A Ballad of the Sun and the Moon

Chapter 2

The driver brought the carriage through the portico of Hawksmeade manor. Once all three Langford siblings had alighted, the nervous horses were more than eager to continue their way down the horseshoe drive.

"My lady. Sirs," the butler greeted as the three entered the manor. Each gave him a slight nod as they walked past him into the vestibule.

"Do you sense him?" whispered Kimber.

"No. Nothing," replied Rhys.

Joan shook her head in response. "Do you suppose he's not arrived yet?" she asked.

"Perhaps. Keep vigilant. Quinten should have reached the servants entrance by now."

Kimber had decided to bring his father's guard along. The Langford siblings could hardly prowl the servants quarters and Quinten had once long ago served as footman to Kimber's grandfather, enabling him to blend in more naturally. Besides, he was the only one who knew the thief's aura.

"It won't be long before he hands your jewelry over to be locked in the silver closet," noted Kimber.

A wicked, anticipatory grin stretched across Joan's face. She'd picked out the pieces of bait herself; a multi-stranded cuff of pearls with a golden clasp and a necklace to match. As daughter of the Alpha she had difficulty finding a modest set with which to tempt the thief, as he didn't seem interested in grander items.

Kimber saw her smile and thought to correct her. There was nothing that should be enjoyed about a Hunt. It may very well be that he would have to kill tonight, destroying one of their own because of their ancient laws.

He decided against saying something, allowing her to enjoy that flux of adrenaline that would be her constant companion for the next few days. Besides, she was only here as surveillance. He could not let anything befall her. His father would have his hide and give it as a gift to the council should she be harmed.

The three were led to the parlor where they were met with cucumber sandwiches, scones smothered in clotted cream, black tea freshly brewed and the most mundane of conversation.

"Kimber Langford," exclaimed Mr. Patterson, the host of the event. "I feared none of you might make it what with Lord Langford being away."

Kimber gave a polite bow. "Yes, I must say it's selfish of me leaving the mundane to my father, but I'd hardly miss your annual hunt." His demeanor became that of a careless youth enjoying the privilege of nobility, perfectly acted and performed. It was a practiced facade he found necessary when dealing with the Others. They expected it, so he gave them just that: an ordinary, rich, young man, yet to come into his inheritance, savoring the delights enjoyed by the young and powerful.

"And Rhys my boy! Still a great shot?"

"No where nearly as accurate as you Mr. Patterson," jested Rhys.

 Mr. Patterson let out a hearty laugh. "And who is this lovely addendum?" he asked turning to Joan.

"We've brought reinforcements," quipped Kimber. "Someone to make sure we keep our napkins on our laps. May I introduce my sister, Joan."

Joan extended her hand, the very picture of a prim young lady.

"My dear, I am positively delighted," exclaimed Mr. Patterson.

Joan gave him a twinkling smile, her eyes crisp and teeth flashing white. She wore a pale blue dress with checked trim on the sleeves and her hair was ironed into precise, tight curls partially pinned up and powdered white. Hours in a carriage hadn't ruffled her a bit. "The delight is all mine, sir," she replied with the most practiced of curtsies.

They could all hear the man's heart pulsing to a rush. Like any mortal, he was rendered breathles. Skin of unblemished alabaster, chocolate eyes demanding a gaze, and an unexplainable brilliance set her apart from mere humans.

They were all like that, the drákon. Radiant beauty rendered into flesh and bone. It was a flaw really, in their clever disguise, yet it most often played in their favor.

"Forgive me madam," said Mr. Patterson realizing he'd been staring at her far too long. "I've neglected my duties. Allow me to make introductions."

Another smile, another flash of her perfect teeth and she was escorted around the room followed by her brothers.

It was the perfect opportunity to rule out a few suspects. Some of the visitors were new to Kimber, others old faces. He bowed at this gentleman and took that lady's hand, on and on through the throng of guests casting his senses wondering if the thief was one among them.

"How did you fare the coach ride Miss Langford?" asked Georgina Thompson- an annual regular of this event - sitting on a Hepplewhite settee. She stuck a fat finger through the delicate handle of her tea cup. Kimber was sure it would crack, but the porcelain held fast.

"Just so, indeed, Lady Thompson," answered Joan, lifting her own tea cup to her curled lips and taking a sip.

