Chapter 15 Archer
Archer
Iwalk quickly back to the bookshop, feeling angrier than I have in ages.
How dare someone act unkindly to Colette?
Yes, I’m grumpy with her sometimes, but acting mean to that darling person?
It’s unthinkable. I realize the draft isn’t ready for public consumption, but still, to insult her at her own event?
My fingers curl into fists. My fangs prick my lower lip as I growl quietly.
I am Hungry, so I should be headed into the forest, but I can’t leave this alone. I will not let it stand.
A few folks mill around the part bookshop, part library’s entrance. The scent of old books and cookies reaches my nose, an aroma that usually calms me, but it can’t touch my rage right now.
I don’t know who hurt Colette, so I’m going to have to do some research. Lysandra is talking to a goblin female and two humans across the table-filled area up front. I weave through the chairs and interrupt with a nod of apology.
“I’m sorry to break in here, but I have an urgent question for you, Lysandra. May I have a minute?”
Lysandra blinks, her gaze snagging on my fisted hands. I loosen my fingers and attempt a less violent expression.
“What is it, Archer? Is Colette okay?”
“She is, but I’m not. Someone, or someones, were speaking poorly about her at the event. Do you know who?”
The faun tilts her head. “Why?”
“Why?”
Lysandra pushes a lock of hair behind one of her pink horns. “Yes, why do you want to know?”
The faun is no fool. She can see my rage and is properly wary.
I spread my hands. “I’m not here to murder anyone. I just want to have a chat with them about manners.”
“I don’t know who said what,” the librarian says, crossing her arms and tapping one hoofed foot on the hardwoods. “Colette didn’t tell me. She just left suddenly.”
I raise an eyebrow and study her face. Her gaze is steady, and I don’t think she’s lying to protect anyone, but I can’t be sure.
I like Lysandra. I respect her work, and it’s obvious from the way Halvard and Rychell speak of her that she’s a wonderful sort.
But I wouldn’t put it past her to lie about this to keep trouble out of her bookish realm here.
“Well, if you find out, will you please send me word at Rychell and Halvard’s house? I promise you that I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do.”
“You have no idea what I would or would not do for my friend and favorite author.”
I have to chuckle, some of my anger abating. “True. But will you? Please?”
“To calm you down, I will say yes. But I reserve the right to change my mind.”
“Honest to a fault, are you?”
She lifts her chin and eyes me sharply. “I am.”
It’s all I’m going to get, so I nod and leave before I rip someone’s throat out accidentally.
Once I’m finally in the forest, I remove my cloak and boots and begin to hunt.
An hour passes. The moon glimmers through the snow-draped oaks and pines to light the stream running east to west. Many scents drift through the cold air.
Rabbits. Too small for tonight. I need something to give me a proper chase.
Mice. A fox. But then the scent of a deer perks me up.
A cluster of evergreen brush shifts past the stream. Antlers show in the moon’s glow.
I chase after the stag, my movements easier and more graceful than when I’m not Hungry. It feels good to breathe deep and drive hard into the night after the beast. Once I have him, I kill him quickly and with thanks.
The meal is good and I lose myself in satisfaction for a while.
Then another scent has me on my feet, scanning the area with my vampiric vision. My heart flies into my throat. I know that smell—like a too-sweet citrus fruit mixed with ash.
It’s her. My betrothed.