The Hunt
“I s she able to see your cock at all?” Gwyn taunted.
“For her to be able to see it he would need to have one,” Glyn added.
The twins chortled, bending over at the waist as laughter overcame them, shaking their tall, thin bodies.
Cass rolled his eyes and tightened his hold on his spear. Owyn, meanwhile, pointedly ignored the twins and glared in Weylyn’s direction. The force of his anger was as sharp as the blade he whet with the tips of his claws, the scraping over the edge of it meant to mock and intimidate. Weylyn only wanted to roll his eyes in his brother’s direction.
Owyn was out for Weylyn’s blood, and he knew it meant he was to take greater care with him than the others. Gwyn and Glyn were dangerous, but they were only dangerous together. While the two were rarely separated, Owyn was the one who would very obviously strike for Weylyn’s throat. He was violent, ruthless, but he was also dumb. If anyone were a true threat, that was Cassimir.
But Cassimir seemed intent on keeping the peace for the Hunt.
“Control yourselves,” he admonished the twins. “Do not speak about our brother’s mate this way.” He slid off the side of one of his beast’s, placating it with a hand to its snout. “We have much more important things to focus our attention on.”
“Like killing this traitor?” Owyn snapped in Weylyn’s direction. His sharp teeth gnashed and his tail swished side to side in obvious agitation.
Weylyn let nothing of his true thoughts show on his face. He merely regarded his brothers coolly, one after another.
They all shared the most beautiful aspects of their mother and the most terrible ones as well. Each brother was a distorted, reflective pool of another. The same, yet different. And Weylyn? He differed from all of them. As half-High Fae, he had not inherited horns or other Unseelie features. He’d inherited nothing but his mother’s coloring. He doubted he’d inherited anything from his father either. In truth, he had never even met the Fae.
His mother had drove him to madness and murdered him before Weylyn could even speak.
“Owyn,” Cass snapped with impatience. “ will begin soon.”
They had roused Weylyn before the sun even rose, forcing him to leave his resting mate. He had hated to leave Bryson when she had ingested that addictive, golden drug that he was too familiar with. He had hated to leave her alone in Unseelie at all, but he had to force himself not to show his worry.
Worry was a weakness.
Having a mate was a weakness.
Yet he was feral for her. It did not matter to him. He would behead everyone here if it meant protecting what was his.
“Your anger grows boring,” Weylyn mused. He dug his own spear deep into the iron-ridden dirt and leaned against the handle, smiling over at Owyn, flashing his teeth in a way he knew would drive his brother mad. He then turned to the twins. “And your insults are old. If you wish to harm me, you will have to try just a little harder.”
Owyn emitted a low growl that did not faze Weylyn at all. He dismissed him, turning towards Cassimir.
“Lead the way, older brother,” Weylyn purred. “The light will soon rise, and my spear has a taste for blood.”
Cass’ eyes flashed, but he did not say any more. He turned towards his beast and slapped its rump. The beast spread its wings and took off in flight, pushing gusts of wind against them.
“Spread out,” Cass ordered. “You remember the rules, little brother?”
Weylyn smiled. He could not forget if he tried. Unseelie was ingrained down into his very pores. It lived in his bones; the wildness sang through his blood and pumped through to his heart. He would die before he forgot his origins.
And no one here would ever let him forget.
That seemed to be answer enough because Cassimir smiled back, the gesture equally malicious. “The first to find the golden stag and bring it wins.”
“Mana be in your favor,” Weylyn said.
Just as the light began to peek over the trees, they all ran.
Weylyn’s feet banged against the earth like a drum. His heart pounded like a symphony. The hoots and laughter of his brothers was a wild song he would never admit he missed. This was life. This was freedom. For a second, he let himself forget everything. His past, the betrayals, his own sadness he’d fallen into after everything. The only release he could find had been glittering powder in his nose and then the sweet taste of revenge at the tips of his fingers.
For a moment, he was lost in the haze of . He did not track or scout, simply let himself be. He peeled away from the others, putting enough distance between them so he could no longer hear them, and they could no longer hear him.
Killing the golden stag was a tradition that went back generations in Unseelie. Every year when the Hunt approached, those who participated would scout, track, and hunt the creature. Killing it brought magic down upon the land along with good luck and prosperity.
