7. Into the Woods
Into the Woods
H owls disturbed the quiet of the woods bordering the palace of the Lycan king. Geralt stayed downwind, stepping carefully over broken twigs, traveling away from the direction of the howling. Gunter remained back at the hotel in Lake Placid. After touching down in Boston, the pair drove the remaining four hours to the Adirondack mountains.
Geralt insisted on finding the witch alone, commanding Gunter to book a room and only come searching for him if he didn’t make contact in 24 hours. The inn they’d passed was merely 25 miles east of where Gunter dropped him off. The pack mindlink would snap back into place as soon as they were within 10 miles of each other. Now, he had 24 hours to a find a witch in a haystack.
G eralt lost track of time prowling the woods in his four-legged form, with only Ryker in his head for company. None of the scents he came across were familiar or consistent. Ella’s only helpful clue to the witch’s whereabouts was the direction. The cursed Redwoods lay south of the palace.
He expected to come across a search party, but Ella alluded to the damage the witch inflicted in her escape. He doubted the king wanted to lose more Lycans over one witch when he had several covens worth enslaved in his kingdom. Ella never supplied the witch’s name, only that she was a water witch with the ability to make bodies explode by commanding the blood coursing through their veins. The witch held her freedom for four months. Geralt pondered how long the king would hold off looking for such a powerful asset.
Stilling, his ears twitched from the sound of rustling leaves. Something larger than a small animal disturbed the underbrush. He sank low, eyes peering into the dark, seeking the source of the disturbance. Selene’s light shone on him, reflecting off the color of his gray coat. Black would’ve been easier to blend into the darkness. He’d been so focused on hunting his prey that he couldn’t recall when the moon replaced the sun in the sky.
A shiver ran down their fur when the wind picked up the scent of the disturbance. Jasmine with the hint of winter snowflakes caught on his tongue. Mate Ryker snarled in his head. Without thought, they sprinted for the source of the scent, their other half. His fur stood on end, making him appear like a damn porcupine, but he didn’t care. Second-chance mates were unheard of, a myth whispered around campfires. Forcing more speed into his limbs, he growled when he heard his prey give chase. Mine .