Untethering Dark

Chapter Nine

The forest was still when Astrid hurried out of her cottage, a cookie plate cradled in the crook of her arm. While it wasn’t fully dark yet, it was far later than she usually dared to leave the house, twilight painting the frozen landscape with silver and indigo brushstrokes. One night without a visit, and already she lowered her guard and let her routine fall lax.

Just because she had a couple conversations with Altes Geweih, and he rescued her goats, didn’t mean he wasn’t still a dangerous creature. A creature that might eat her at the slightest provocation, fickle interest already worn thin.

Assuming he wouldn’t come again tonight was a careless gamble.

Heart hammering in her chest, she scanned between the trees for the telltale glow of crimson eyes, for shifting shadows, or the gleam of bone-white antlers snatching a bit of moonlight, certain she’d erased any goodwill she might’ve had.

Snow crunched beneath her boots as she walked toward the tree stump beyond her gate, her breathing too loud, too ragged for comfort, breaking the silence. Even the normally blustery winter wind was dormant tonight.

“Do you fear me, little witch?” The words, though purred, lost none of their rough edge.

The sound that erupted from her mouth was more of a strangled wheeze than a scream.

He was behind her. How had he gotten behind her?

Slowly, she turned around, only to find the weathered wood of her front door, the glow of the hearth within, and the tracks she left in the snow.

Her roof creaked.

This time, she really did shriek.

Altes Geweih was crouched on top of her cottage’s snow-laden shingles, staring down at her with bloodred eyes, at the heart of her home. A home that should’ve been protected.

How had he gotten past her new wards? The magic in them was strong—perhaps not enough to kill him outright—but he should be screeching in pain right now, writhing on the ground as flesh burned and peeled from bone. Mutter had drilled this spell work into her from a young age, past the point of making mistakes. It was so engrained into her muscle memory she could and had made the damned things in her sleep.

Had her foolish gratitude muddled the intention of the spell?

All the courage she scrounged up the night before fled her, but she stood her ground, a plate of cookies in one hand, her prepped teleportation spell in the other. Just a sharp flick of her wrist and the portal would be cast. If he changed his mind about eating her, she only needed to reach it before he reached her.

Gaze steady, he slunk forward with a long-limbed grace and dropped from the rooftop, barely making a sound or disturbing the snow. He sniffed the air, then cocked his head to the side, almost catlike. “You are afraid.” He sounded more surprised than he had any right to.

“Wouldn’t I be foolish not to be?”

“Why do you think I’d devour you now, if I didn’t before?” He edged away from the cottage, circling her slowly on all fours. Though he prowled round and round like a predator, there was a relaxed set to his shoulders and a curious glint in his eye. Nothing about him seemed coiled to strike.

Still, she turned with him, tracking his every move, not giving him her back. “Can you stop doing that?” There wasn’t heat in her voice, but it was firm. Under more controlled circumstances she might’ve thrilled in being stalked and claimed, but there was too much uncertainty between them. “You’re making me feel hunted.”

He stilled. “I’m sorry. It’s an old habit.”

Now that he stopped moving, Astrid relaxed her hold on the plate of cookies, coming away coated in crumbs and icing. One of the treats on the outer rim had fallen victim to her fear, pulverized under clenched fingers. She breathed in, then out, willing her racing heart to settle, knowing how tantalizing it was to the beast before her.

He bowed his head, breaking their eye contact as he climbed over the gate, putting a little distance and the fence between them. And as he moved, she kept her gaze respectfully above his waistline, keenly aware—after a cursory, accidental glance—how the fence slats framed certain bits. On the other side, he crouched back down, draping his long, clawed hands loosely over his knees, a softness in his posture that wasn’t there before. “Is this better?”

Astrid nodded, a small smile forming as ease replaced the tight knot of fear in her belly.

The witch leaned against the gate now, and with the weary, heavy-bodied stance of someone who’d been on their feet all day...or someone who’d just had the life scared out of them.

