Hunted(36)

BEAST


I moved without thought.

Instinct. Animal. Nothing more. The actions of a predator defending its kill, its territory, its property.

And yet we did not decide to act, I did. Alone. I heard her voice, her stories, her softness as she spoke of her family, and her iron as she spoke of me—I heard her scream, and I moved without thought.

We need her skills. That is all. Only she can free us from this torment, and that is what we were protecting. Our freedom. Our lives. Our hope.

And yet . . .





TEN


“NO!” YEVA SCRAMBLED FROM beneath the Beast, who was still standing over her. Ignoring him, she lurched to her feet and sprinted to the spot where Doe-Eyes had fallen.

Her dog lifted her head, and Yeva gasped for a breath as her heart started once more. Doe-Eyes whined at her, tail thumping once in pathetic appeal. She tried to stand, fumbling in the snow and yelping in pain.

“No—stay.” Yeva pressed her hand against the dog’s head, firm and warm. “Lie down, don’t move.” That she was hurt somewhere was obvious, but Yeva could not see where. If she was bleeding, it was internal.

She felt the Beast move up behind her, but could not find any spare feeling for him—her attention was on Doe-Eyes.

The Beast rumbled once, an echo of the growling roar he gave when he reappeared. “She will die,” he said, voice as still and calm and emotionless as it ever had been.

Yeva whirled, the movement kicking up snow. “No! She will not.”

The Beast dropped onto his haunches, staring at her with those disconcerting eyes, wrapping his tail around himself and tilting his head like a great cat, unconcerned. “Why should it matter?”

“Because I love her,” Yeva snapped back. “She’s mine. She came here searching for me. She’s my responsibility. Do you not understand loyalty? Love? Do you have no concept of anything other than the hunt?”

The Beast did not answer, continuing to stare, continuing to sit, continuing to exist in that hateful way, as though everything Yeva said was of no consequence. As though everything she thought or felt or did was a minor irritation to him, an annoyance to be borne and dismissed.

Yeva spat a wordless cry at him and turned back to Doe-Eyes, reaching out to run a light hand down her dog’s body, watching her and trying to see if any spot caused her pain.

The Beast’s voice came again after a moment. “Her leg is broken.”

Yeva glanced over her shoulder. “How can you know that?”

The Beast blinked. “How can you not?”

Yeva ran her hand down first one foreleg, then the other—then jumped as Doe-Eyes yelped, her tongue lolling out immediately after, as if apologizing for having felt the pain at Yeva’s touch. “That’s the only injury?” she asked, eyes still on her dog.

“Yes,” said the Beast.

“You said she would die,” Yeva protested, stroking her dog’s head, doing her best to keep her still.

“She will. In this cold, unable to walk or feed herself, she will die of starvation or exposure. It is . . . it is merciful to end her suffering.” The Beast paused, his gaze troubled again, that same look as before, like a man would furrow his brow. “I will do it if you wish.”

Yeva’s hands trembled, and she kept one on Doe-Eyes as she stared at the Beast. One part of her longed to scream at him for his callous dismissal of life, to rail against the cold heartlessness of his offer to kill her beloved Doe-Eyes, her only friend in this bleak wood. But there was another part of her, the same corner of her heart that could read the scratches in a tree and tell the difference between the rustle of a rabbit and that of a squirrel. And that part of her heart ached with sudden understanding.

In the wild, in this wild, it would be merciful to kill a wounded animal. And more merciful still not to make her be the one to deliver the killing blow to her own companion.

But what could a Beast know of mercy?

Yeva drew in a shaking breath. “How far are we from—from your home? I will carry her.”

The Beast paused, either calculating the distance or hesitating to share the information, Yeva did not know. “You cannot carry her if you are blindfolded.”

“No,” agreed Yeva, gazing back at him.

The Beast’s tail twitched, darting one way, then the other. “It is not far,” he said finally. “Follow me.”

Doe-Eyes was not a small dog, and though the weeks of drawing her father’s bow had strengthened her shoulders, Yeva still staggered under her dog’s weight after the first hour. The Beast did not offer any help, and Yeva did not expect him to—if she ever drew too near him, Doe-Eyes would stiffen in her arms, legs flailing about as her instincts told her to get her feet on the ground in order to defend herself and her mistress.

After casting a few glances her way, the Beast stalked on ahead of them, as if he were frustrated by Yeva’s slow pace. But as he moved, his bulk trampled the snow ahead of Yeva’s steps, making her journey considerably easier. Though he clearly had some way of traveling through the forest without leaving a sign, now he walked like any common beast, forging a path ahead.

Now and then Yeva set Doe-Eyes down in order to rest her back, and the dog would hobble a short distance on three legs. Though Yeva knew she must be in considerable pain, Doe-Eyes kept gazing up at her with that gap-jawed smile of hers, tongue lolling out, eyes seeking assurance.