Chapter 2
The bloodmoss grew in the shadow of the northern ridge where the stone still held frost even in late morning.
Tarek crouched beside a cluster of the dark red growth, carefully working a small knife beneath the roots.
The plant was stubborn, clinging to the rock face with the same tenacity that kept it alive through the harsh mountain winters.
The knife blade finally slipped beneath the root ball, and he eased the plant free.
Its distinctive copper scent filled his nose as he transferred it to the leather pouch at his belt.
The bloodmoss made a paste that stopped bleeding and prevented infection, a useful addition to a healer’s supplies.
Not that anyone would come looking for his expertise.
Or that he would provide it if by some chance they did.
That part of his life was over, but gathering herbs and making medicine gave him something to do during the long days and nights of his exile.
Five years he’d been alone now, and he sometimes wondered if that lingering dedication to his previous life was the only thing that had stopped him giving into his beast and going completely feral.
He rose, scanning the ridge for more useful plants.
The mountainside stretched above him in shades of grey and brown, weathered stone interspersed with patches of scrubby vegetation.
This high up, even the trees hunched close to the ground, twisted by wind into shapes that looked like they were trying to crawl back into the earth.
A flicker of movement caught his eye before the cottma froze, long ears twitching, suddenly aware of the presence of a predator. His beast stirred, his vision sharpening and the scent of the small animal filling his nostrils.
Easy prey, his beast urged, but he had no need for meat and even less desire to release his beast. Each time he gave into it, the harder it was to come back.
He forced his breathing to steady and deliberately turned his back on the cottma, refusing to watch as it scurried away in case it triggered the instinct to chase it down.
Instead, he headed down the slope towards the stand of silverleaf trees where he’d spotted wild thyma growing last week, his feet silent on the rocky ground. The Vultor were trained from childhood to move without sound. His time in exile had perfected his skills.
The descent took him lower than he usually ventured, into the woods that covered the lower slopes of the mountainside, and close enough to the human village that he could smell their presence.
Woodsmoke on the wind, the earthy scent of turned soil, and the faint animal musk of livestock kept in pens.
He should turn back.
But the silverleaf grove was just ahead, and the thyma that grew beneath those trees was superior to the mountain variety—more potent, better for the teas he made to help him sleep when the nightmares got bad.
The fact that after five years alone the evidence of other lives was oddly comforting had nothing to do with it.
He’d never approach the human village, just as he’d never approach the Vultor enclave on the other side of the mountain, but he could draw closer to the humans, knowing they couldn’t detect him.
He pushed through a stand of brush, emerging into the grove. The silverleaf trees spread their branches overhead, their bark gleaming pale even in the shadows. The characteristic silver-white leaves rustled in the breeze with a sound like whispered secrets.
There. Wild thyma growing in thick patches beneath the largest tree, the small purple flowers just beginning to bud.
He knelt, pulling a cloth from his pack, and began harvesting it. He worked methodically, cutting the stems and bundling them into neat sheaves. The scent of thyma mixed with the silverleaf’s faint sweetness, creating a combination that reminded him of—
He cut that thought off. No point dwelling on memories of gardens and halls and places he’d never see again.
The breeze shifting through the grove picked up, carrying additional scents. He caught the familiar traces of evergreen sap, mountain stone, and the distant note of water from the stream that flowed down the mountainside to the valley below. Nothing unusual. Nothing—
He froze.
Woven through the familiar scents was a trace of something sweet. So faint he almost missed it, but his beast caught it immediately and surged with sudden interest.
A female. A human female, which meant there was no reason why his beast should be reacting, demanding to go closer, to explore that intriguing scent.
He rose slowly. The scent was too close to be coming from the human village which meant that she was on the mountainside. In his territory.
Why was she here? The mountains belonged to the Vultor and the valleys to the humans.
Ignoring those restrictions had led to enough bloodshed over the years that both groups of colonists tended to honor them.
This was his mountain, his land, and he didn’t tolerate trespassers.
While he hadn’t resorted to violence, he’d driven off three prospectors two years ago and a hunting party last spring.
The fact that another human had intruded on his territory should have irritated him. But instead of annoyance, he felt… curious.
No. No doubt she has simply ventured too far and would return to her people on her own. Since a single female presented no threat he should turn away and climb back up the mountain to his den and his solitude and his carefully maintained isolation.
The breeze shifted again, and her scent, closer now, washed over him in a wave of sweetness.
His beast growled, urging him forward, not as predator but as a male.
He fought the urge, forcing himself to remain still as he listened, letting the instincts that had kept him alive for five years take over.
He heard the soft whisper of cloth against skin, the faint crackle of leaves underfoot.
She was close now, moving towards the silverleaf grove, her steps quiet but determined.
I should leave.
Instead he melted into the trees on the far side of the grove where the shadows were deepest, watching as she emerged into the clearing.
She was small and wiry, dark hair pulled back from a pretty, delicate face.
Her simple attire—sturdy trousers tucked into worn boots, a loose tunic, and a canvas satchel slung over one shoulder—wasn’t designed for mountain travel.
The boots were better suited for village streets than rough terrain, and she didn’t carry a pack or a water skin or any visible supplies. Either she was foolish or desperate.
Or both.
She scanned the area, her expression a mixture of hope and fear, and he realized she was looking for something. But what?
He watched as she approached the fallen log, her eyes fixed on a patch of vines growing in the partial shade behind it.
The corkscrewing vines were covered with small, star-shaped flowers of an impossible blue.
She ran a section of the vine through her fingers, then gently pulled the fibers apart before sighing in disappointment.
She slumped down on the fallen log, looking totally defeated. An unexpected urge to comfort her swept over him but he quickly pushed it away. No human wanted comfort from a Vultor. He should leave. He should retreat back up the mountain and forget he’d seen her.
His beast disagreed.
The pull was stronger now, insistent in a way that made his claws want to extend. He could smell her more clearly this close—that sweet warmth he’d caught before, but also herbs and wool and woodsmoke. And beneath it all, something that made every instinct sit up and pay attention.
“What am I going to do?” she muttered, frustration in every syllable. “I can’t search the whole mountain and I hate leaving Dani and I probably shouldn’t even be here—”
As she spoke the last words she shivered and looked around. She scanned the grove with wide hazel eyes that held intelligence and wariness in equal measure.
He went absolutely still. He was downwind of her, concealed by the trunk of a silverleaf tree and the shadows of the branches overhead. She couldn’t possibly see him.
Her gaze swept past his position, continuing around the grove, then returned, looking directly at him.
His breath caught. Impossible. She was human with human senses. There was no way—
“I know someone’s there.” Her voice was steadier than he’d expected, though he could smell the spike of adrenaline that accompanied fear. “I’m not trespassing. I’m just looking for a plant. I’ll leave once I find it.”
She couldn’t actually see him. She was guessing, calling out to the shadows. Except her eyes hadn’t moved, still locked on his position with uncanny precision.
“I’m armed,” she added, which was an obvious lie given that he couldn’t see any weapons.
A bird called overhead. A gust of wind whispered through the trees. The mountain held its breath.
He had two choices. He could retreat deeper into the forest and let her think she’d imagined his presence. Or he could reveal himself and deal with the consequences.
His beast made the decision for him.
He stepped out from behind the trunk.