"Out of curiosity, what's Vantim doing?" Jake said, leaning in his chair, as he threw darts at a target. Five darts clumped together, all in the center, as he threw, and a sixth one joined them.
"He is scouting a caravan of merchants, one that you told me to be a lookout for?" Audrey said as she sat in a circle with complex runes and symbols surrounding it. He watched her; this was ordinary to see for their small group; it was a ritual-type circle where Audrey could be more entwined with her breasts. It could allow her to see or hear from her beasts.
Rituals were difficult to perform because they were so complex and hard to master. Also, due to them being more mysterious and archaic, there were many types of rituals; in a way, Audrey's tattoos were rituals themselves, allowing her to summon her beasts.
Jake shrugged, "Isn't Elena supposed to be nearby? Doing some sort of meeting in the south?"
Audrey shook her head, "Do you want me to check on her?" She sighed, "But yeah, she is, passed over her once or twice."
Jake chuckled as they went back into silence. Jake stood up, realizing he was out of darts, and he got up and walked over to collect them.
"Jake, five people just hopped out of the caravan…" Audrey said, her tone shifting into something serious, "Well?" His ears perked as he had a feeling of unease growing.
"They have the Dale crest, and they are heading south… they don't look friendly," Audrey said, as she seemed to focus on them.
Jake snarled and knew exactly what was happening as he ran into the shadows.
Audrey opened her eye to see he had gone, "Shit," she muttered as the vision of Vintam retook her.
Jake's heart pounded as he thought of everything: Borris Dale, a man that Elena had threatened at the Dalian Ball. He knew it was a risky game, but to have him act out of fear? Who else did they threaten that night? Who else could act out of fear now that they had started to go after Forrest? Mike Scent, Borris Dale, the Niel Twins, who else could act?
His mind raced, at the list he had made that night, at the possibility of Elena being killed, he snarled, no clumsy sprint, no sound. He folded into the dark as if the dark belonged to him, slipping between alleys and crowds like a rumor. Altor blurred past — gate lines, market carts, sleeping dogs — until the trees swallowed the city behind him and the world opened into green and leafy.
He moved like the wind, faster than the eye could track. He paused only to slide his senses outward: five sets of footsteps, careful and tight, a rhythm that betrayed their location. Targets. Ambush.
Luckily, he had brought one of his many masks. He slid it over his face — a relic shaped in the likeness of the ancient Jarians, those fabled beings of death said to walk between light and nothingness. As the mask settled, the air seemed to darken around him. His presence thinned, blurred — a breath swallowed by the night.
He wasn't a Jarain, not truly.
But in that moment, as shadow wrapped him like a second skin, he might as well have been.
He moved through the forest like smoke, silent and inevitable.
Every step measured, every breath contained.
Then he saw them.
Jake didn't rush. He watched, waiting for the seam between sunlight and shade — the perfect stillness before the strike. And when it came, he became the strike itself.
A shadow uncoiled.
He hit the one most exposed — a lithe cat-kin with quick hands and keener eyes. She barely had time to turn before he was upon her. His blade flashed once, clean and deliberate — a cut meant to end sound, not startle it. A twist of her arm, a shudder, and the dagger found its place beneath her throat. The movement was quiet, practiced, and absolute.
She collapsed soundlessly, her body folding into the earth, still as the roots beneath it.
The others froze. Then instinct took them. They scattered — one into the brush, another melting into the gloom — trying to become the very shadows he ruled.
But the forest was his.
And shadows here were loyal only to him.
His next target — another cat-kin, this one male — fell from a tree, a knife he had thrown sank into his neck, the cat-kin's body snapped a branch, the snap cracked through the forest like a warning shot. He hissed at the sound.
A man, a human, ran from a bush as Jake chased him. He pounced once more, but the human spun, blade flashing. Jake dodged the first swing and rolled, both men facing each other in the half-light — two predators measuring the distance between breath and death.
The human struck first. Steel met steel, sparks scattering between them. Jake twisted, his dagger darting forward, stabbing toward the man's chest. The clash came again — fast, brutal — until a sharp, hot line burned across Jake's side, slicing through his leather.
He hissed through his teeth, clutching the wound. An arrow cut through the air — thunk — biting into a tree inches from his head. Jake's tail lashed as he dove into the shadows, vanishing from sight.
The human barely had time to gasp before Jake reappeared behind him — a blur of motion, a slice across the back of the knee, and a brutal twist. The man dropped to his knees, lifeless, his neck snapped with a dull crack.
Another arrow whistled through the clearing — and buried itself in the corpse's skull. Jake didn't flinch. He only melted back into the darkness.
He found them moments later — two archers leaping from branch to branch. One cloaked in black, the other in green, a silver crest glinting faintly on their shoulders. They were heading south. Toward her.
Jake's pulse quickened. He moved to follow, but his shadows faltered — pain spiked through his skull, a raw, throbbing ache. His mana channels screamed in protest, burning like fire beneath his skin. Push harder, and they'd tear. Maybe worse.
He ignored it. He had to.
He surged forward through the treetops like the archers he was chasing, breath ragged, until he heard it — her voice. Elena. Too close.
Rage, panic, and instinct became one.
Jake used his shadows once more, his mana channels searing like fire beneath his skin as Jake appeared behind one of the archers, eyes meeting pale blue ones filled with sudden terror. Molten gold flared in his own as his blade swept cleanly across the man's throat. Blood sprayed, hot and bright, as the body tumbled from the branch.
Then he saw the last archer — bow drawn, aimed. His gaze followed the line of the arrow—straight toward her.
He roared, a primal sound that tore through the forest, and hurled himself forward with every ounce of lycanthrope strength he had left.
The world blurred. Impact — hard, jarring. Pain like fire tore through his side. He knew the arrow had found him, buried deep. Then, the ground slammed up to meet him, knocking the air from his lungs. His senses scattered — shouts, the sharp whines of horses, the chaos of motion — all folding into a haze of pain and fading light.