It was a matter of pride to find it before anyone else, and it had grown into a brutal competition between them.
One Weylyn had left behind, but now... Now he was back and his heart beat in time to his pounding feet.
The golden stag was one of the hardest creatures to catch because it did not often show its face. It did not dwell in a single spot. It was nearly a phantom. A ghost. Almost untraceable. Which meant that finding it was the ultimate achievement.
Weylyn slowed to a slight jog. As the sun rose, the pixies that danced through the air diminished their light, becoming mere glowing specks that he swatted away when they came too close. His head swiveled around the clearing he found himself in. A light, open space that glowed with magic. It seeped into the very pores of the ground and leaked from the bark of the trees, sprinkled down from the leaves, and drifted with the wind.
Golden specks that flickered in and out of being.
Flowers grew beneath the impression of hoof marks on the ground. Trails of gold shone brighter beneath the thin beams of light that pierced past the canopy.
Weylyn stepped deeper into the clearing, tightening his grip around his spear as he bent to observe the track marks. Bright silver and gold flowers grew where the stag had stepped. He ran his fingers across the petals and his skin came away stained silver.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he let out a sigh.
“So, you’ve come to kill me.”
He felt his brother step out from the shadows behind him. “Did you expect anything else?”
Weylyn sighed and stood before turning around. Owyn stood across the clearing from him, arrow pointed at Weylyn’s chest.
“You are very predictable.” Weylyn appeared unbothered. His heart did not beat faster, his pulse did not jump. But his body did tense, readying for what he knew was to come. “I heard you breathing from miles away as you followed after me like a dog.”
Owyn let out a warning growl. From the distance, Weylyn could make out the tears in his brother’s eyes. Maybe before, his chest would have felt an ache for he knew that the grief he’d harbored was shared within his family. Yet what they blamed him for was a greater suffering indeed, and he no longer felt for the plights of others when his were far worse.
He’d grown cold over the years. Vengeance had a way of freezing one from the inside out. And it was in the promise of violence in which he would thaw.
“Well?” Weylyn adjusted his grip on his spear. “The morning grows brighter, and will soon end. We haven’t all day, brother.”
“ You haven’t all day,” he corrected. “Because you will not live to see the rest of it.”
He let an arrow fly. It sped between them at a near blinding pace. Weylyn lifted his spear, parting the arrow in half before it could strike. The wood didn’t even hit the ground before his brother was in front of him. A knife swung towards his face and Weylyn ducked low, sweeping his legs out. Owyn fell back, grunting as he lashed out.
They became a blur of violence and tangled limbs. Of slashing blades and flying fists. Weylyn pushed himself far away from his brother when he untangled himself from the fight, picking up his fallen spear as he went.
“You’re a coward,” Owyn spat. Blood stained his sharp teeth. “You run away instead of facing the fate you deserve.”
“I have never deserved your ire.”
“You killed her.”
Weylyn closed his eyes against those words, as if blocking out the sight of Owyn could make the words hurt any less. He hardened himself against them, opened his eyes, and threw his spear.
Owyn’s eyes widened in surprise as the weapon barreled towards him. He ducked at the last moment, rolling along the ground. When he straightened on his knee, an arrow was notched on his bow. It went flying, but Weylyn was already moving. He tackled his brother to the ground, yanking the weapons from his body and tossing them.
But his brother had an advantage that came in the form of Unseelie claws. They shredded through Welyn’s skin and he growled, snapping his teeth near his brother’s face, even as he sunk his claws deeper into him.
“Your life is mine,” Owyn spat. His claws pierced muscle and bone. Weylyn refused to cry out in pain, but it was a near-blinding sensation, spitting over him.
“What are the two of you up to now ?”
Weylyn and Owyn parted in surprise. They scrambled to a stand, Weylyn breathing heavy, the warmth of his blood staining his entire front. His life force spilled out of him and his trembling hand clutched to his wounds as though he could push the blood back inside his body.
Cassimir stepped into the clearing astride one of his beast’s. He stared at the two of them with the exasperation only an older brother could wear.
“Cassimir, he—”
“I think I have heard quite enough out of you, little brother.”
One moment, Owyn was blinking, breathing.
