Whispers of the Wild Hunt

Chapter 4 - Lena

Tam leads me into a back room, Cognac close to my back as he watches the wolves around me. I ignore the odd behavior, my eyes drifting to the small bed in the corner. A boy, maybe ten or eleven lays curled up on a quilted blanket, his skin graying and his lips cracked. His blonde hair is pasted to his skin, as his eyes dance behind closed lids.

I rush to his side, kneeling beside him and pressing my palm to his forehead. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be showing what I can do in front of all of these people. But I can’t just let the poor boy suffer.

Even through the heat pouring from his body, I can sense the wrongness lurking beneath. A slow, invasive winter chill burrows up through his spine. It tingles across my fingers, making my joints ache.

I close my eyes, pushing my senses farther. In Faerie, this would have been as easy as breathing, my magic ready at my fingertips. But here, I have to coax it out, trickle by trickle, to not draw any unnecessary attention. Though, surrounded by wolves, I have a feeling it won’t work here.

Nonsense words, a lullaby in a language no one would recognize, pours from my lips in a hurried whisper to mask what my fingers are doing. They draw the fever out of his body, pulling it into myself. Because what they don’t like to teach you in the pursuit of magic, is that it all comes with a price.

With healing comes pain.

The boy shivers beneath my fingers, before sighing. His pulse steadies as he sinks into the bed beneath him, finally resting. My eyes are gritty as I open them to a staring Tam. Her arms are crossed, held tilted like a dog as she watches me.

“You’re better than you let on,” She questions, eyes watching my every move.

“Well, I’m good at what I do,” is my only reply as I stand on shaky legs. I lock my knees, refusing to flounder in front of a room of wolves. The shakiness is just the start. Later, when I’m alone in the dark, the fever would find me. But I can bear it, if only so he doesn’t have to.

The boy’s mother materializes at the door, eyes rimmed with worry as she watches him. She doesn’t speak, but I can feel the gratitude slam against me as she rushes toward the bed.

Cognac stands next to me, holding out another mug of coffee. I carefully take it from him, making sure our skin doesn’t touch. He grins while he watches me, leaning his six foot frame down to my five and a half feet so he can talk without being heard.

“Not many like you,” he says quietly. “In this town, or anywhere else.”

I shrug, ignoring him in favor of the mother leaning over her son. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He chuckles, lowering his voice to a growl. “You could do more than just get by, you know. We could protect you from the outside dangers, but you would have to stay with us. Be ours.”

I glare up at him, crossing my arms at the thinly veiled threat. “Be the packs, or be yours?”

Let’s be honest, I knew getting out of here wouldn’t be easy. Wolves aren’t really known for letting their prizes go. But I had hoped I could sneak away before they realized. Stupid.

I glance around the room, taking in the log fireplace, the camaraderie, the feeling of safety. But is it all just an illusion? It’s the safety of a kept bird, a pet with its wings clipped just enough to keep her from flying. And my wings have already been clipped enough.

“You’ll know when I make you mine, pet,” he chuckles, leaning over me.

A throat clearing startles me, and I take a step back from the hulking man. Tam smiles at me, but it isn’t reassuring. It’s the smile of someone who already made the decision for you. “Why don’t you think about it. World’s a dangerous place, you know.”

They let me leave, scurrying from the room, but only as far as the edge of the woods. Two of the men break off from the pack, escorting me home. They don’t speak, and neither do I as I think about how much my life is about to change. They walk me all the way to the steps of my building, knowing there won’t be anyone around who cares to help if I yell out.

Once inside, I peel off my coat and stand at the window. I can just make out the faint glow of the pack’s compound up the slope of the mountain, like a beacon in the night. I understand how the game is played, a part of me always has, even if I don’t enjoy playing it.

The pack will use me how they see fit, as their healer. As their witch. So long as I am useful. But they won’t ever let me go.

And as I drift off to sleep, I think about the boy’s fever, the song that I sang, and the world that waits for me on the far side of the mountain. Wild and untamed. As the first moments of fever filled pain hit me, I can’t help but think of Cognac eyes and a growl filled voice.