Chapter 20 #2
Heart thundering in his chest, Balar stuck to the shadows as he circled the house.
It was a ramshackle place, nothing like Imogen’s tidy cottage.
Animal pelts were strung up in various stages of drying, and a pile of innards, unused meat, and waste saturated the ground with blood. He stayed upwind of that.
Prowling round the front of the house, Balar crouched down when the sound of the door pricked his ears. Belly brushing the ground, he watched as the lanky figure of Dermott strode from the house, some sort of tool in his hand.
The worm whistled a jaunty tune through his teeth, the sound piercing Balar’s skull.
Balar felt his pupils dilate, and the bloodlust took control when he saw Dermott stop and bend down to pick up something.
He sprang from the underbrush, a silent threat. Bounding across the yard, he was on the man in four leaping strides.
Dermott yelped as he went down, all four of Balar’s huge paws on his back. Something crunched, a satisfying sound. The man’s screams were muffled in the dirt, and Balar pressed a paw on the back of his neck to keep him there.
Worms belong in the dirt.
Dermott wriggled and squirmed, having some strength in his wiry body, but it was no use. Balar watched with a terrible pleasure as the man struggled, his hands and feet flailing fruitlessly, his mouth wide, gasping for air, but only sucking in dirt.
“You were warned,” Balar growled, his voice broken and dreadful in his beastly throat. “You did not heed.”
Dermott shuddered and then went completely still.
Excellent.
Too quick for Dermott to react, Balar grasped him by the back of the neck and flung him across the yard. The man landed hard on the ground and skidded through the dirt.
He followed at a leisurely pace, allowing Dermott to groan, roll to his side, and prop himself up on an elbow. The whites of his eyes were stark in his dirty face, his thin lips trembling, as he watched Balar approach.
“Wha—what are you?” Dermott gurgled.
Huffing, Balar leapt without warning, grabbing Dermott by the leg. His fangs punctured the man’s boots and trou, sinking into rangy flesh. Dermott hollered in pain, smashing his fist and that tool into Balar’s head, but he hardly felt it.
Balar shook his head, sinking his teeth deeper until he could feel bone.
By his grip on the leg, he sent Dermott rolling across the ground again.
“I am mantii.”
Leaping across the distance, he held Dermott down by the neck and clamped his fangs on the man’s right hand.
The tool fell out of his grip, and Dermott shrieked and writhed as Balar bit down.
He didn’t stop when he felt bone. Oh, no.
He crushed Dermott’s hand, all the fine little bones splintering against his teeth.
Before he completely severed the hand, he spat it out then licked at the blood on his lips as Dermott watched in horror.
“I am vengeance.”
Faster than the man could see, Balar bit down on his other leg, making matching wounds on both calves. Dermott’s own corona of teeth marks.
He shook his head, ensuring the wounds went deep.
Dermott screamed and begged, but Balar didn’t care. Stepping on the man’s heaving chest, he lowered his great head to level his gaze with Dermott’s. The trapper shuddered as Balar’s bloody breath wafted over him.
His turuk gorged on the fear and pain radiating from the trapper. Only when it was satisfied did it give Balar’s dulur control back.
As Dermott gaped in shock, Balar shifted to his two-legged form.
Holding the man by the throat, he said, “I am hers. You were warned, Dermott. You could have stayed away. But now you pay for your petty evils.”
“Wait, wait—can’t we—no—no no no—ack!”
Balar shifted back to his beast in the span of a moment and took Dermott by the neck. Firmly enough to hold onto and draw blood but not enough to crush and kill. Yet.
Predatory gratification sluiced through him; just as the lion held the gazelle, there was no greater rush for a predator than feeling the racing pulse of their prey between their teeth.
It’d take but a squeeze and a little patience; he didn’t even have to crush Dermott’s throat, he could let the man suffocate. A prolonged death.
It was nothing less than he deserved.
But Imogen wouldn’t like it. That was all that saved Dermott’s life.
Instead, Balar leapt into the air with his prey, Dermott choking and scrabbling for purchase. Balar considered dropping him as he flew over the forest, but no, Dermott could be of use.
The lights of Granach lit up the dusky horizon, many still milling about in the last vestiges of daylight. The town square was full of villagers, spilling out of pubs and hurrying along home to supper.
