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Delilah let out a strangled cry and joined me. “He is . . . he is . . .”
“I am Herne, Lord of this land. And this is one of my sons, Tra. What have you been doing to him, Aeval? I thought I told you never to torment my children again, you devil.”
I slowly glanced up at the god, a terror so deep in my heart I could scarcely form words. “Your Eminence . . . I am not . . . if it please . . . I’m not . . .”
But he stopped me, with a sudden laugh. “You are not Aeval! Who are you? And why are you so familiar?” And then, another pause, and he leaned down, looking at me like I might bend down to look at a bug. “You carry the mark and horn of the Black Beast. Who are you? And what are you doing in my realm? And why should I let you live?”
And I realized right then just how much trouble we were in.
Chapter 7
Crap. And I didn’t usually use that term.
“We’re in trouble,” I whispered to Delilah. “We are in so much trouble . . .”
“Again, I ask you, girl: Why should I let you live?”
I forced myself to my feet even though I just wanted to cower at his.
“I am Camille, from Otherworld. I’m a priestess of the Moon Mother. I am the Chosen of the Black Beast. I am a slayer of demons.” The gods tended to respect people who weren’t shy about their exploits, so I decided to proceed on that premise and hope I wasn’t barking up the wrong tree.
“Chosen of the . . .” Herne paused, and I felt him rifling around in my mind. The gods were good at that—getting inside your brain and worming around till they found what they wanted to find.
I hated the feeling—it reminded me of when Vanzir had been sucking at my energy, sliding into my thoughts just as he slid into my body. My mind, my magic, and my thoughts were my own. My body might be the temple, but my inner self, my core was the sacred flame.>I let out a shaky sigh. I’d been feeling the same thing. “I keep thinking about Aeval’s story about the Bog Eater. Here we have peat and we have dark hunger . . . and I can smell rats.” I pointed up to a nearby tree. On the boughs perched vultures. “Scavengers of the dead.”
Falling silent, I prayed they hadn’t been feasting on Chase’s remains. We had to find him, and the faster the better. There was no real path, but the grass seemed trampled in one direction.
I pointed. “There, we follow that trail.”
Delilah turned to me. “If I change into my panther self, I might be able to catch his scent and lead us.”
“Please, if it will help.” I hadn’t thought about that, but it made sense. And she knew Chase’s scent.
As I watched, my sister began to shimmer and shift. It looked terribly painful, but she always insisted it wasn’t, as long as she didn’t rush through the shifting. And then, as hands and feet and arms and legs lengthened into paws and furred legs, as her body stretched and transformed, and her beautiful face became heavy with dark fur, I could only marvel again at how different the three of us were. Well, four—if you counted Arial, Delilah’s twin who had died at birth.
Within a couple of minutes, a large black panther stood there, a jeweled collar around her neck. Those were her clothes, I knew, plus being the marker that claimed her as belonging to the Autumn Lord.
“Can you catch his scent?” I asked, petting her head. I loved cats, and whether she was tabby or panther, I always cuddled my sister when she was in cat form.
She let out a low rumbling purr as I scratched behind her ears, and, impulsively, I leaned over and kissed her head. She looked up, her glowing emerald eyes gazing into my face, and with a loud slurp she licked my cheek and gave a happy growl. I laughed, then let out a long sigh.
“Find Chase, Delilah.” It wasn’t always easy to keep her on track when she was in cat form, but I loved her anyway.
Delilah glanced from side to side, then raised her head to the air and inhaled deeply. She sniffed, her nose twitching, and then, with a low huff, she swung her head at me and set off at a light run. I ran along behind, and we headed into the mists that rumbled through the glen. Up ahead, I could make out two large rock faces, one on either side, that opened into a narrow channel. A ravine between two cliffs.
We loped along, she watching her speed so I could keep up, and I pacing myself. I had far more stamina than any FBH, but I couldn’t match her speed when she was in panther form, that was for certain.
As we entered the ravine, I glanced around nervously. Trees lined the top of the ravine on either side and I couldn’t pierce the veil of vegetation. And with the mist rolling along the ground, spiraling up in columns, I couldn’t even see the ground. Luckily the ravine was short, soon opening up ahead. It looked like it led into deep woods, and I slowed, calling to Delilah to return to my side. I paused, examining the energy.
Holy hell.
We were entering the realm of a dark god. Not evil, but wild—some ancient forest entity. The masculine energy was overwhelming, and it rode me like a horse, rode me like a beckoning partner. Herne . . . the wild one. Herne, the lord of the forest. Herne, with his antlers rising to the sky. We were entering his realm, and here we would have to be cautious. The gods were not always pleasant, and we were two women in male territory.
“Is Chase in here? Did he come this way?”
Delilah huffed again, nodding. She sniffed the air, then motioned toward a side path. I followed her into the wood, onto the path, wondering what we were getting ourselves into.
The woodland here was dark and ancient. Older than Darkynwyrd, back in Otherworld. Older than Thistlewyd Deep. This was the ancient forest that had sprung up from the loins of the gods. This was primal forest, primal energy.
