The scent of crushed wild mint, damp earth, and the metallic tang of an approaching storm flooded my senses.
I sat under a tree in the Grey Thicket. It was peaceful here - other humans were too scared to come here but I enjoyed the isolation - the only sounds the birds in the trees and the earth humming beneath my feet.
I wasn't like the girls in the town three valleys over. They smelled of cheap vanilla and dreamed of boys with shiny trucks - I dreamed of the moon. I looked for the wind. I listened for the heartbeat of the earth. My aunt called it a gift, but as the moon began to swell in the sky, it felt more like a cage.
Since she'd been gone there was no one left I could trust. She raised me until she died last year - her last words being "Never let them see your eyes silver under the moonlight. Never, ever go back to the city." I really am unsure what she meant by it but something deep within me sensed that I should obey her dying wish.
Suddenly I froze as my senses took over. Senses sharper than most humans. I looked up from bundling my herbs to a break in the trees across a clearing. I could smell the fear - sweat on the buck from fifty yards. It was a sweet, metallic tang that made my canines ache with a pressure I couldn't explain. My aunt always told me I was 'spirited,' but as my fingernails bit into the cool, damp moss, arching like claws I shouldn't possess, I knew 'spirited' was a lie. I was a predator in a girl's skin.
I readied myself to give chase, a primal urge threatening to take over me, but suddenly an overwhelming surge of guilt swamped my senses. I turned and pulled a handful of berries from a nearby bush, shoveling them into my mouth to try and swallow down the need to hunt that poor animal.
But it wasn't enough. The need thrummed through me as I pounced, running faster, inhumanely, after this deer. It sprinted off, deep into the woods as I gave chase, my heart pounding against my ribs, the excitement deafening, my senses tingling reaching deep into the forest - every sound, every smell hit me sharply, focused on finding the deer.
As I approached the clearing I saw him. He had stopped, clearly believing he was safe. I pulled my bow from my back, drawing back my arrow as I aimed, carefully between the eyes. I thought it would be more humane even if the voice inside my head was begging me to tear it apart with my bare hands. I fought the static screaming in my skull - a hungry, jagged noise - and forced my focus onto the buck as I let go, my arrow cutting through the thick air like a blade. Thwack. The arrow hit its target and the deer fell to the ground. I approached and stroked his ears. "I'm sorry," I told him sincerely, "but a girl's got to eat." That's what I told myself anyway, it was the only way to suppress that nag of guilt. Deep down? It was a primal need, an urge I could not resist. The feral beast inside me begging to come uncaged. It was terrifying.
I lifted the deer over my shoulders, weight spread evenly across my back with a set of legs either side. I had always been stronger than other girls. I looked up at the sky, the sun was beginning to set, the bruised purple hues cast long shadows over the darkening woods. I headed back towards my cabin when I suddenly got a really strange feeling. The birds stopped singing all at once.
Something is wrong. The voice at the back of my mind informed me. I was inclined to agree.
On closer inspection, the ground had been disturbed, the scent of pine and rain had distorted into copper and burnt sage. Then I saw it. A thick trail of dark blood leading straight towards my cabin. I looked around, the feeling of being watched washing over me. I grabbed my hunting knife, dropping the buck with a thud, and slowly crept towards my cabin, following the trail of blood, to see what awaited me.
My vision was sharper now, everything felt high definition. As I approached my front porch there was a man. He was slumped against the door, badly injured. Instinct took over, and I ran to him, keeping my knife steady in my hand, just in case.
He wasn't just a man. His face distorted, his clothes tore, his fingers began to elongate, forming sharp claws. His irises didn't just change; they ignited, glowing with the terrifying brilliance of blue magnesium fire. His shoulder was wounded - he had been shot and was bleeding badly, but the wound appeared to have a silver glow around its bubbling edges.
I approached him then, gently touching his wound. He winced in pain at my touch, but then something changed... he dipped his head, whimpering almost submissively. Suddenly, he grabbed me by the wrist, his glowing blue eyes locked on mine, filled with fear. "They're coming, Adelaide's daughter. The Blackwoods are rising... and Kaelin's Hound has caught your scent."
Who was coming? And how did this stranger know my mother's name?