Page 28 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior
“We well and truly missed them,” Henry said, a perplexed scowl on his face.
Lord Richard swaggered up to him as he handed his rifle off to his man. “Well, we aren’t catching anything now, that’s for certain,” he said as he fastidiously fixed his blond locks into place.
“We can try again next week,” Lord Doyle said, his weapon slung over his shoulder casually. “It’ll be a much-needed reprieve from all the social events. I swear, every time I look there’s some new mama holding another luncheon or ball. Three invitations arrived just this morning.”
Ved had slowly moved away from her. For as large as he was, he somehow managed to step silently without rustling the leaves beneath his plated boots. When he was three paces from her, he turned to watch the men fully. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but if he thought they were threats … oh, God.
She lifted her hand to catch his attention. The slight rustling of her clothes luckily didn’t attract notice from anyone but Ved. “That’s my brother,” she mouthed. Carefully, she pointed to Henry.
He looked between her and Henry. She wondered if he was looking for their similarities. They’d inherited traits from their parents in equal measure, and Clara had on more than one occasion remarked on their likeness.
The gentlemen were talking amongst themselves, but Isobel’s focus was fully on Ved. With all the grace of a stealthy predator, Ved moved around the group until he was only paces from Lord Richard and Lord Doyle. He looked down at them, and she had a feeling he was studying their forms, sizing them up. Until now, she was the only human he’d seen.
“I think we should—” Henry started, butwas cut off by a high-pitched whine.
The hounds. They were anxious, pawing at the ground and pacing.
And they were staring right at Ved.
They knew he was there, smelled him and felt his presence, but couldn’t see him.
“I apologize, my lord,” one of the handlers said. “I’m uncertain what has—” The hounds started pulling at their leads before letting out a call similar to their hunting alerts.
The gentlemen looked around for the cause of the dogs’ uneasiness but saw nothing.
If the hounds came for Ved, it wouldn’t matter if he was invisible.
What were they going to do? Ved didn’t seem concerned, and after several tense moments of the handlers trying to wrangle the hunting dogs, they suddenly fell silent. Some looked rather sheepish as their handlers quietly questioned their senses.
“Right, let’s get back, then. I’m famished,” Lord Richard declared. The gentlemen all agreed, and they were off again, tromping through the woods and disappearing into the trees beyond.
Isobel was still frozen in place when Ved turned toward her again. “Are you hurt?” he asked as he reached for her. He pulled the bracelet-like black band off her wrist carefully.
“What just happened? How did they not see us?”
His chest rumbled with what she was certain was a laugh. “I used my cloaking mechanism,” he said. “It allowed us to go unseen and undetected. Still, hounds—on any planet—tend to sense far more than other beings. Especially your people.” Without moving, he disappeared in front of her.
She reached out, and he gently caught her hand as he moved closer than he was before. “But I could see you before,” she breathed in wonderment.
“Yes, because you had part of my system on you,” he explained, suddenly reappearing and holding up the band.
“Extraordinary.”
They stood like that for a moment. Her hand engulfed by his, staring at each other.
She cleared her throat, and drew her arm away as he asked, “What were these males doing here?”
“They were hunting. My brother and that party of gentlemen often come out here to do so. That’s why I was here. I came to warn you.” So much for that.
“Hunting?” Ved bit out before murmuring a string of rough syllables in his own language. Though she couldn’t understand it, it had the same feeling that a good, long curse did.
She blinked, realizing that perhaps this was another difference in their culture. “Well, they hunt the stag. We use the meat, and gentlemen particularly like to decorate their spaces with the antlers.”
“That was not hunting,” he grumbled.
She frowned, not fully understanding.
“They stomped around—talking, laughing, and boasting, but caughtnothing.” He changed his posture, puffed out his chest, and moved around noisily, mimicking them. “They are like the ungainly babes of the murog. Clambering and messy. They alerted their mark to their presence long before they were even there. Not to mention, their weapons are too large and unwieldy for such small males. This is no way to hunt,” he said severely.
