Raff didn’t like to delegate, so he made good on all his tech promises personally. Unlike the day they were attacked, it was all quiet, nothing to disturb the countryside, which made for good hunting. Silently, he shifted and stalked a hart, reveling in the thrill of the chase and the blood-bright satisfaction of making the kill. He field dressed it himself with the knife he always carried.
He returned to Daruvar triumphant, with the carcass slung across his shoulders. After the fact, he realized he probably looked like a fucking barbarian, smeared red and glorying in carnage. Too late to dial it down. Pretending he couldn’t read the looks from the Eldritch, he carried his bounty to the kitchen. Raff half expected they wouldn’t know how to process the meat.
Though the head cook’s eyes widened, she didn’t react otherwise. “The smokehouse is this way. We’re using it to cure fish, but there’s space for the venison, too.”
“Thank you.”
The ‘smokehouse’ was a bare room at the back of the fortress, chilly even for him, and full of racks of fish. He hung the field-dressed hart from hooks dangling from the weathered timbers. From the bloodstains on the floor and the scars on the wall where equipment had been removed, it seemed likely that this had been a torture chamber.
“Daruvar has a dark history,” the head cook observed. She seemed to be guessing his thoughts, her gaze on those stained stones.
“We’ve all got our skeletons,” he said.
She offered a brisk nod. “Indeed, that’s true. I’ll take it from here. You must be tired of our cuisine by now, but if you can bear with it for another week or so, I’ll make you something lovely from this venison.”
“Thank you.”
Maybe now, Skylett would stop complaining. Sixty pounds of meat would feed three of them for quite a while.
Raff inclined his head at the cook and headed off in search of his wife, who should be relieved to hear they had mines in place and drones on patrol. He was tired and cold; normally, he didn’t work this hard, and he wanted a pat for his uncharacteristic industry. Failing that, some of her burden might be relieved, at least. He knew all too well how it felt to worry about the people under your protection.
He did wash up and get dressed first, though.
One perk of having a wolf’s nose, even in human form, was that he should be able to find Thalia anywhere in the fortress. He picked up her trail near the strategy room and followed it toward the unused portion of the keep. This can’t be right. But the scent markers only got stronger, leading him over piles of rubble and down damaged staircases.
Where the hell is she going?
Deeper in, he caught another scent, fainter but unmistakable. He’d encountered this person before, but not enough to be able to name them in one whiff. It seemed like this person was stalking Thalia, though, and that sent a cold chill down his spine. Raff quickened his steps, relying on enhanced senses, but while he felt like he was getting closer to both of them, he still didn’t see anyone.
Must be a Noxblade.
He raced on, over tumbled stones and ice-slick rubble, nerves prickling with the desire to change. With effort, he controlled the urge because he’d already left one set of clothing in the hills, and he hadn’t packed that much stuff. The hair stood up on the back of his neck as he came to a dead end, just a shadowed corner, only he could feel the whispers of chill wind crawling over his feet.
Raff felt around, half with his hands and half with his senses, until he found the trigger mechanism, just a minute depression in the wall. Which swung open to reveal a dirt passage descending into darkness. Both the scent trails he’d marked went this way. If Thalia didn’t know about her stalker, something terrible might happen.
The door started to close, and he dove through. Seems like it’s on a timer. The chilly wind got stronger inside the tunnel that smelled of ancient graves and fetid damp. No telling what might be down here…or why the Eldritch buried it. Better question would be why Thalia was going after it.
Up ahead, he glimpsed movement. The gloom helped him narrow in on his prey, and with a snarl, he pounced on…Ferith, slamming her against the wall. “What’re you playing at?” he demanded.
The Noxblade struggled against his hold, futile at best. “Let me go! Every second you delay me, the princess is in danger!”
He let go in reflex. “What are you talking about?”
“We laid a trap and caught only a foolish wolf. You might have ruined everything.”
“Explain. Quickly.”
“There’s no time for that!” She broke his grip as the ceiling rumbled above them.
Raff flung her away as a ton of rock and soil dropped; with superior reflexes, he twisted away from the worst of it, though his lower body was pinned. Crushed would be a better word. That was almost enough to kill a wolf. Snarling in pain, he dug himself out by increments, a feat possible only due to his Animari strength.
No telling how long it took, but Raff finally crawled backwards, fresh blood trickling from wounds that healed and cracked open all over again from the rough treatment. He lay against the packed dirt wall, conscious of the dead roots jabbing into his spine. He was filthy and injured, but at least he was alive. Raff had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be and calling out might alert their enemies. Hopefully, Ferith could backtrack to the door and get out on that side.
He pulled out his phone, but the screen was cracked, and it wouldn’t power on. Unsurprising, the rubble that shattered his femur also broke the phone in his pocket. The bone needed to be set, or it would fuse crooked, then doctors would have to break it again when he got