The thrill of the hunt was engrained in Gudarīks. When he crept onto the roof, waiting for her to emerge from her home, he thought only of prowess, of getting as close as possible without detection. But the witch wanted something gentler from him.

Slowly, he rose to his full height, so as not to cause alarm, and waited several beats, watching for signs of distress. Sensing none, he said, “I’m not going to eat you.” His gaze dipped briefly to the plate of icing-coated cookies, tempted instead by the thought of snatching a few.

“You’ve lived on a steady diet of meat,” she replied, and although she jutted her chin defiantly, her tone was light and teasing. “I’m not tempting your wrath by offering sweets instead?”

Catching her eyes, he leaned in, folding his arms on top of the gatepost, ignoring the irritating burning sensation that accompanied it. Just a few centimeters to the left and they would be touching, but more importantly, she hadn’t pulled away, and that was more than worth a little discomfort. “An interesting question. Why do you risk it?”

“I wanted to thank you for bringing Fritz and Liesel safely back to me.” She blushed prettily and gestured toward the goat pen, where two pairs of furry ears poked over the topmost slat, twitching their way. Clever creatures knew they were being talked about. “And you seemed to like the Springerle. I thought maybe you’d like to try other Pl?tzchen.”

“I did like them.” Tilting his head, Gudarīks studied the woman, and the way she bit her lower lip as she smiled. Or met his eye one moment, averted hers the next. She was nervous, but no longer from fear. All they needed was a redo. “It was thoughtful of you to offer something new.”

“Well, go on,” she nudged his arm with the edge of the plate, fighting off a grin. “Try them. Tell me which is your favorite.”

He bent to examine the confections and their various shapes and decorative designs, careful to keep his antlers from knocking into her. If she wanted to touch them, she’d not have far to reach. He’d rather like it if she did. The last time he recalled being this close to another being without eating them was before the Visigoths sacked Rome and returned home with tales of battle and glory.

But that was so, so very long ago. Perhaps too long since he last enjoyed the thrill and comfort of another’s touch. It was safer though, keeping his distance. Curiosity, letting others near, had come back to bite him so many times. Humans were often fickle, violent creatures, and the ones who weren’t, always died much too soon. One way or another, they found a way to cause him pain.

The witch wasn’t human. Not entirely.

But not immortal either.

He shook his head, refocusing on the treats.

There appeared to be two different types arranged on the plate she held. In one precise motion, honed by countless years of practice, Gudarīks hooked a claw around one shaped like a tree, and swiped it into his palm without smearing the speckled white icing on top or gouging the plate below.

From there he pinched the cookie between two claws and lifted it to his mouth, humming approvingly as he sampled it. He tried a simple round one next, covered in glaze, not too proud to lick his claws clean afterward.

Amongst the spices and sugary confection, the witch’s eagerness, nervousness, and gratitude sat so sweet on his tongue. The intention to impress him was kneaded into the dough and a warm feeling tightened in his chest.

“They’re all my favorites.”

She cocked a skeptical eyebrow and propped a hand on her hip. “Be honest.”

“I speak truthfully,” he insisted. “I can taste you in these, every emotion you’ve felt while making them is baked in, and I’m enjoying every single one.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Oh, well, I...”

“What is your name?”

Twisting a strand of hair behind her ear, she stared back at him, a little bewildered. “Astrid.”

“You call me Altes Geweih, but how about my real name instead?”

Surprise brightened her eyes. “You want me to know your real name?”

“If we’re to get to know each other better.”

She nodded. “I think I’d like that. Gets rather lonely out here sometimes, doesn’t it?”

An understatement of the millennia. If anything sparked from this promise of companionship, there’d be no hibernating for him anytime soon. And that was quite all right. He could use the reprieve her company would bring, for however long that was.

His claw clinked against the ceramic plate as he took another cookie, this one star shaped. “I am Gudarīks. First and only of my kind.”

“So, I suppose this really means you’ve no intentions of eating me.”

