A Match of Monsters

Chapter Twenty-Five

It took every last inch of Elain's stubborn streak to resist the lure of her curiosity and fear, and avoid looking back to the distant silhouette behind her.

She refused to turn her head and centre her gaze upon the dark smudge that marred the snowy white horizon. To slow her trail for even an instant and scout with her sight for any pursuit. For her husband.

Adrien had told her only hours ago what his profession was in the pack, what he willingly did for the werewolf Alphas. He had called himself a hunter, of a different kind of prey. He did not chase after the warm blooded, simple minded, mortal animals that roamed in and around their territory under the mindless habits that drove the creatures to survive. He did not even stalk the patterns of the dragons and other Skykept, attempting to unravel clues for potential weaknesses.

No, what he went after was far worse.

Adrien's target did more than just breath and breed. His targets thought and fought back. The werewolf hunted enemies of the pack; escaped prisoners, Shadowcast traitors, and agents of the Skykept. He could run faster than his Alphas, move swifter than anyone else in his pack over difficult terrain. He would pursue his particular prey past exhaustion, following them where no one else would or could go. But Adrien's hunt did not simply end with him finding whoever he had been sent after. No, far from that.

First off, Adrien had to drag them back and bring them before the Alpha female and her mate. She alone would decide when their captive could die. A single slice across the throat with her sharp claws or nails, scoring either deep enough to half rip the head off, or shallow enough that blood would just barely bead on the surface.

If the blood beaded, than person would be taken away once more by Adrien. He would chase their pain as far as he could, marvelling in their screams and the information torn desperately from their lips until the watching Alpha would give his command, and Adrian would finally put down his tortured prey.

He was a hunter of terror and knowledge. He was the pack's inquisitor and torturer.

Under the skill of his hands and his tools, Elain feared what she might sing to him. But if she got far enough away fast enough, then maybe she could evade that bleak future.

According to her memory - which had never failed her before - and the calculations that her tutor had forced her to learn so long ago, she was already half way to her destination. If she hurried, she should be able to reach the settlement before the last light left the sky.

Already she could see the first impression of the distant ridge she headed towards pressing out against the skyline. Still faint enough that she had to squint to make sure she was actually seeing it, but there all the same. That was where she was going. Somewhere amongst those cliffs and steppes, she would find people that would be able to help her, to protect her from the werewolf pack. There would be hunters and soldiers, men apprenticed and trained in fighting the werewolves in so many ways that she was not. Men that would kill them before the beasts killed her.

Elain had been running since midmorning, continuing on past sun high without a break or rest.

So many times even just weeks ago, she had cursed at her mother for choosing such an active profession for her. Now Elain could only feel grateful that Mistress Ronda had chosen gathering for her. She would never have been able to run so long or know the terrain so well without it.

Obviously, Elain's mother had not taught her all of these skills in preparation of her fighting to stay alive, but she was still relived to have been taught them. Elain might never know why her education had been structured the way it had been, but when she was small, she could remember her mother and father whispering after she was supposed to be asleep. Speaking to each other about her future; survival, responsibilities and choices.