Kimber looked down upon his own tepid Ceylon, wondering how anyone could enjoy the beverage. His sister made the perfect addendum to their trio, drawing in attention leaving him to his senses, an otherwise daunting task when forced to make idle conversation.

"Might I introduce to you my youngest daughter?" asked Misses Thompsen, waving over a young lady standing by the sweet cakes. "Miss Elizabeth Thompson, just out in society like you Miss Langford," she explained.

Her daughter gave three succinct curtsies, the last directed pointedly at Kimber. She was a typical girl of good breeding; clean, coiffed and well-dressed. Certainly well-fed. Yet as with most women of means there was a fabricated beauty about them, their cheeks rouged and eyes kohled. All devices to bring out their positive features and hide the more repulsive. Such pseudo-qualities Kimber found absolutely off-putting.

Elizabeth offered her hand to Kimber who took it as any man of good breeding would. Eyes lit up like street lanterns on a foggy evening, she was immediately taken by the abnormally comely Earl, marveling at his pale skin, and black hair and eyes. The painted red spots on her cheeks suddenly bloomed more brightly.

"Good day, madam," Kimber said, distracted. His thoughts were elsewhere, thinking, seeking out anything that might hint at the runner. He gave his brother the slightest of glances which was immediately understood.

"Madam, your humble servant," began Rhys, holding out his hand with a pirate's grin. He placed a kiss across her fingers. "A happy day to you and us all," he said after exacting a humble bow, playing the perfect gentleman.

The girl attempted to hold back a smile peeling across her reddened face. Rhys could hear her quickened pulse, thumping like a rabbit in heat. Though of different colorings, he was certainly as comely as his older brother. Hair of deep chestnut tied back by a simple leather strap and eyes of piercing viper green, it was a simple question of where one's tastes lie on who the more handsome.

"As we've barely just arrived I dare say I'm famished. Miss Thompson, would you give me the pleasure of pointing out the tastiest of treats for my traveled soul?" He looked at her with his enticing, green eyes, batting his long eyelashes.

"It would be my pleasure, sir."

Rhys offered her his arm which she gingerly accepted. He looked back at his brother who gave him a single, succinct nod of approval as he was escorted toward the table of food.

****

It was dinner time when Kimber felt it, as faint as a glimmering taper's wasted light, a subtle tingling itch at the tips of his ears.

One of the male guests was droning on and on about the breeding of his draft horses including the voracity of his prize Percheron stallion when Kimber pulled his brother's bored eyes. He shot a look at his sister as well. She was daintily eating her pea soup pretending to listen to the conversation, but placed her spoon back in the bowl as she noticed her brother's gaze. She raised her eyebrows, a question at his glance.

The sun had begun to set and the already lit candles in the chandelier above slowly found purpose.

As was custom, rank and title dictated the seating arrangement with the hostess at the head and the host at the foot. Spouses where never placed together and children not yet in their inheritance were placed further back leaving Miss Elizabeth between the two eligible bachelors, a fact Kimber found most irritating.

Kimber was pulled from his thoughts by the clinking of silver clearly performed purposefully.

"The soup, Sir? How is it?" asked Miss Elizabeth Thompson likely for the second time. Her again. She'd been purring nonsense at him ever since they sat down.

He looked down at the green medley before him. "Oh, it's rather delicious," he replied, his focus in another place. Time dragged. The unwed girl continued to jabber at Kimber, strings of syllables he paid no attention to. He resisted the temptation to pull out his pocket watch, instead watching the candles melt down into bulbous mounds. He did his best to supply ample conversation despite the presence. His brother and sister filled in or turned the attention to themselves where they could, but they too now felt the presence of *drákon*. The relief slid over Kimber like a wave when he was permitted to retire, no longer distracted by idle chatter of phony characters.

He lingered a moment at the entrance of his room, the door a solid, quiet base against his back. He closed his eyes and washed his senses of the manor's irrelevances; the kitchen maids scouring iron pots; the servant's bell, a guest summoning a nightcap saucer of warm milk; a cat catching a fat rat in the rafters. He sat down on the four-post bed, a great mahogany monstrosity, and contemplated his next move.

He couldn't sleep that night wondering where precisely the thief might be. He'd never explored the manor, never needing to, only familiarizing himself with the necessary guest wing, dining hall and parlor. He assumed the man was in the servant's wing - the energy coming from a section of the house unknown to Kimber - waiting until all was quiet to Turn to smoke and infiltrate the silver closet.