Then, he was on his knees, an arrow lodged deep into his throat.
Weylyn’s eyes widened as Owyn fell face first onto the ground, his own blood pooling beneath him. As that blood touched the grass, flowers sprouted from the ground.
Weylyn turned back to Cass in time to see his brother slide down from his beast, a new arrow notched and pointed in his direction.
He knew he would let it loose. He knew his brother would kill him. He’d known all along. But seeing Owyn dead on the ground came as a surprise.
“What did you do?” Weylyn’s heart beat faster and faster. Seeing the way Owyn’s blood pooled beneath him awoke something inside his mind. Memories he’d wanted buried but were always at the forefront. The reason for his being, the cold glimmer of revenge that fueled his every waking moment.
He would have killed him himself, but seeing the ground part and swallow his brother into the depths, was shocking.
“I expected your thanks. Seeing a dead sibling isn’t new to you, is it?” His eyes flicked to where the earth had taken their brother. A price for his life spilled. He would feed the world they lived on. Create a forest, a fruit tree, a field of flowers. Something to make Unseelie thrive. “He was a nuisance. Detrimental to this family. As are you.”
“They’ll know what you’ve done,” Weylyn warned. “The queen will know what you’ve done.”
“Will she?” His brows kicked up and a smirk appeared on his lips. “Do you think she will suspect her second favorite child murdered Owyn, or will she believe it the fault of the one who took her favorite from her? It is my word against yours, Weylyn.”
“You are right.” Weylyn pressed his palm deeper against his wound and straightened. He would not show fear, and he knew the odds were stacked against him, but unlike Cass, Weylyn had something—someone—to live for. He would not leave his mate alone in a strange world without him. He would fight.
He would kill if he had to.
He would tear apart his brother’s mind from the inside out until—
Magic fizzled through the air. The clearing became bathed in a golden-silver light that nearly blinded them both. Weylyn winced. Every single hair on his body stood on end. The magic was so heavy, it coated his tongue and made it swell. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. His entire body felt heavy as he slowly turned away from his brother to face the splendor of the stag.
The stag’s horns were like thick branches that sprouted shimmering flowers. Magic oozed from the stag’s thick, dense fur like sap from the bark of trees. Eyes as black as the sky that the Wild Hunt rode, with an infinite amount of secrets and knowledge, regarded Cassimir and Weylyn both.
Staring into that gaze was equivalent to being hit straight in the chest with magic at full blast. The impact nearly had Weylyn staggering backwards. He almost fell over. Behind him, he could hear Cass fumble with his weapons.
Golden stags were rumored to be creatures of infinite wisdom. They were all knowing and rivaled seers in what they could see. They were powerful, ancient creatures.
And they were meant to strike it down in . A barbaric age-old tradition that Weylyn did not understand, even as he revered and celebrated with the rest. Stags brought luck for generations. Even staring at one felt sacred. Weylyn wanted to drop to his knees in reverence.
For a moment, Weylyn and the stag stared at one another. His vision tunneled and he felt what others must have felt when he used his magic on them. He was freefalling into a mind that wasn’t his own. A voice echoed in his head, whispering in an ancient voice that held far too much power. It echoed through what felt like an empty chamber, a symphony so powerful, his entire body quaked.
Then it was gone. The world became clearer, and Weylyn turned to his brother, his every breath heavy.
“Let me live, brother,” he whispered. He would not beg. Weylyn was too proud for that. But he would do what Unseelie were best at.
He would strike a deal.
His brother managed to tear his gaze from the stag. “Why would I do that?” He did not sound surprised, though it was his expression that gave it away.
“Because if you do this for me, then the stag will give you your greatest desire.”
Cassimir blinked. “You lie.”
Weylyn flashed his teeth and let his consciousness drift towards the stag. Their minds linked and he pulled Cassimir’s in as well, showing him the terrible greatness the stag had showed him. A future of Unseelie that was none too kind, and a destiny they would be forced to follow.
Cassimir staggered backwards, clutching a hand to his chest. He breathed heavily, staring between Weylyn and the stag.
“Choose, brother,” Weylyn ordered. “And choose now.”
A deal or death.
Those were his options.
A moment of silence.
And then Weylyn’s brother lifted his arrow...
...and fired.