Chapter 5
When it finally happened, it was by mistake.
Balar passed an outcropping he’d been to before, would’ve kept going in his same rutted path, had he not kicked a sizable stone with his big toe.
Cursing under his breath, he watched the stone skip away—between two boulders he hadn’t realized were that far apart.
Balar eased between the rocks and, with a triumphant hoot, caught a well-worn path.
Of course, when he told their many adoring cubs the story later, he’d say the goddess guided his feet, and he followed his heart to her.
Yes, that sounded much better.
From the cover of a great mulberry tree, Balar smiled—a bit smugly, if he was honest.
Before him sat an idyllic scene, a golden-green meadow with a babbling brook bordering one side, late-season wildflowers following the dappled sunlight, a verdant garden set in neat furrows, and an animal pen fenced with boards and boulders, with a top angled steeply outwards to keep out what wanted to get in.
In the center of it all was a charming cottage. Of the sturdy wattle and daub construction many humans preferred, the white-washed walls and timber beams had been bleached by the sun. The thatched roof must have been replaced that spring, as it still smelled fresh.
It was a pleasant little place—and best of all, it smelled of her. And goats. And he could just spy the long ears of a donkey peeking between the fence posts.
Excellent. Nodding in gratitude to the goddess and all his ancestors for leading him here, Balar made quick work of making himself presentable. Thankfully he’d had the foresight to bathe last night and change clothes—otherwise, his second impression might not have been any better than the first.
Fluffing his wings and mane, he ensured no stray leaves or twigs had gotten caught. With a few pats of his big paws, he knocked off any dirt or dust he’d accrued that morning.
That done, he set about leaving his scent on nearby trees, both so he could find his way back and to warn off any other males.
The shredded bark felt good beneath his claws as he scored tree after tree, the scent glands in his hands releasing a musk that would soak into the wood.
Would a weak human nose be able to scent it? he wondered.
When all the trees on the southern edge of the meadow bore his mark and scent, Balar was a bit more content. Seeing his mark, his claim, eased some of the damned frustration that’d been tying him in knots.
Maybe later, he could work out a bit more of that frustration and mark her borders with his spend. It was an archaic mantii custom, but Balar’s patience and civility had worn thin these past days looking for her.
Shaking out his hands, and his mane one last time, Balar straightened the collar of his tunic and stepped out from behind the mulberry into the meadow.
He stopped before crossing the stream—kud, should he have brought flowers? Jewelry? A choice cut of meat?
Balar stared at the wildflowers, nerves mounting. No, no, she deserved better than little daisies he found in her own yard. His paws itched and flexed nervously as his thoughts ran.
Maybe he could—
A noise had his ears swiveling to the west, and Balar watched in shock as a human man emerged from around the back of the house.
It was an older male, the hair at his temples grizzled, and his face leathery with too much sun and hard work.
His gaze shifted beadily over the animal pen and then to the tools laid neatly against the side of the house.
Sticking to the shadows, he quietly began to rifle through the various bits leaned against the wall.
A vicious growl shook Balar’s throat. Utun. Gabal. Another male, here on her land? Unacceptable.
Feeling his eyes dilate, Balar dropped into a stalking crouch and began to make his way silently around the outskirts of the meadow. His turuk wanted out, pawing at his chest, but instead his mane and hackles rose, making him appear bigger.
As he rounded the pen, the animals stirred, sensing a predator nearby.
The man stilled, listening.
Balar remained hidden in the brush, perfectly still.
His focus and gaze narrowed to a single point—the beating pulse at the side of the man’s neck.
He could almost hear the blood coursing through the veins, how the heart beat a little faster than normal.
Even if he didn’t know it, couldn’t hear it, the human sensed he was being watched.
When the man looked up, to his left, where he would’ve spotted Balar by the mulberry moments ago, Balar pounced.
In two swift bounds, his wings pumping and lifting, he was upon the intruder.
He closed his fangs around the man’s throat as he brought him to the ground.
Yes, hissed the turuk inside him, feast on gabal blood.
The shift rippled across his skin, but he fought for control. He could handle a measly human.
They landed in the dappled sunlight of the meadow. The man wriggled, gurgling screams escaping his caught throat. Hands swiped and punched at Balar’s shoulders and muzzle, but he didn’t relent.