It pulled at him, beckoned him. Kimber envisioned what the thief looked like and fantasized a grand fight with the bastard in dragon form, up in the skies untethered by witnesses and breakable objects.

He pulled himself back to reality. He wondered if it would be worth venturing out of his room into the servants quarters as none of the guests were suspects. If he were caught as a human it would be a great scandal and if he were caught as smoke...he didn't even want to entertain the consequences. He decided against it. The thief wasn't moving so a chase was not yet justified.

The longer into the night the more it irked him, taunting him, teasing him, asking to be challenged. It made no sense. Why would the thief linger? Why wasn't he cleaning out the valuables and stealing away? The drákon were strongest at night, it was the only possibility that made sense to Kimber. What game was this thief playing?

Kimber rose completely dazed not knowing when he had drifted off. The sun had risen, its piercing rays reminding him of the morning. In a panic, he raised his awareness trying to find that vibration again.

Only, there was nothing.

He didn't wait for Quinten to come help him dress, pulling on the clothes from yesterday and scurrying out of his room. It didn't matter anyway cause Quinten was only a guard posing as a servant. Perhaps he had more luck sensing the runner in back halls and the tucked away parts of the manor.

Servants. At this hour they were busy as bees. House maids with buckets and brooms. Valets rising to iron their master's shirts and polish their buckled shoes. Scullery maids scurrying to the kitchens with pales of milk and baskets of eggs frantic to prepare a breakfast for a party of twelve. Not a single one emitted an ounce of drákon.

Kimber forgot his way wishing to get out as soon as possible convinced the thief had escaped when he dozed off. If only he hadn't fallen asleep, he thought, chastising himself. He rounded a corner and ran smack into a servant boy, a mere inconvenience to Kimber with his tall stature and muscled physique. The boy, however, fell backwards to the ground dropping something with a loud clank.

"Oi, watch where you're...sorry m'lord." The boy glanced up for a snap at the nobleman and then immediately lowered his head. Kimber thought, for the briefest of moments, he saw the boy's eyes shift. He blinked once adjusting his own to the new light.

The boy rose to his feet and picked up what turned out to be a candle snuffer. "No one but the servants are usually awake at this hour," he said pulling back a curtain and then snuffing out one of the many candles lighting the hallway on the opposite side. "A thousand 'pologies."

He grasped the boy by the sleeve of an arm he had yet to grow into and pulled him closer. Plain, grey eyes peered up at him filled with an emotion Kimber couldn't quite pinpoint. The boy's breathing was quick and he clutched the bronze rod close to his chest.

Like the desert showing a thirsty man water, Kimber was looking for any sign possible of the thief. He chalked it up to the beams of sun mingling with shadows and candlelight dancing through the halls. The lack of proper sleep surely contributed as well. He ended the exchange with a perturbed look and released the boy.

"Tell me how to get outside," Kimber commanded desperately looking down the hallway.

"That way. Follow the corridor. You'll find a stairwell with a side exit just beyond the Blue room," the boy said, scratching his neck.

Kimber began walking, taking long strides. And then it came to him. The feeling was minuscule, almost imperceptible, as faint as the hum of distant bees.

He paused for a moment and turned, searching for the boy he had knocked over. The hall was empty apart from the lingering scent of something sweet. He thought about turning back, unsure of the trail. A breeze with promises of fresh air brushed his face carrying that sweetness with it. Kimber followed it outside where it spread on the wind.

Not the slightest hint of drákon.

Damn it to hell!

The sun had risen well up over the tree line blinding Kimber with violent rays. He walked the grounds extending his awareness as far as he could. He could feel his sister still slumbering in her bed, his brother sitting already in the dining room likely enjoying eggs with tomatoes. The winds carried notes of sheep feasting on parched grass, and the fetor of a drying pond. Sounds of gardeners scratching in the dirt and the distant hustle of wildlife in the forest beyond accosted his ears. Nothing suggested that a drákon had ever been here.

It wasn't until midday when the men where out in the fields with their guns that Kim had a moment to speak to his brother without the ears of Others around.

Rhys aimed sloppily not wishing for every shot to meet a target. The event could hardly be called a hunt. Hunting implied stalking, a chase and possibly a kill. This was like spearing fish in a barrel. The drought had forced the birds to seek scarce water causing them to congregate near a trickling stream that fed the pond. Despite his purposeful mis-aim the lead still made contact.

