Chapter 15 #2
"Something bothering you three?" I asked quietly, keeping my voice pitched just for them. "Or is the synchronized bodyguard routine just a hobby you've all taken up?"
Desmond's honey-colored eyes flicked up to meet mine. "The spirits are agitated," he admitted. "It might be your presence. Your flame."
"My flame?" I frowned, glancing down at the golden patterns visible at my wrists. "What about it?"
Lucas's nostrils flared as he studied me. "You smell different since the spring. Purer, but also... marked somehow." His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "It's... intoxicating."
"Marked?" The word sent an uncomfortable chill down my spine.
"Not in a bad way," he clarified, his blue-green eyes intense. "More like you've been... touched by something ancient. The forest creatures sense it too. It's why they're giving us a wide berth."
I wanted to dismiss his words, but the serious set of both men's expressions stopped me. Something had changed during that healing session at the spring. Something beyond the obvious physical intimacy and the purging of corruption from my system.
"We should keep moving," I said instead, urging my mare forward. "I don't want to be caught in these woods after dark. Call it phoenix instinct, but I'm betting that whatever watches these forests gets bolder when the sun sets."
We hadn't gone far when Lucas suddenly froze mid-step, his hand shooting up in a silent command to halt. The entire group went still, tension crackling through the air like static before a storm. Lucas's nostrils flared as he scented the wind, his body coiled with predatory alertness.
"What is it?" I whispered, barely audible.
He motioned for silence, then gestured for us to move off the path. We followed his lead, guiding our horses into a stand of gnarled trees. Desmond stepped forward, ready to assist, but Lucas shook his head sharply.
"Stay downwind," he mouthed, pointing to where the breeze was coming from.
I felt it then—a subtle shift in the air, carrying the smell of rot and something chemical that burned my nostrils. The flame-script beneath my skin prickled in warning, golden lines flaring beneath my sleeves as the corruption's presence triggered my defenses.
Ryu materialized beside us, his golden eyes narrowed. For once, he didn't question Lucas's lead, a testament to the seriousness of the situation.
Then I heard it—an unnatural clicking sound, followed by a wet, slithering noise that made my skin crawl.
Through the branches, I caught a glimpse of what had once been a stag.
Corruption had twisted its proud form beyond recognition—too many eyes glowing with sickly intelligence, antlers dripping with purple-black ichor.
The corrupted stag paused, lifting its misshapen head to test the air.
It was downwind of us, but something had caught its attention.
Purple fluid dripped from its nostrils as it inhaled deeply, the viscous substance sizzling when it touched the ground, leaving small craters in the soil.
The vegetation around these droplets withered instantly, curling and blackening as though burned.
"It senses magic," Aeolus breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
Lucas's eyes met mine, a clear message in them: Don't move. Don't use your power.
I nodded, focusing on suppressing the flame-script that threatened to flare in response to the nearby corruption. My mare shifted uneasily beneath me, and I laid a calming hand on her neck, willing her to remain still.
The stag took another step in our direction, its movements jerky and wrong, like a puppet controlled by someone who'd only heard descriptions of how deer move.
Its misshapen hooves left smoldering purple imprints in the forest floor, while its too-many eyes blinked independently of each other, scanning in all directions at once.
Lucas's hand slid to his hip, fingers curling around the hilt of his hunting knife. He wouldn't stand a chance against the massive creature, but I knew he'd put himself between it and me without hesitation.
Then, with startling abruptness, the stag's head snapped toward a sound in the opposite direction—a sound I hadn't heard. It let out a chilling bellow that was half-roar, half-scream, then charged away through the underbrush, corruption spattering from its twisted form like toxic rain.
We remained frozen until the sounds of its passage had faded completely. Even then, Lucas kept us waiting for several more minutes, his senses stretched to their limits to ensure the danger had truly passed.
"Clear," he finally said, shoulders relaxing fractionally.
"What was that?" I asked, though I knew the answer all too well. My flame-script still pulsed with defensive energy, as if trying to purge some invisible taint from the air itself. "Or should I ask, what was it before the corruption got to it?"
