Caged Dove #2
Nothing steadies me faster. Nothing sharpens my thoughts and bleeds off excess tension like tracking prey through the wild.
I prepare for a longer hunt than usual, since I have never been this unsettled before.
In my closet, I press the hidden latch that unlocks the door to my private weapons cache.
The panel slides open with a muted click.
I select what I need without hesitation and carry the bag down to the stables.
I saddle Calixis out of habit, though it is unnecessary.
The ritual of it calms my hands and reminds me of a different time altogether.
We leave the city without ceremony.
It is not until we reach the deeper, more lush parts of The Felled Forest and begin ascending the dense mountain range beyond that I let my human facade once again fall away.
Cali feels it the moment I do, the shift, and follows my lead.
Within the next heartbeat, we are one. Hunt as bond and bonded.
I release the reins and let them drop over the pommel. Cali gives me the ability to see through her eyes. With this double vision, I scan our surroundings. Through our link, I guide her stride and pace.
She takes off through the brush. The forest isn’t teeming with life as it once was, but we still find evidence of large game here and there.
A while later, we find fresh tracks, deep impressions in damp earth. I swing down from Cali’s back and crouch, running my fingers lightly along the edges of the footprints.
A deer.
I tell Cali to stay put and retrieve my bow and quiver, then follow the trail on foot. The signs grow clearer as I move—upturned stones, snapped twigs, bark scraped clean by antlers. A stag.
There’s not much fresh water this high up, but as I step quietly over a felled tree and duck under a broken branch that lies in my path, I get my first scent of it in the air. Going with my gut instinct, which rarely leads me astray, I stealthily make my way toward it.
Small creatures scatter at my approach. Leaves whisper down from above. Somewhere distant, another animal gives a warning chortle.
When I eventually find the stream, I see him.
His head is lifted, ears alert. I freeze mid-step and wait until his guard lowers, until he bends again toward the water.
He is broad-bodied. Antlers thicker than they are tall, with four points branching cleanly. Not massive—but not small either. I wet my thumb, testing the wind. Shift my position until I am safely downwind.
Slowly, carefully, I move into range.
I choose the angle. The entry. The exit. I plant my feet and take a deep inhale as I draw the bowstring back. The tension in the string mirrors the tension in my chest.
I hold. Hold. Hold. Hoolldd.
With my exhale, I release, and the arrow flies true.
I know the instant it strikes that the hit is fatal. Still, the ritual must play out. The stagger. The frantic burst of motion. The final run before the body accepts what the mind cannot.
I wait a few moments, then follow.
This is when the blood tracking takes place, and usually, it’s my favorite part of the hunt, but today, for whatever reason, the excitement of the kill does little to quell the tension I’m holding.
The kill brings no release. No clarity. No calm.
It’s that bloody woman. I know this to be true. It’s hard to grasp what this lingering, unsettling emotion is. To name it.
It’s not anger. Not fully.
Not even irritation. Not completely.
Something else.
That nervous current beneath my skin… she is the source of it.
Had she eaten or used the bed instead of choosing cold stone, perhaps I would feel differently. Perhaps I would not be here, stalking a dwindling game through a dying forest in a futile attempt to restore my equilibrium.
I offer what I can of the deer back to Mother Earth, then carry the carcass to the city and leave it with the butcher.
The rest of the afternoon is spent with Cali, though a dozen other matters demand my attention. I brush her down myself. Check her hooves. Offer her treats. Run my hand along her flank more times than necessary.
Anything to quiet the restless edge inside me.
It does not work. By evening, I return to the dungeon.
Only…there’s no change.
None.
When I speak to her, she does not answer. Not aloud. Not even in my mind when I press against hers and taunt her inside her own silence.
Nothing. It aggravates the hell out of me.
“No one’s gone in there?” I ask the guard, though I already know the answer.
“Just me, sir. To check on her. Food and water.”
“I see.”
“If there’s any change, note it. I want a report on my desk first thing in the morning. Give her bottled water so she knows it hasn’t been tampered with. Packaged crackers. See if that changes things.”
“Yes, sir.”
It does not.
The following morning’s report is identical. No food or water. She has changed positions and nothing more.
My temper frays as the day wears on. I mask it poorly. Men notice. When I return to her cell, all restraint abandons me. I press my power into the air between us.