A setter retrieved the pheasant bringing it to the estate's keeper of hounds.

Rhy held out the now empty gun to be reloaded. "That will do for a time. My shoulder needs a moment. Wait here," he ordered.

"Very good Sir," replied a gun page, hanging the empty gun over the crook of his arm.

Kimber kept hold of his, still loaded. He slowly and carefully let go the percussion cap, rendering his musket harmless as he and his brother put some distance between them and the Others.

"Never before have I lost the scent," he confessed quietly.

To anyone else, Kimber was calm and collected, a pool of deep, still water always maintaining the appearance of control. He couldn't fool his brother though. It wasn't some twitch of the eyes or pursing of lips or any other physical telling. It was that Rhys knew his brother better than anyone and Kimber Langford simply did not lose. He'd grown into the model Alpha, always thinking ahead, calculating outcomes, foreseeing what others could not. Qualities that made him as clever as he was dangerous, with an unfathomable depth of devotion to their people. It was something Rhys never wanted, never envied, free from such burdens, at liberty to enjoy the privileges as the second son.

Rhys placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I laid awake until dawn and it was like the feeling decreased without moving. I've never felt anything like it. I even thought perhaps he had met an untimely end. Caught by a guard with a pistol. But the breakfast table would have been overwhelmed with gossip and we would have heard a shot."

"There was a boy. A servant. It could have been him. It was so weak I could barely sense it. Perhaps he has yet to Turn. Or he is someone wicked crafty."

"A young boy? The runner?" asked Rhys, incredulous. "I find that hard to believe."

"There is something more suspicious at play here and I can't put my finger on it. The jewelry is still in its place. Let us wait. The thief will either strike tonight or is already gone. There is naught else we can do." Kimber felt smothered in shame and anger. The responsibility was his. Perhaps the council was right, he'd simply grown too confident in his abilities, allowing the runner to slip through his fingers. He would get this thief. He would get him good, he swore.

****

That evening just before dusk, Joan Langford began the tedious task of dressing for supper. She was assisted by a young woman with a heart-shaped face and dull, brown hair stuffed under a ruffled headpiece. Most likely employed in the kitchens, tonight the lass served as a lady's maid 'graciously' loaned by the hostess' wife.

Joan emerged from her bath, a copper tub half-filled with now lukewarm water.

The maid returned and quickly opened all the curtains letting the sunlight in. She placed a silk dressing robe over Joan's shoulders and tied it around her waist.

Joan sauntered into the bedroom where her clothes were already laid out on the bed.

They started with a silk shift, lace-trimmed and soft. The maid slid it over Miss Langford's arms and torso tying the front string at her breast.

She returned to the bed for the next piece giving her neck a subtle scratch. She picked up the stomacher only to place it back down as if unsure what came next.

"The stockings, then the garters," Joan instructed.

The girl nodded handing them over.

"I suppose I'll put them on myself then," Joan said sarcastically as she scrunched the length of the stockings down her thumbs.

The maid stood there unaffected by her tone, waiting for her next instruction.

"The stay comes next."

The maid was quick but sloppy with the laces, but Joan was becoming too impatient to correct her. Like her brothers, she hadn't felt the thief's presence since that morning, a fact that was gravely irritating. She gripped the bed-post as the maid violently yanked the strings closed causing Joan to gasp.

"Not so tight if you please!" she barked.

The maid nodded her head and loosened her work a bit all the while sneaking a scratch just above her own neckline. She lifted Joan's heavy evening gown effortlessly, a fine thing with embroidered ivy and delicate, tooled frills. Joan bent slightly until the bodice was over her head then straightened up, the hem now resting on the floor. The maid worked quickly, her hands a tempest tying off this string or that, closing up the gown with the stomacher.

Joan sat down in front of the armoire not looking forward to tedious application of rouge and powder. The maid stood at her back, the reflection of her concerned face clear in the mirror.

"I can manage," Joan informed pulling open a draw and retrieving a brush and set of hair pins. "Just hand me what I need."

She couldn't expect a scullery maid to style hair anyways. She held out her hand for a pin from the maid who was now fidgeting at her own collar.

"Is something amiss?" asked Joan.

"No, Miss. Well, I'm not accustomed to this livery," she explained. "It's rather itchy is all."

There was something disingenuous about the maid's tone as if it were merely an excuse. Though why she might lie about an uncomfortable uniform Joan couldn't ponder, nor did she really care.

