28
Bill hissed through clenched teeth. Rarely had he felt this level of hostility directed his way. Kyle’s hatred came close, but the nuances were different in this instance. This shadowy figure didn’t just despise him. They were terrified.
Luckily, most—if not all—of their loathing seemed directed his way alone. Instinctively, he took a step back from Loren, drawing the stranger’s attention to himself.
Damn the Eislanders and their tricks. What the hell had Eric led them to?
“Show yourself,” he called. “I won’t harm you—”
“Leave!” The voice came from north of their position, though he couldn’t make out anything apart from a few swaying branches. Hell, he couldn’t even smell anything out of the ordinary. Just wind, dirt, and Loren.
“I can’t leave the area without knowing she’ll be safe,” he replied while keeping Loren within his view.
“Well then, leave now. I won’t speak in the presence of your ilk.”
Another cluster of branches swayed, and he homed in on a mass of trees yards away. Oddly enough, he couldn’t catch a lycan’s scent. Just fresh air. Straining his ears for any sound, he attempted to take a different tack.
“Who are you? Why did Eric from the Eislander pack send us here?”
“Eric?” the figure scoffed. Judging from their tone, he suspected they were a woman. “A pompous git. Ignored me for years, only to come crawling back when his precious pack is at risk. He gave no concern for us. Damn them all.”
A flicker of suspicion as to the figure’s identity flitted across his mind. They couldn’t be…
“Who are you?” he tried again. “Are you alone?”
He sure hoped so—one shadowy figure was enough to contend with, though he couldn’t sense anyone else. Eric wasn’t the only one to employ tricks when it came to obscuring their presence. At least this figure wasn’t into utilizing deer piss.
They were simply…invisible, blending into the landscape in a way he couldn’t have replicated, with or without the aid of tricks.
“Someone who knows all about the cunning, twisted ways of your kind,” they snarled.
“You are Scolera, aren’t you?” Bill suspected out loud. A part of him doubted that. Why would a lone member of that clan remain out here, so far removed from their ancestral lands? Though hell, he was an expert on living apart from society.
Who was he to judge?
“You are from Black Mountain,” the figure replied, skirting any confirmation of their own origins. “The fact that you would even dare to bring her here is merely an example of your hubris.”
“Her?” He eyed Loren again, prepared to confront any threat that might come her way. “What do you mean?”
“You robbed her of her birthright, and then you parade her before me. Sickening.”
“Birthright?” Loren spoke up before he could, and Bill smothered the urge to silence her. This was her heritage at stake. She had every right to steer the conversation.
Even if it killed him to watch her inch closer to the unknown by taking a single step forward.
“Her, I will speak to,” the figure declared. “Only her.”
Bill wavered between logic and a desperate need for answers. In the end, Loren made the decision herself.
She took another step, and—even though it took every ounce of control he possessed—he stood back, watching helplessly as the distance between them lengthened. A few paces. A few yards. Eventually, she paused right before the largest tree in the clearing—a rotting oak.
“Talk to her,” he demanded, fisting his hands helplessly at his sides. “But if you so much as flinch in her direction, you won’t get the chance to harm her.”
“I remember you,” the stranger said softly, uncowed by his threat. While they remained hidden in the shadows, their higher cadence confirmed his suspicion once and for all—they were a woman. “Such a sweet little pup. Such a shame what they did to you. A shame...”
Loren cleared her throat before responding. “What who did to me?”
“Them.They culled you from your family. All because of him.”