"Corruption given form," Desmond said grimly.
"A forest spirit told me these woods were once renowned for their white stags—sacred creatures that brought blessings.
Now they bring only blight. The corruption doesn't just twist physical forms; it perverts purpose.
What once blessed now curses. What once healed now harms."
"Its movements weren't random," Lucas added, leading us carefully back to the path. His eyes constantly scanned our surroundings, one hand resting protectively on my mare's bridle. "It was patrolling. Searching." His blue-green eyes met mine briefly. "For what, I can't say."
"For interlopers like us, most likely," Aeolus murmured.
Taranis adjusted his glasses with trembling fingers, his other hand white-knuckled around his staff.
"I've never seen corruption manipulate a living being to that extent.
The level of mutation suggests prolonged exposure to extremely concentrated blight.
" The mage's voice steadied as he shifted into analytical mode, finding comfort in academic detachment.
"The magical resonance was all wrong—like someone took the creature's natural essence and. .. rewrote it."
"That thing was hunting," Ryu growled, scales briefly shimmering beneath the skin of his forearms before he controlled himself. "And not for food. I recognize a sentry when I see one." His golden eyes narrowed. "Whatever is spreading this corruption, it's organized enough to establish a perimeter."
Lucas nodded grimly. "We need to be careful. The stag crossed our path coming from the direction of the ridgeline—right where we're headed."
"Can we go around?" I asked.
Lucas studied the terrain ahead, then shook his head. "Not without adding days to our journey. The ridgeline is the only passable route to the druid tree from this direction."
"Then we continue, but with extreme caution," I decided, straightening my spine. "Lucas, can you find us the safest route? Something tells me you've tracked through worse than this."
His eyes flashed with something like pride at being singled out for his expertise. "I can. We have areas with blighted beasts back home too. The corrupted creatures leave distinctive trails—not just physical tracks, but scent markers that last for days."
"Do it," I said, meeting his gaze directly. "We're relying on you."
The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, but I could see he welcomed it. A chance to prove his worth through skills none of the others could match.
The terrain gradually grew more challenging as we approached the ridgeline.
The path narrowed and began to climb, winding between rocky outcroppings and gnarled tree roots.
Vegetation became sparse, revealing soil streaked with purple veins.
Occasional pools of stagnant water reflected an oily rainbow sheen.
At a particularly steep section, I dismounted and Lucas moved ahead, offering his hand to guide my horse through a tricky passage where the path narrowed between two boulders.
"Easy now," he murmured, steadying her as loose stones clattered beneath her hooves. "I've got you."
When his fingers brushed mine on the reins, I felt a jolt of awareness that traveled straight to my core.
"The path narrows ahead," Lucas said, helping me lead my mare around a particularly jagged outcropping. "There's a small plateau about fifty yards up where we can rest before the final climb to the cave."
"You've done this before," I observed, watching him scan our surroundings with practiced ease.
A half-smile quirked his lips. "Tracking through difficult terrain is second nature to wolves. We're born to read the land." He paused, helping me over a slick patch of moss-covered stone. "Though I admit, the Moonmist Highlands present more challenges than this."
"The Highlands," I repeated, grateful for the distraction from my increasingly complicated thoughts. "Tell me about your home."
Something softened in his blue-green eyes.
"Imagine mountains shrouded in perpetual mist, where the boundaries between worlds grow thin during the full moons.
Valleys so deep they never see direct sunlight, forests where the trees have stood sentinel since before the first shifters took human form. "
The way he spoke—with reverence and a hint of longing—made me curious. "You miss it."
"Every day," he admitted, helping my mare navigate another tricky section. "The pack is... everything to a wolf. Being away, even as an emissary, isn't easy."
His expression shifted, a momentary vulnerability crossing his features before he masked it with concentration on the path.
"I've been Beta of the Nighthowl Pack for three years now, but sometimes I wonder if I've truly earned it or if it was merely my bloodline that secured my position.
" The admission came slowly, reluctantly, as though he rarely voiced these doubts aloud.
The admission surprised me. "You don't strike me as someone who doubts himself."