She finished with her hair and reached for the powder, catching a whiff of something spicy. A hint of a distant fragrance. "Are those peonies I smell?" Joan asked, usually able to identify flowers without issue.

The brown-eyed maid gave a timid smile and a barely perceptible shrug of the shoulders. She scratched at her collar again, this time blatantly.

In the reflection of the mirror, Joan saw the girl staring, eyes creased and lips pursed. The servant girl was certainly peculiar.

"Will you be needing any more help, Miss?" she asked, with an obvious eagerness to get away.

"Inform my valet Quentin that I will be needing my jewelry," she instructed, applying the last of the powder.

"Yes Miss," the lady's maid replied with an awkward curtsy. She paused for a moment looking back at Joan and giving herself another scratch.

The young woman left the room closing the door silently. Joan felt it then, just for a moment, a tinge of aura emitted by powerful beings like herself. She slid a nailed thumb over her ear not sure if it had only been a phantom. Perhaps she wanted too badly to help on her first Hunt.

****

The maid scurried down the main hall of the guest wing, the walls ensconced in beige and cream highlighted by the sun's last breaths. A jib door leading to the servants hall hid behind a tapestry. She slipped through finding a small spiral staircase which she scampered down. She passed through a narrow corridor until she reached the niche where she kept her stash of clothing. A collection of cleaning supplies such as feather dusters, pails, and rags as well as firewood and a carrier, it was one of many maid's stations positioned in the underbelly of the mansion.

She crouched on the balls of her feet reaching her hand between a pair of brooms and pulled out a footman's livery. She'd have to work quickly now, the sun's light was vanishing and it would become all the more difficult in the dark. She shimmied out of the apron and undid the top few buttons of the chamber maid dress peeling the whole thing off and down her back like a serpent shedding it's skin. She left the silk stockings on. Forcefully, she shoved her legs into the footmen trousers and punched her arms into the double-waisted coat. She rolled up the maid's livery and concealed it behind the brooms. Still squatting she looked into the shiny surface of a copper mopping pail.

"Quintin, darling, the Miss Langford requires her jewelry. Be quick about it man. She mustn't be kept waiting," the brown-eyed lass said addressing the reflection.

"Of course. Right away!" she replied to herself. The reflection in the pail no longer was that of a young woman with a round face. Where there had been long, straight brown locks there were now short, blonde spikes. Instead of smooth, youthful skin there was now sun-dried leather with a hint of graying stubble.

Quentin ran his hand along the rough contour of his chin then pointed at himself in the shiny surface clicking his tongue. "You're a handsome fellow Quintin. Let's go be the man you are and get some jewels," he said with a wink.

The silver closet wasn't far. Farnsworth the butler would be waiting to dole out the visiting ladies' jewelry for the night. The rotten old man, always grabbing at women's asses. Quentin would have loved to steal the gems in a much more confrontational manner, but the knowledge that the old butler might get blamed and sacked would have to suffice.

Quintin walked with a certain swagger he had seen from earlier. No, it wasn't a swagger born out of cockyness. It was a limp from an old wound that hadn't healed properly. Tight scare tissue in the outer thigh just above the knee keeping his right leg a bit shorter than the other. Perhaps it had been a gun wound? A boar's tusk? The jaws of a large serpent?

He chuckled silently under his breath focusing on his new found stride and caught the eyes of the butler as he rounded the next corner. The wrinkled old coot looked at him and Quentin looked right back not faltering an inch.

"Come for the Langford's frosting for the evening?" asked Farnsworth upon final recognition.

Quentin shot him a quick grin. "It's a tough job, but someone has to do it," he replied with sarcastic gristle.

The butler gave a chuckle and produced a key. He disappeared into the closet and came out with a polished, birchwood box decorated with a family crest. He opened it up, presenting it to the valet.

Atop a black, velvet pillow rested a necklace and matching bracelet of pearls.

Quinten's eyes lit up. Relieved that the daughter of a nobleman hadn't brought a family heirloom he held out his hands steady as a rock, silently sucking in a gulp of air as he took the loot. The smooth, round stones were cool on his palm, humming a soft song. Both pieces would be easy to sell.

"All seems well here," Quentin replied, as if he'd seen the treasure a hundred times before. He slipped the pearls into his coat pocket and began to walk away, focusing on keeping a calm demure. He was just a valet bringing his mistress her jewels and that was all he would be for the next twenty minutes or so. Then he would disappear safely into the night.

