Page 132 of Black Willow Witch
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Traipsing through a shallow, trickling creek, Ripper glanced around Bloodhill Forest, ever vigilant. His boots stopped his feet from getting wet, but the water’s icy coldness seeped through.
Several of his clan were hunting game with him, including his brother – who currently walked alongside him. Others were scattered around, but none were too far away.
Adjusting his hold on his bow, Ripper stepped onto dry land. Typically, they didn’t wander too far into the forest when hunting. It wasn’t necessary. The Rabid tended to hole up near the mountains, so the wildlife found a home closer to the town where they were safer.
Though it was unlikely that they’d stumble upon any Rabid while hunting, it was best to be cautious. The Rabid slept during the day, but they would wake if you came too close to their lair and attempt to scare you away. Those occasions were few and far between, but they did happen. Which was why every hunter took handguns.
Arrows wouldn’t take down Rabid. A silver bullet? Different story.
A fatal shot wasn’t necessary – the silver would weaken the Rabid enough that they couldn’t fight as they were dragged back to town, where they could be helped.
At one time, people used to regularly go to Bloodhill to capture Rabid so they could return them to their natural state. But the creatures were hard to track, and it meant roamingdeepinto Bloodhill. That was risky, especially when Rabid tended to travel in packs and would attack without a qualm. Too oftenpeople had been badly injured and forced to kill Rabid in their own defense, which no one wanted on their conscience.
Nowadays, people generally only attempted to search for newly turned Rabid. They were easier to find and usually traveled alone because they didn’t instantly join packs. Once upon a time, they’d searched for Ripper, too.
It was strange for him to think that this forest had once been his home. For four damn years he’d lived out here. Yet, he felt no sense of comfort.
He was better at traversing it than most, his sense of direction spot on. As if he’d retained memories of the typography. But he didn’t look at any landmarks and feel nostalgia or experience any flashbacks.
The hazy memories of his time here were vague and short. He could see flashes of a cave in his mind. Of fights with other Rabid. Of stalking a fox. Of splashing in a stream. But there was no ‘story’ to follow and piece together.
The forest was like many others in the world. There were miles upon miles of trees that seemed tall enough to scrape the sky. Sporadic bursts of wildflowers and shrubbery could be seen. There were creeks, rivers, waterfalls and even hot springs. The air was fresh and scented of tree sap, warm earth and moss.
But Bloodhill differed in one respect. It had a gloomy, ominous feel. A vibe made worse by the number of dead, crooked trees.
It was quiet. Too quiet. As if every bit of wildlife had adapted to be silent so as to avoid the Rabid’s detection. There were rarely tweets or chirps, rarely any deer grazing in plain sight, hardly any glimpses of squirrels hurrying up trunks or even lizards zipping through the underbrush.
All he could hear right then was the creak of branches, the skitter of fallen leaves, the trickle of the creek, the sound of theirboots scuffing ground . . . and the yawn that at that moment cracked Logan’s jaw.
Ripper spared his brother a glance. ‘That’s the fifth time you’ve yawned in the space of an hour.’
Logan shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t weighed down by his backpack’s strap. They all took supplies such as food, water and first aid necessities. ‘What can I say? Clem knows how to exhaust a guy in bed.’
‘You two seeing each other now?’
Logan wrinkled his nose. ‘Sort of. We’re keeping it light. At least for the time being.’
‘Light?’ Ripper snorted. ‘You’ve spent so much time with her lately I’ve barely seen you.’
‘That’s partly because you’re always with your witch.’ Logan plucked a berry off a nearby bush. ‘Things still seem to be going good with you two.’ There was a questioning note in his tone.
‘They are.’ It had been a little over two weeks since the ‘green and moldy hair’ incident. Ripper still saw Emberlyn every day, and they never spent a night apart. Which, as a guy who liked his space, he would have thought he’d struggle with – attachment or no attachment. But being around her steadied him. Relaxed him. Made him feel recharged.
Logan tossed the berry into his mouth. ‘When are you gonna claim her, then?’
Ripper’s step faltered in surprise.
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t at least considered it.’
His hand flexing around his bow, Ripper walked onward as he admitted, ‘I actually didn’t let my mind go there.’
Logan’s brows flew together. ‘Why not? You’re totally gone for her. Lost.’
Ripper didn’t feel lost – that implied a sense of drifting, of disorientation, of struggling to find his way. He knew that frompersonal experience. Emberlyn was solid ground. An anchor. One he held tight to.
But gone for her? Yeah, that was accurate. It was just that . . . ‘I never imagined I’d take anyone as a mate.’