Regaining his feet, he stood with the man dangling.
In the scuffle, he hadn’t quite registered the sound of a dog barking, but it only grew louder when the front door of the cottage flew open. A black blur burst from the cottage in a flurry of barks, and his kigara was quick to follow.
Imogen ran from her cottage into the daylight—and right into Balar’s heart.
Sig-zinim, Kiri had been right. She was kurun-inanda, marked by the goddess.
The bright red mark across the left side of her face was stark and lovely against her otherwise tanned skin. The dark hair that fell around her face framed it dramatically, her brown eyes looking overbright in the goddess’s color.
The growl in Balar’s chest turned to a purr, and he tried to smile.
“What the hells is going on?” Imogen demanded.
“Get him—off!” the man wheezed.
Imogen looked between the struggling man and Balar with horror, apparently unsure what to do.
No matter. Balar would see to this.
Opening his jaw, he let the man fall unceremoniously to the ground in a heap. He landed with a satisfying thud.
Balar spat out the taste of the man’s sweat and fear. Wiping his mouth, he stepped over the vermin to approach Imogen. Hand over his heart, he assured her, “Forgive the surprise, ul-lu. I caught this man lurking around your home.”
Imogen’s face darkened with a glower that she turned on the man. “I told you to stay off my land.”
Staggering to his feet, the man made an ugly hacking sound before spitting on the grass. He turned his own glare onto Imogen, which earned him a warning growl from Balar.
“I came for what’s mine,” said the man. “I know you took them.”
“You’re damn right I did. I warned you I’d take any traps I found.”
“Those are my property, my kills,” the man sneered. “You got no right, girlie.”
“I most certainly do. Especially when those traps are on my land.”
“There’s been free hunting rights in this forest for generations!”
“I’ve told you before, Dermott—if you’re so sure you’ll win, take it to Dundúran.”
The man, Dermott, soured, his lips thinning. He said nothing.
Imogen nodded in triumph. “That’s what I thought. Now get off my land.”
Dermott scoffed. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, girlie. Mark me.”
Although he turned to leave, Balar was quicker. Grabbing the man by the throat, he lifted him into the air to hold in front of his flashing fangs.
“Ack!”
“You threaten her again, and it’s me you’ll answer to, utun.”
The man paled, and Balar relished the fear in his eyes. That’s it, gabal. Know when you are bested.
“Let him go,” Imogen sighed.
Balar did—eventually, and after another growling warning for good measure.
When Dermott was finally put back on his feet, he wasted no time scuttling away into the trees. Balar tracked him as long as he could, ears perked for any treachery.
Finally, when the meadow returned to peace, he felt a cold nose press on his hand.
He smiled down at the curious black dog and patted him between his tall ears. “That was a very good show of force, rusa. You came out on the offensive.”
When he glanced up at the dog’s mistress, it was to find Imogen glowering now at him.
He might’ve been more concerned, had she not crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her ample bosom.
The enticing contours that gesture created had him so distracted, he hardly heard her demanding, “And what are you doing here?”
Perking, Balar straightened and reached into his inner pocket to carefully extract the feather. With it, he placed his hand over his heart again.
“Again, please forgive all the surprises. And for how you first found me. I promise, I have a fine cabin I normally sleep in.”
Imogen said nothing, only blinking up at him.
Clearing his throat, he dared a step forward. “I wish our meeting could have been under better circumstances, and I apologize for frightening you by pursuing you to the Brádaigh estate.”
Again she said nothing. Again he took a step.
“I wasn’t myself. Not just because of the night before. I saw you, and…” He smiled.
Imogen’s arms and shoulders dropped. “And what?”
“I knew,” he breathed. “The ancestors speak of what will happen when a manticore finds their kigara, their life mate. I opened my eyes and there you were and—I knew.”
Her throat bobbed on a swallow, her eyes growing round.
He knew she was moving backwards now, knew he was following her step for step, but he couldn’t stop, not now that he was so close.
“You see, for my people, when we have found our—”
“No.”
“—our life mate, our soul shines, our wings tremble, and—”
“No.”
“—and a single feather falls—”
“No no no—”
“—falls from our wing, a sign that—”
“Nooooooo!” And before Balar could stop it, a door shut right in his face.