Untethering Dark

Chapter Four

Curiosity was easier to stomach than fear.

And Astrid had always been curious about the monster who feasted outside her home each night. Where he came from, how long he’d lived, and what he made of the changing world around him. She wondered too what he looked like, and now she’d finally get that answer. It would cost her a steep price, yes, but the toll was already as good as taken. Might as well enjoy satisfying her curiosity, even if it was brief.

No blade could pierce Altes Geweih’s hide, nor was her witch’s magic strong enough to fend him off. Maybe with Perchta’s help it could be managed, but summoning her into this mess was risky. Astrid wouldn’t put her mother’s life in danger to save her own skin.

Armed with little more than a plate of fresh-baked Springerle, Astrid shoved one into her mouth before stepping outside.

Altes Geweih was waiting for her at the empty tree stump, where she always left him offerings. She stumbled through her next step.

Self-preservation had always won out over curiosity, keeping her tucked away inside her cottage, away from the windows. Better to remain out of sight, out of mind. No peek at the forest beast was worth her life.

Imagination was all she had, and it failed miserably.

Raw strength rippled across his muscles, chest heaving as panted breaths steamed in the winter night air. Antlered like a great elk, he had a bleached-white skull for a face, some cross between bear and saber-tooth tiger, and a mouth full of fangs curling inward. But apart from those exposed facial bones, the rest of him was covered in flesh and fine, short brown fur, so dark that it was almost black.

Lean, corded arms fell past powerful thighs, claw-tipped fingers dark as deep earth grazing the knee. Though he was broad in the chest like a Werwolfe, the proportions of his limbs were longer than hers, or a human’s. His feet were hooves, and his flanks were dappled white like a deer, bipedal but digitigrade. While that was an unusual combination of features, Altes Geweih was a seamless hybrid. A case study in predator meets prey.

He was not what she expected.

Looking at him was like taking in a grand mountainscape or a sprawling vista. A piece of a sublime old world enduring the ravages of time and human touch. Such persevering things demanded reverence and awe.

Astrid drank in the view, absorbing all the details. The first time would also be the last. And she wouldn’t miss a single thing.

Nestled in a thicker patch of fur between his legs, that matched the rest of his proportions...

Pointed ears pricked toward her as her breath caught.

Well. Altes Geweih didn’t wear anything over himself for modesty, that was for sure. And why would he? He was older than society and civilization. He didn’t bow to its rules.

This power, this presence, was a force of nature that demanded respect.

That’s what Astrid wanted. She wanted to be the creature that stalked the wintry landscape at night, that made others tremble with fear. Something that gave even Altes Geweih pause—made him take note for a change. And she was so, so close. A few more potion ingredients and the final hag ritual and maybe she could’ve been all those things.

A fellow predator instead of prey.

It wasn’t fair that something so glorious would also be her demise. But that was the way of nature. Beauty in one hand, destruction in the other.

“I’ve no blood or meat to offer you but my own,” she said, proud her voice did not waver. Inside she was shrieking. Death had come to her front door, and it would show her no mercy.

The creature sniffed, head tilting. Deep within his orbital sockets, crimson lambent eyes stared back. Curious.

Outwardly calm prey must be a rare thing.

Lifting the plate of cookies, Astrid held it out in offering. “I have fresh-baked Springerle too. They haven’t had time to cure—that’s when the flavor really pops—but it’s my best batch. You can have your fill of those. There’ll be no one else to eat them when I’m gone.”

He took a step forward, lifting his hand toward her, long fingers tipped in equally long sharp claws. Up close, she noted that his deep brown fur tapered to near-onyx around his extremities—jaw, hands, groin, and hooves.

But the observation was fleeting.

With just one sweeping swipe of his hand, Altes Geweih could kill her.

Fear raced through her veins, skin prickled and tingling, muscles tensed and primed for flight. Astrid stamped down the urge to run and held her ground, waiting for the tearing of flesh under ruthless claws and teeth. No scream left her lips in that moment, but she wasn’t too proud to admit that it would come once the feasting began.

Take a cookie, you wicked beast.

Using the rounded side of a claw, he traced an icy path down her cheek, so smooth and gentle. Too gentle for something about to devour her.

The wind picked up, its biting chill cutting through her coat. It dislodged the hair she tucked behind her ear, and the snowy strands whipped between them.

With those same claws, the creature brushed back her hair, returning it behind her ear, but careful not to catch her on their sharp edges. He lingered, unexpectedly, lightly rubbing a lock pinched between two fingers.

“You offer yourself to me?” His mouth did not move, and yet the words manifested in the air, a deep, gravelly sound, almost echoing. As if he were speaking to her from the bowels of a cave.

Why did it sound like he didn’t mean as food? And why did she lean in, wanting to feel his touch on her cheek once more? Claws that caressed rather than ripped apart flesh were still dangerous. This couldn’t be a double entendre. A monster such as he wouldn’t want anything to do with her other than eat her whole and pick his teeth with her bones.

