“Not in the mood to talk this morning?” I ask mildly.
She turns away, presenting me with her shoulder, spine straight despite the tremor in it.
“Are you going to starve yourself to prove a point? Truly, what sense does that make?”
Go away.
The words brush against my mind, brittle and shaky.
If you would just?—
Go away.
Harsher this time and with bite.
So I do.
I turn and leave her to whatever state she has chosen. But it is I who carries the discomfort with me. The unease lingers long after I exit the dungeon. Concern is not an emotion I entertain. Not for mortals. Not in the centuries since my rebirth. Even my brothers are spared only practical consideration—how their instability might affect our purpose here.
This is different.
And I do not like it one bit.
This anxious feeling is overwhelming. Entirely new to me. As the hours drag on, the grip I have on my own emotions begins to fray. My control—something I have never struggled to maintain—slips at the edges.
A hunt is my answer.
Nothing steadies me faster. Nothing sharpens my thoughts and bleeds off excess tension like tracking prey through the wild.
I prepare for a longer hunt than usual, since I have never been this unsettled before.
In my closet, I press the hidden latch that unlocks the door to my private weapons cache. The panel slides open with a muted click. I select what I need without hesitation and carry the bag down to the stables. I saddle Calixis out of habit, though it is unnecessary. The ritual of it calms my hands and reminds me of a different time altogether.
We leave the city without ceremony.
It is not until we reach the deeper, more lush parts of The Felled Forest and begin ascending the dense mountain range beyond that I let my human facade once again fall away. Cali feels it the moment I do, the shift, and follows my lead. Within the next heartbeat, we are one. Hunt as bond and bonded.
I release the reins and let them drop over the pommel. Cali gives me the ability to see through her eyes. With this double vision, I scan our surroundings. Through our link, I guide her stride and pace.
She takes off through the brush. The forest isn’t teeming with life as it once was, but we still find evidence of large game here and there.
A while later, we find fresh tracks, deep impressions in damp earth. I swing down from Cali’s back and crouch, running my fingers lightly along the edges of the footprints.
A deer.
I tell Cali to stay put and retrieve my bow and quiver, then follow the trail on foot. The signs grow clearer as I move—upturned stones, snapped twigs, bark scraped clean by antlers. A stag.
There’s not much fresh water this high up, but as I step quietly over a felled tree and duck under a broken branch that lies in my path, I get my first scent of it in the air. Going with my gut instinct, which rarely leads me astray, I stealthily make my way toward it.
Small creatures scatter at my approach. Leaves whisper down from above. Somewhere distant, another animal gives a warning chortle.
When I eventually find the stream, I see him.
His head is lifted, ears alert. I freeze mid-step and wait until his guard lowers, until he bends again toward the water.
He is broad-bodied. Antlers thicker than they are tall, with four points branching cleanly. Not massive—but not small either. I wet my thumb, testing the wind. Shift my position until I am safely downwind.
Slowly, carefully, I move into range.