Eat.
It’s a command that threatens violence for disobedience.
She flinches. I see it in the tightening of her jaw, the brief tremor in her shoulders. But she ignores me.
Eat, and I’ll leave you in peace, Little One. I temper the command. Soften it.
No. Go away.
You’ll die here if you don’t eat. Her answer is thin, and her voice is threaded with the bitter chill she’s experiencing.
I won’t.
At least she is speaking. It steadies me more than it should.
I lower my voice. “There are blankets. Use them. Drink the water. Eat the crackers. You need to keep up your strength.”
She turns her face toward the wall. The silence that follows it is an avalanche of sound.
That is when my once unlimited control snaps. I call the guard over and demand, “Open this damn door.”
“Sir?”
“I said open it. I’m taking her out of here.”
He rushes forward, jingling the keys as he fumbles for the correct one.
The moment my skin meets hers, anger surges hot and fast. She is freezing. Not chilled—freezing. Her body shivers violently in my arms, teeth knocking together despite her effort to hide it.
She attempts to push me away.
I tighten my hold.
She weighs less than she should. I do not like that. A pit forms in my stomach and grows larger by the second.
I carry her from the dungeon, and only when we pass through the exterior doors and sunlight touches her skin do I allow myself to breathe easier. It is not a warm day, but it is miles better than the stone below. At least here, her lungs are no longer forced to draw in that rank, stagnant air.
As I move through the building toward my suite, I reach outward and blur the thoughts of those who pass. Faces register only a vague impression of what I carry. Nothing more. A trick of light. A passing shadow.
Arthur nearly collides with me in the corridor.
He is dressed impeccably, as always, in a tailored grey suit with an ash-blue shirt and a lighter tie perfectly centered. Not a thread out of place. He carries himself like a man who expects rooms to quiet when he enters them. He’s hungry, but disciplined about it.
In another lifetime, another functioning government, he would have been one hell of a leader. For now, he’s accepted his place as my second.
“Hey…I was just coming to find you. We have a situation.” His eyes flick from my face to the figure in my arms and back again. Quick. Assessing. Filing it away.
“Can it wait?” I ask without slowing.
“It can, but—”
“Then handle it. I’ll be detained for the next few hours.”
His gaze ventures over her again. “Should I even ask?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
He nods and steps aside. A faint smile ghosts across his mouth. “Understood. I’ll handle it. And I’ll act as though I never saw you.” The wheels of his mind begin to turn, already calculating how best to manage whatever questions arise about my whereabouts.
I proceed to my rooms. The moment the door shuts behind me, I stride directly for the bathroom and turn on the shower. Steam begins to gather almost instantly. Warm water. Not too hot at first. Her skin would register it as fire. But enough to begin drawing warmth back into her.
I test the temperature with my hand, adjust it once, then set her down carefully on the shower bench beneath the spray.
This is when the wild kitten I met in the forest resurfaces.
She twists violently in my grip, palms slamming against my chest as she tries to shove me back. I catch her wrists, but she wrenches one free, and her nails rake down the right side of my face. I feel the sting immediately, sharp and hot, followed by the slow warmth of blood.
I clamp a firmer hold around her and force her beneath the spray.
Water splashes against tile and skin as she shrieks, the sound echoing in the enclosed space.
I cage her to me. She lunges for my face with her own teeth snapping.
I jerk my head aside just in time, barely avoiding her bite before those pearly whites close on my jaw.
She freezes for a fraction of a second, eyes locking on my face.
Even trembling, even furious, she is arresting. We are too much alike for our own good. Mirrors angled wrong. Magnets fighting their own polarity. I sense the deep connection, but it is stilted and off balance. Though I cannot name why. Not yet. I just… There is something more at play here.
Maybe it’s that she’s the storm and I’m the unmovable mountain standing in her path.
Or our purposes clash. There’s no knowing.
And I’ll achieve no answers as riled as she is.
Because there is nothing fragile about her rage.
As this thought forms, water slicks her hair to her temples, pale strands clinging to flushed cheeks and high, sharp cheekbones.
I catalog all this, and her roughened ethereal beauty in seconds as our bodies rest against one another.
Her pupils flare. Her breath stutters.