The Line between control and surrender

I was ready. I had trained for this moment longer than anyone else, maybe even longer than the trees of Ebonreach had been standing. The Trial of Verdant Ash came only once every three years, and for the first time, I was old enough to enter. Twenty-four. Finally, Old enough to fight. Old enough to uncover the truth. The others joined the Hunt for glory, for sport, or for the rare chance to win the Verdant Boon. I was not like them. I wanted something else, something the others would never ask for. I wanted my mother’s name back. She had died during this very trial seventeen years ago, accused of breaking one of the sacred Hunt laws, and ever since, my family had lived in shame. Her name was struck from the Scrolls, her deeds erased. My father had accepted her disgrace in silence. He had stopped fighting a long time ago. But I never did. “You need never have to do this,” Rhian was saying behind me, his voice was very soft and too much to the point. I remember standing before the mirror, fastening my hunting knives into the sheaths which were strapped to my thighs. I could look in the window at him, just perched on the brink of my bed, with his fingers kneading together in his nervously twitching lap, his brows wrinkled as ever they were when he was thinking of me. “Yes, I do," answered I calmly. Rhian stood up and walked toward me, his steps slow, hesitant. “Kaela, you hate blood. You flinch when you step on a beetle. What happens when you're facing a duskstag or a feral stalker? This is not just about glory for you, and you know it.” I met his eyes in the mirror. “It’s not about glory. It's about justice. If I win, I get a favor from the Forest Mother herself. That’s the price of the Boon. And I will use it to clear my mother's name.” Rhian shook his head. “They don’t deserve that kind of mercy from you. The elders, the Alpha, the pack, they turned their backs on you, on your family. Let the past die.” "I won’t let my mother be remembered as a traitor," I said, turning to face him. "I won’t let her story end that way. And I won’t let my little brother grow up carrying the same weight I did." Rhian clenched his jaw and looked away. I knew he would like to carry out an argument further, but I knew he would not. He had educated me himself and taught me all there was to know about tracking and survival and even took me on simulation hunts during the off-seasons even though he was not supposed to. A minute later he heaved a deep sigh, and passed a hand through the dark curls. “And then I shall go with you.” "You can’t," I said, strapping my pack shut. “The Hunt chooses individual paths. No teamwork. You know that.” He grimaced but nodded. “Still doesn't mean I have to like it.” I smiled at him. “You never do.” Rhian took me out to the border of the village, and there the warding stones were faintly glowing with emerald. This Trial would begin upon the rising of the moon when the stones would raise the spells and fling us all over the town of Ebonreach. Each hunter would begin alone, in a different part of the jungle. We paused just in time, on the threshold of the forest which melted like a fluid on the horizon. 'You really ready for this?' he asked. I nodded. “I’ve been ready since the day they blamed my mother.” He reached out and touched my arm. “Be careful in there, Kaela. There are rumors… some say hunters have gone missing, that the jungle's changing.” “I could handle whatever was out there,” I said, but just for a second a tiny shred of doubt rolled under my skin. We both turned as we heard the sound of foot steps coming up behind us. A tangle of blonde distracted by hair slammed into my chest, throwing both of us around to the floor. “You’re seriously going in without hearing good luck from me?” “Melara, what have I said about slamming into me?” Mel gave me that innocent smile of hers, the one that always worked on the elders. “To do it more often?” I laughed despite myself. “You’re lucky I like you.” “I know,” she said, giving my arm a squeeze. “Now go kick some serious beast tail. I expect at least one severed duskstag horn as a souvenir.” “What I can do, I will see.” Then the horn was blown, a sonorous, archaic note which stirred the jungle like a wash of blue, and which set the trees to groaning. “What? They are not to begin till all the hunters are assured in their place, I said glancing round. Melara winced. “Looks like they decided otherwise.” “Or someone decided for them,” Rhian muttered under his breath. I cursed and took off running, the jungle’s shimmer parting as I stepped through. My skin tingled, the magic of the warding stones brushing across me like cold mist. I stripped as I ran, bundling my clothes and stashing them high in a tree fork. The instant I leapt from the branch, I let the shift take me. A few seconds later my body broke and reassembled; fur replaced skin, the bones were snapping, and I saw clearly. I dropped on four paws, to all my wolf-form. The rain forest was full of fragrances. Decay and moss and blood and terror. I got a whiff someplace to my right side of another mist lynx, earned points, good points in the Trial. I passed lightly, like a shade among the weeds; and in five minutes had discovered it. Before it could move I sprang on it, squeezing in quiet gratitude into my teeth, its throat. It fell and made no sound. I drew back and swallowed against the nausea which generally followed a kill. I detested this bit, I always had. I was never happy despite this. Only necessity. That hesitation nearly cost me everything. A weight slammed into my side, knocking me down a slope. I hit the ground hard and rolled, growling, scrambling to rise—but the creature was already on top of me, its breath hot and rank. It wasn’t a regular wolf. It was too big, too wild. Its fur was mangy, its eyes dull with madness. A feral. I clawed at it, catching its face, but it only roared louder, its rage growing. I tried to speak through the mindlink, but there was no mind left to reach. It was all hunger and hate. It slashed at me, claws tearing my stomach. Pain flared, white-hot and sickening. I howled and staggered back, losing control. My wolf surged forward, snapping at the edges of my restraint. She wanted to fight. To kill. To survive. But if I lost control, I might not come back. The feral lunged again. I turned, trying to flee, but it caught me and dragged me down. Its teeth closed on my neck—and then, suddenly, it was gone. Something black crashed into it, snarling. A wolf, bigger than any I had ever seen. It fought with precision, with fury, tearing into the feral with lethal speed. I collapsed to my knees, blood soaking my fur, vision fading. Then I heard the voice. Not aloud. In my mind. “Shift. You’re hurt. Let me help you.” The sound of it struck me like a spell. Smooth, commanding, gentle underneath. “You’re mine. Mate.” My body obeyed without thought. Bones broke again, skin replaced fur. I knelt there, human, gasping. The black wolf shifted, and I saw his face. Sharp lines, light brown eyes, a scar along one cheek. Corin Therros. His eyes widened in recognition, then narrowed with something harder. “No,” he said. “You can’t be my mate.” “Looks like the forest disagrees,” I whispered, swaying. His gaze flicked to the blood running down my neck. “I won’t take you as Luna. Ever. Go back to the village. Tell no one.” And then he shifted and was gone. I sat there, stunned, the weight of his words sinking in. He had rejected me. I felt it, like a stone in my chest, like something breaking inside that would never quite mend. Then I stood, slowly, shakily. I was not done. Not yet. They would still lose, werewolves were at the top of the food chain with the exception of Lycans, although they had died out so long ago that they were now nothing more than a myth. By attacking them and ending it quickly, I didn’t give their brains enough time to catch up so they wouldn’t feel pain at all, they would just be dead. When I had bandaged myself completely, I walked into my room and froze in shock.