Little Fox

1: The Hunt

☽

The Lycans are at the outer edge of the forest, deep in the valley. Tall, wickedly beautiful creatures with sharp eyes and blood-stained lips. What's left of a human corpse lies on the ground, and they circle around it in a dizzying sort of dance under the starry night. I've seen many dead bodies, but the way they seemed to take pleasure at the sight of it makes bile rise up in my throat.

Their leader stands off to the side, with a pretty female latched onto him. She's whispering to him, her hands wandering over his chest. He doesn't react to her and continues watching their celebration with a leery gaze and an unnatural smile.

It's not a happy smile, it's predatory. As if he knows something they don't. A cold shiver races down my spine and I crouch lower behind the tree.

For a moment, I swear his eyes meet mine, but then that moment ends. I'm far away, downwind and concealed by the trees. There's no way the could have seen me. I shake the feeling off and remind myself why I was sent here.

I nock an arrow and raised my bow, pulling the string back till it brushes my cheek. The silver tip of my arrow is aimed at the soft flesh covering his jugular. I breathe slowly, letting the cold air sear my lungs, and loosen my fingers

"Do you really think that's going to work?"

I inhale sharply and my body tenses at the sound of the voice, knocking me out of position. My fingers snap open instinctively, releasing the arrow, and it flies completely off course. It impales itself harmlessly into the soft ground dozens of feet from my target. They don't even notice.

Fucking hell. I drop my bow and wrench my dagger out of its sheath, launching myself toward the voice. I feel the silver knife slice through fabric and flesh and hear a hiss of pain. Without a second thought, I deliver a swift kick to the man's stomach, and before he can recover, I knot my finger in his hair and yank his head back to expose his throat.

I press the blade to his skin and crush my body against his to pin him against a tree.

We've left the darkness of the shrubs, and the moonlight outlines the sharp angles of his face, the fullness of his mouth and the white, pointed canines glowing in the half-light. Lycan. His lips are curled up into a smirk, but his slate grey eyes are feral and wild, piercing into mine. I dare you, they say, I dare you to try.

I shift the dagger slightly. He snarls and shows his fangs when it draws a thin line of red on his throat. His blood smokes and fizzles under my silver blade, and the skin around it begins to darken as the silver poison enters his system.

"Don't make me hurt you," he growls quietly.

I say nothing. My eyes lock onto his. I adjust the knife to slit his throat open like so many times before... and falter. I try again, but I my arm doesn't move.

I can't do it.

Pathetic. I swallow hard and keep my eyes fixed on his burning gaze.

The next thing I know, he has jerked out of my hold and knocked the knife from my hand. In a matter of seconds, he has me gasping on the ground and confined underneath the weight of his body with my wrists locked above my head.

I struggle beneath him, but he only tightens his grip. My quiver digs into my spine, but I know I'll never reach my arrows. His hold is like an iron shackle.

"Stop fighting. You're not going to win," he says softly. "You seem to have bitten off more than you can chew. Haven't you?" His voice is a deep baritone, the words rolling of his tongue. It's a voice that demands to be heard, to be obeyed.