Page 50 of The Tracker's Rage
“What’s her name?”
“Liliana.”
“I’m sorry she’s ill, and I really hope I can convince Prince Kalyll to give us the Bitterthorn.”
“Me, too. Me, too.”
My ass began to hurt like hell one hour into the ride. I shifted in the saddle, wincing at the pain. “I wish I had one of those shifting rings, so I could run in my wolf form,” I complained. “It would be a lot more comfortable than this.”
I surprised myself with my own words. It was the first time I’d shown favor for four legs over two, and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last. The more comfortable I got with my wolf, the more I suspected I would enjoy spending time in that shape. It had its advantages for sure, especially in woodsy terrain like this.
“That would be a bad idea,” Damien said. “Your wolf stench would make the creatures around us feel threatened, and I can assure you it wouldn’t bode well for us.”
Creatures around us?
I hadn’t seen anything but birds flitting about, but I knew better than to be fooled by appearances when it came to the Fae folk. Any kind of creature could live in these woods. The Fae were as varied in species as humans were varied in their levels ofbullshittery. I’d heard of sprites, goblins, pucas, kelpies, gnomes, brownies, and more. Only the witchlights knew what else was out there.
I suddenly imagined tiny devils with dinnerware-sized pitchforks raining from the treetops, trying to skewer our eyes out with their weapons. I urged my pony closer to Damien’s, hoping he had some sort of magical shield that could keep these devilish creatures away.
“That must be the mound Glimlock gave us as a marker,” the mage said, pointing a long finger toward a hill with a lone willow tree on top.
“Yeah, that looks just like what he described.”
The path toward the mound was lined with trees. Their branches met above us, allowing only a patchy view of the sky. We were almost there, when the leaves above us rustled, creatures rained from the sky and knocked us from our horses.
I yelped and went sprawling on the ground, landing on my stomach. A heavy weight crashed on top of me. A knife met my neck. I growled, ready to shift as adrenaline flooded every corner of my body. My claws sprang into place.
“Control yourself, Toni,” Damien cried out in a strained voice. “Don’t shift or you’ll ruin everything.”
Gritting my teeth, I turned my head to glare at Damien. He was also on his stomach, face scrunched against the ground and a knife at his throat. A lithe Fae female sat on top of him. She was blond and wore banded armor with a familiar coat of arms painted in the middle. A pair of green feline eyes set into a pale face glared back at me. I strained to glance behind me, but all I could perceive out of the corner of my eye was a tall shape looming over me.
I kicked my legs as my wolf rose within me, ready for a fight.
“Listen to me,” Damien said, his copper gaze drilling into mine. “They’re royal guards. If we fight them, we’ll never get to talk to Prince Kalyll.”
Royal guards? How did he know that?
The armor, you idiot.
I’d seen the coat of arms on Kalyll’s guards before, hadn’t I?
Royal guards. Royal guards.I repeated inside my head over and over, trying to convey the meaning to my wolf. She was ready to go nuclear on these Fae, blind rage consuming her, but she had to listen.
“Take deep breaths,” Damien instructed. “You are in control.”
I focused on his voice and did as he said. Little by little, I gathered my wits, quietly reasoning with my wolf, gently exerting my command over her.
“Good job,” the mage said soothingly as my claws retracted, and I let out a shuddering breath.
“What business do you have with our Prince?” The Fae on top of Damien demanded.
“We wish to speak to him, nothing else,” Damien answered.
Gruffly, the guards pulled us to our feet, keeping the knives at our throats.
“Tie them up,” the female said.
Royal guards. Royal guards.I chanted again as a reminder to my wolf, who seemed bent on making an appearance.
