughts, he’s surprised when someone shakes his shoulder.
“Angel!” It’s Myra. “Something’s wrong up at the wagons.”
Arsene gets to his feet. The camp is suddenly deathly quiet. Faint shouting drifts from the cliff top, chased by a dog’s yelp.
“Who’s up there?”
“It’s the kids!” Behind Myra, Irvin is ashen in the firelight.
Chapter 19
ARSENE
“Stay here,”he orders. He turns on his heel and takes off toward his tent.
The screaming stops while he’s running. If they’re lucky, it’s because the pups have decided to keep quiet. If they’re not…
We’re fucked.
He rips the tent open and grabs his bag. Inside, the pieces of his sword are in perfect, combat-ready condition. It’s familiar as breathing to snap them together. The sword nearly comes up to his chest—a war weapon, tested by many turns of combat, with an edge that still gleams in the moonlight. He hefts it.
“I’m coming with you,” Irvin says behind him, huffing.
“Not a chance,” Arsene growls. “Why are there children up there? I told everyone to stay in the camp at night.”
“They took the dogs,” Irvin argues weakly. “It’s been quiet. I thought it was safe.”
Arsene’s heart falls. “They’re yours.”
“One of them.”
Why did it have to be children?
There’s no time to be indecisive—they could all be in danger. “Fine. Come. But stay behind me, and don’t draw attention to yourself.”
