They had no fruit this time of year, but in late spring, small bright red berries would hang off the vines. Enticing little snacks. They weren’t poisonous or anything; that wasn’t their job.
The berries were the bait.
I shifted back to my human form and eyed the plant, noting where it had expanded. While most of it grew up the tree, some grew down, covering the massive tree roots that rose out of the earth. Mentally, I made a path, and then very carefully, I picked my steps through the vines.
Halfway to the trunk, a vine on my left shivered, and I froze. A thin tendril reared up like a serpent, and black thorns that usually lay flat against the vine went rigid until they stuck straight out. The small, sharp thorns were coated in a fast-acting paralytic toxin.
Strangler vines were common in this area, and every child had it drilled into them to avoid them at all costs.
When prey was detected, the vines would wrap around their victim, fill them full of toxin, and strangle them to death. Then they would leave the decaying carcass to feed the soil where their specialized vines grew to absorb the nutrients.
Most people gave strangler vines a wide berth, which was why this was a perfect place to hide something I didn’t want anyone to find.
Eventually, the raised vine lowered itself back down and I continued through them, stopping any time one of them gave even a hint of movement.
In the back of my mind, I wondered if Sorin had realized I was missing. I had no doubt he would be the first to notice. Bastian would be busy today, and honestly, no one else really cared where I was.
I knew my brother cared about me, but I also knew he was loyal to our pack. His pack, I reminded myself. I was packless.
More than once, Sorin had been faced with the dilemma of supporting me or the pack. He’d always chosen the pack, which was why my stubborn ass was dancing on the knife’s edge of life and death to retrieve something that would make sure he couldn’t follow me after this point.
After what felt like a lifetime, I finally reached a spot where the roots of the tree curved out enough to make a space. I crouched down and used my hands to dig while keeping an eye on the vines. The ground was hard, so I had to shift my nails to claws to get through, but soon enough, I felt the top of the box. I pulled it free and clutched it to my chest while I retraced my steps, practically holding my breath until I was a safe distance away.
I opened the box and plucked the silver necklace out before tossing the box aside. Sooner or later, Sorin would trace my path here, and like me, he was crazy enough to think hiding something beneath a strangler vine was a good idea. I’d have to find a new place to stash the necklace after this.
The necklace was something I’d borrowed from Drudonia. Well, technically stolen, but it had just been sitting on a shelf in one of their rooms of interesting but ultimately useless Fae artifacts. The necklace was made of delicate silver loops and had rather peculiar magic. When clasped around someone’s neck, it made them undetectable by sound or scent, but only to Velesians.
Its magic didn’t work on Moroi, Furies, or any of the monsters that roamed Lunaria. We hadn’t found anything else with the same kind of magic, and Velesians hadn’t existed when the Fae would have crafted this necklace; we were all still just humans back then. So who had they made this necklace for?
As Samara would say, yet another Fae mystery to add to the list.
“Good luck tracking me now, Sorin.” I grinned and fastened the Fae jewelry around my neck, which was the only way to activate the magic, and took off at a steady pace, heading west. After a quarter mile, I leapt up into the trees to help cover any physical trail left behind, although the ground was pretty hard and I’d been careful not to disturb much of the undergrowth.
As good a tracker as Sorin was, he had to have something to go on. My practice avoiding Ryker was paying off. Sorin stood no chance.
It was about forty miles to Lake Malov. At the pace I was going, I’d be there in two hours, less if I pushed myself more, but I had to be careful. Just because it was daylight didn’t mean it was safe. Howlers were most active during the day, and a large enough pack was definitely dangerous, especially since I didn’t have any weapons on me. I could have taken the necklace off and shifted to my wolf form, but my best chance at survival would be running.
I let myself sink into my race through the trees, allowing my instincts to guide me. Mile after mile ticked by with no issues, and just as I started to think I would make it to Lake Malov with no unfortunate encounters, I felt the familiar combination of adrenaline and unease all Velesians learned to pay special attention to, like the forest itself was whispering a warning.
You are being hunted.
This was the real reason we were still alive. It wasn’t our ability to shift into predators nor our enhanced speed and strength. Those things helped for sure, but it was our preternatural instincts that had kept us alive in this land of monsters.
A Velesian that ignored them was a dead Velesian.
I didn’t slow my pace, keeping my steady jog as my gaze scanned the trees around me. Another mile passed and the birds stopped chirping, then everything went very silent.
Howlers wouldn’t get that kind of reaction out of the local wildlife. Most of the monsters that would only came out at night. Dread coiled in my gut.
I was being hunted by Strigoi.
The Moroi often flirted with their hold over humanity. If they embraced their bloodlust, it made them faster, stronger, and more capable of surviving in the harsh world we lived in. Though, just like with Velesians who lost themselves to the call of the wild, some Moroi severed their connection to humanity entirely.
Usually this happened when an outpost was attacked, the panic and death creating an intense atmosphere that pushed Moroi too far. It happened less these days because we’d gotten better at maintaining the wards, but Erendriel and his wraiths had done a number on the Moroi last year. We didn’t know for sure how many Moroi had become Strigoi in the aftermath of those raids, but there had been an alarming increase in Strigoi attacks recently.
Just my luck that I’d run into them.
In hindsight, I regretted not going out of my way to one of the scout stashes. A leather vest would be real nice right about now to help protect my vital organs from razor-sharp claws. Not to mention having a weapon or two.