Whenever she caught a hare, she scratched between its tall, pointed ears and ran a hand down its sleek, furry back. Imbuing calming, drowsing magic with every scritch and stroke. That way when the flick of the knife came, the creature only knew comfort and peace. Never fear.

The way Altes Geweih curled her hair around his claw so gently could easily be the soothing touch of a butcher before the slaughter.

Don’t lose your nerve now.

“Yes.” She didn’t blink, didn’t avert her eyes. If she didn’t count the reach of his antlers, which curved skyward in the shape of a U, he was almost two heads taller than her. She was outmatched in every way—power, strength, size—but she would not back down.

Bending forward, he brought the point of his skull face—where the snout would have been had it flesh—a breath away from hers. Glowing red orbs held her eyes, locking her in place. She wouldn’t have been able to look away any better than a deer staring down headlights in the middle of a country road.

She lifted the cookie plate infinitesimally higher.

Just take one...

“Willingly?”

She blinked.

Willingly? Did anyone ever really want to be eaten?

“Do I have a choice?”

Their breath clouded between them.

Despite Altes Geweih’s steady diet of blood and flesh, there was no rank, rancid stench. Just pine and ice and earth and...was that red currant, as well? Elderberry, too, and springtime violets? Underneath it all, there was just a hint of the decay Astrid expected, but it was so subtle and faint in the flood of so many other familiar scents found across the forest’s four seasons. One exhale and a whole ecosystem followed as if the very forest lived and breathed inside him.

He was old enough to be a god.

Maybe that’s exactly what he was.

“Of course, you have a choice,” he said.

She lowered the plate to waist level.

Was it really so simple? So obvious? Say “don’t eat me,” and he’d leave her be?

“I choose to live,” she replied slowly, half expecting him to eat her anyway.

He straightened, dropping her hair. And then he took a step back, a respectful tilt to his head.

He was letting her go.

Something in her clenched, and she couldn’t parse out why the urge to run shared the same space as wishing beyond reason that he hadn’t pulled away. Had she gotten it all wrong? Maybe he didn’t want to eat her.

No, that couldn’t be. This creature only knew, only wanted one thing.

Warmth rushed to her cheeks. Unless... Could he have something else in mind?

She couldn’t help but glance down.

A little bigger, a little fuller than before.

Oh, Mutter Holle! Her cheeks blazed. He had been thinking about something else.

He reached for a cookie.

“Not that one!” she cried, hastily spinning the plate around.

The labeled jar she pulled from her cupboard had been filled with poison distilled from death cap mushrooms, its potency enhanced in her bubbling cauldron, speeding up the onset of symptoms and making it lethal 100 percent in humans, rather than thirty.

While she hadn’t dared to hope that something as simple as a magically boosted fungus would kill Altes Geweih, it was the best shot she had at survival. Barring success, she could die knowing that she at least gave him wicked gastrointestinal regret.

A low rumble like thunder emanated from him, his shoulders shaking.

Was that a mirthful twinkle in his bloodred eyes? Was Altes Geweih laughing ?

“What’s so funny?”

“Any fool to underestimate you shall perish.”

Except when I miss. Sparing a grouchy glance to the poor tree her ax was currently embedded in, she asked, “Are you a fool?”

“Perhaps.”

Taking a poison-free cookie from the plate in her hands, he bit into it with a crunch, chewed, then popped the rest into his mouth. Who could’ve guessed ancient, flesh-eating creatures enjoyed sweet treats? Not her. If this was all it took to appease him, maybe granola and trail mix would work for those hikers after all.

He took several more Springerle before turning away.

To leave.

“Wait!” she blurted, wanting him to stay, but not sure what for.

He paused, looking back at her over his shoulder. Waiting.

Schei?e. Say something interesting.

“What about the other three?”

She winced. Du Idiot!

Why should she care about the tourists who wrecked her garden? Who trudged through the forest, disturbing its peace? Just taking, taking, taking, and giving nothing in return. No gifts in exchange for the souvenirs they stole, the images they captured, the things they damaged. Not even tolls or prayers for safe crossing.

“What of them?” His growl sharpened and snapped, chilling her to the bone. “Do you have sympathy for the trespassers? And their disrespect?”

No sympathy. No pity either. Grievances like these repeated by many over time endangered the forest and everything within it. If the hikers couldn’t pay their way with basic courtesy, or adherence to plainly marked rules, blood it would have to be.

She took a cookie for herself and bit into it. “Happy hunting.”

The creature dipped its head and disappeared silently into the trees.

It was full dark now, the sun but a memory.

Astrid remained outside, eating Springerle as she soaked in the frigid night air, relishing its biting chill on her skin, watching her breath cloud in front of her face.

Alive. So wonderfully alive.

But remembering her poor, frightened goats, the moment for quiet rejoicing passed.

Briefly going back inside, Astrid added layers under her coat, and hiked out into the forest to look for Fritz and Liesel, worry gnawing her insides. Their winter coats would keep them warm through the night, but what if they were lost and couldn’t find their way home?

As she followed their cloven tracks in the snow, weaving in and out between the trees, the screaming began.