“And bereave myself of your baking?” He popped the gingerbread star into his mouth. “I think not.”

If he had even the slightest inclination to eat her, they wouldn’t be chatting, and they certainly wouldn’t be exchanging names.

“I never expected to be on friendly terms with the creature my Hexe Mutter raised me to fear and respect.”

“You mean you don’t go baking cookies for all the monsters in the forest?” he teased.

“Ha! As if you haven’t scared them all away. But no, I haven’t made a habit of baking for the others. You’re the first.”

“I’m flattered. You’ve made them so pretty for me.”

A shy smile stole across her face. “I have other recipes, if you’d like to try more.”

“Only what you’re willing to make.” He spun one with a more intricate swirling design, admiring the careful hand that made it. “I require no more offerings from you.”

Straightening to full height, he hissed as he peeled his arms from the fencing.

The witch gasped, eyeing the burn marks running up and down his arms. “Schei?e! It’s burning you.” She began yanking the protective amulets from the fence and hurling them away, as good as inviting him back in. “Gudarīks, why didn’t you say anything? I thought they didn’t affect you.” She set the plate of cookies on the ground and took his wrists, turning them over to inspect the wounds underneath. “I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I have some healing salve inside and...”

How charming it was that she was fussing over him, but it wasn’t necessary. “It’s fine, look.”

The wounds were already healing and closing.

“I should still bind it...”

“Astrid.” He gave her a pointed look, and the way she pouted in response was so endearing. “Stop fretting.”

She puffed out a breath, watching new skin form and fur over, still holding his wrists in her hands. His heart made a funny little leap at that. This was the first time she dared enough to touch him, and she chose to linger. How could something new feel so settled and right, like it was something they’d always done?

“All these years, I thought I was protected, but you could have broken in and devoured me at any time.” It was curiosity, not fear that prompted the comment.

While it was true, even in the grips of fierce territorialism, he recognized Astrid and her mother not as intruders, nor enemies, but as tenants. They paid respects, took care of the forest, and never questioned or challenged that this was his domain. That’s all he ever wanted.

Humans once showed the same courtesies, some centuries ago, and they were eaten less back then. By him, at least.

“Why did you come before sunset the other night, Gudarīks?”

“I heard you yelling.” Her distress had drawn him out of his den. “And I had to see what the trouble was. This may be my land, but this is also your home, and I take care of those who live here.”

“I’d have gone after them you know.” Where her fingers curled around his wrists, she was cool to the touch, more so than most living creatures, but not completely devoid of warmth. “I can take care of myself.” There was no heat to the words.

“I don’t doubt that. But would you have eaten them after you killed them?”

“Um, no...”

“So, you see, my motives were not completely altruistic. You were after revenge, and I was after dinner.”

“It wasn’t revenge,” she corrected. Though her cheeks reddened, she shrugged. Embarrassed but not ashamed. “One of them ruined your offering, and rather than waiting around to get eaten myself, I thought I’d hunt down my replacement.”

He chuckled.

Pure, selfish survival instinct. Hunt or be hunted. Kill or be killed. That was the way of nature, something he understood and respected.

Maybe he met his match. Someone not shackled by a rigid moral compass was more likely to accept his bloodthirstiness than try to tame it.

“How rude of me to interrupt.”

Bawdy shouts echoed in the night, followed by laughter and the beginnings of drunken song. A shift in the wind brought faint scents of campfire, alcohol, and worsening body odor.

Trespassers again ?

“What is it?” The witch turned her head in the direction his ears had pricked, leaning over her gate, straining to hear what he did. What was shouting to his ears must have been whispers to hers.

A brazen idiot bayed at the moon.

Astrid’s brows ticked up in surprise. That, she heard.

Human revelers again, and in the same part of the forest as before.

There was no way for him to know for sure if it was the same group that disappeared the night before, not without ever seeing them, but there was something about their frivolity that made him bristle with more than his usual anger. Something taunting.

Somehow, some way...

They’d returned.