In their midst, a man fell from the sky.
Dermott screamed during his short fall, landing in a heap and cloud of dust. Villagers gasped and shouted, pointing out Balar as he swooped down to land on the steps of the stone well at the center of the square.
He let all see his turuk, ensuring that the memory of what he could be would live in their minds for a long time yet.
More and more people gathered in the square, come to see the strange, extraordinary sight, yet no one moved to help Dermott. The man managed to roll onto his back, but other than struggling for each shallow breath, he didn’t dare move.
Finally, Balar shifted into his dulur form, drawing another gasp from the crowd.
“It’s Balar!”
“No, it couldn’t be. That beast?”
“Didn’t you know they could shift? Like the dragons.”
“Who did he drop?”
Spitting out the last of Dermott’s blood, Balar declared, “This man has trespassed upon Imogen Ahearn’s land. He’s violated her safety and caused her harm. She lays even now unconscious with fever.”
The crowd murmured, some shaking their heads, as they looked between Balar and the crumpled Dermott.
“In her stead, I have taken recompense. Flesh for flesh. As her mate, it’s my due.”
More murmurs, a few calls and questions, but Balar ignored them.
“Such is the fate of anyone who’d harm Imogen. Know this—she is my mate. She is under my protection. An insult to her is an insult to me.”
Utter silence and shocked stares met his declaration. Balar met each he could, determined to show them how serious he was. They might think him friendly, neighborly. A tame cat or interesting oddity.
He could be those things. But he could also be dangerous.
He intended to live peacefully in the Darrowlands, but that didn’t mean he’d suffer such grave insults to his mate.
Sure that his point had been made, Balar took a running leap into the sky. He left Dermott behind. It was up to the villagers whether he was worth aiding.
Balar couldn’t care less anymore. The fiery anger in his belly had been sated by blood. Now, it was time to return home.
It was fully dark by the time he landed in the meadow. A bonfire had been lit in the outside fire pit, a cauldron hung over it. Around it gathered his brothers and Orek, and all looked up to watch him land.
Soren met him, handing back his clothes.
“Is your heart settled now, seska?”
“I have tasted his blood. That will do,” Balar answered as he redressed. “How is she?”
“Sofie managed to get her to eat. She and Sorcha are sitting with her.”
Balar was glad to hear it. “Then I will go see her.”
“Come and eat something first. You must keep up your own strength.”
“After,” he promised, hustling into the cottage.
Shadow lifted his head, his tail beginning to wag when he saw Balar. Coming over for pats and reassurance, he followed Balar further into the cottage.
Heart in his throat, he scratched at the doorframe.
Inside the bedchamber, Imogen lay serenely, Sofie and Sorcha on either side of her bed. Sorcha smiled to see him, standing so that he could take her place.
“Good timing. She’s awake and has been asking for you.”
Balar fell to his knees beside the bed, grabbing up one of Imogen’s hands.
“Imogen?” he called softly.
Her head rolled toward him, and her eyes peeled open. She was tired and hazy, but she was there.
The breath rushed out of Balar in a relieved exhale.
“Mmm…Balar…?”
“I’m here, urisá.” He gently cupped her cheek in his paw, grateful he hadn’t gotten Dermott’s blood on it.
Sighing, she groggily lifted her own hand to place over his.
“It was traps,” she whispered. “So many. Had to be Dermott.”
Balar’s chest ached. His strong kigara was trying to tell him what had happened.
“Don’t worry, urisá. Everything is all right. You got the animals home and Sorcha will take care of them.” Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to her other cheek. “And Sofie and I will take care of you.”
“There were traps,” she said, a little frown marring her brow. “I pushed them to the side, but…”
“Diar has found them and cleared them away. They won’t hurt anyone else.”
“Dermott…”
“I’ve dealt with him.” He couldn’t keep the growl from his voice.
To his surprise, a vicious sort of grin touched Imogen’s lips. “Good. He hurt Chestnut.”
“He’s paid for his crimes, urisá. I swear it to you.”
She hummed in agreement, her eyes slipping closed again. Balar thought she may have fallen asleep, that grin still on her lips, but Imogen surprised him when she whispered, “I’m glad you’re here.”
Balar’s chest burst with grateful purrs. “I would be nowhere else.”