"I could have sworn you were taller," the butler called after him.

Quentin paused for a moment looking over his shoulder. "It's the ol' wound," he said, patting his thigh. "Weather pulls it together like drum strings. Likely to rain soon, I'd wager. Makes it so I can't walk all that much upright."

The old guard gave him a patriotic salute. "The things we do for our country."

"The things we do indeed," Quentin replied. He returned the salute and walked off.

****


Kimber knocked on the door to his sister's room only entering after receiving the obligatory 'enter.'

Joan sat at the vanity looking at herself in the mirror. Rhys was there too, next to the bed digging his nails into the bedpost.

"Shall we make for supper then?" asked Kimber.

"Hardly. I sent that little maid for my necklace and earrings over twenty minutes ago. What is taking Quentin so long?"

Kimber cocked his head suspiciously. "Quentin is just outside the door. He has been with me the past hour."

"Well, send him in," she demanded impatiently.

"Quintin, would you come in please?" He needn't speak loudly, all being drákon, their hearing was impeccable.

"Did no one ask you to fetch my necklace and pearl bracelet?" asked a perturbed Joan, once the guard had shut the door behind him.

Quentin shook his head. "No my lady. But I will go straight away," he said once Kimber gave him a permissive nod.

The three Langfords had nothing to do but wait. Kimber moved to the window and pulled back a lacy curtain. Rhys remained near his sister on the bed.

The sun was creeping down over the horizon, slowly vanishing in streaks against blood-red trees. Despite the still air, their eerily cast shadows danced like ghosts on All-hallowed-eve daring to be seen.

"Do you feel that?" Kimber asked, the faintest of energies creeping over him.

Rhys released the bedpost and sent a wave of awareness out. "I do. He is still here. In the house."

"So do I," said Joan.

The three kept still and focused as the energy grew.

The thief would run soon Kimber was sure of it. His mood shifted, an instinctual excitement coursing through his veins awakening a primal drive he often kept buried.

A knock came at that and Quentin entered.

"My Lord, the strangest thing. The butler says I already retrieved your jewelry. I played it off casually. I figured there would be no use alarming anyone."

Kimber nodded his head. "Good thinking."

Rhys began unbuttoning his jacket and Joan was already removing her shoes.

"No. I'll go alone," commanded Kimber. "You two must attend supper. Just say I'm indisposed. We must wait till the thief runs. We'll gain nothing trying to catch him in the house. And I need to be ready to fly at a moment's notice."

They protested simultaneously.

"You can't be serious!"

"But it's my first time!"

"You two will go to supper. You will eat. Drink. And be merry."

Despite being family, even his sibling knew to obey that tone.


****

Rhys could barely stand picking through the quail. He wanted to Hunt and navigating a small game bird with little meat and lots of bones made his skin crawl. He discretely spat out another bone, reached for his wine glass and finished the rest with a large gulp.

His sister shot him a glance. Her hands held her fork and knife in a death grip.

The thief was moving now, they could feel it. Their eyes met asking the same thing: had their brother left yet? Kimber was Gifted in ways that no one of the tribe in living memory was. At night he could practically disappear, suppressing his own presence leaving not a single trace. Even their father couldn't track him. It made him a more deadly adversary than a squad of skilled veterans, a devious extension of the dreadful night.

****

Kimber drew the curtains after locking and bolting the door. It wouldn't be long now.

He felt the challenge again, a hot smoke singing to his senses. The thief had his sister's jewels and it was a matter of time before he tried to leave.

Dinner was over, a fact Kimber was aware of, hearing the clinking of silver on china and the fall of heeled feet moving to the lounge where the men would enjoy a brandy and the women likely a game of cards.

The energy of the thief changed. The sun was gone and Kimber could feel him scurrying about. He was below stairs, his movement now much more poignant aimed at the North side of the manor.

A change slid over Kimber. He could feel the dragon squirming under his skin daring him to contain it for longer. He was consumed by the Hunt now, radiant and remote, his essence turned bestial, his core black and crackling. The silent, deadly creature within would no longer be swayed.

The Alpha stood in front of the fire place, the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He Turned to smoke. His clothes fell down in a heap on his shoes as he swirled up into the fireplace and out the chimney. He didn't even linger before fully transforming.

He was dragon, hovering over the manor letting his wings warm and stretch. The full moon beamed down upon his back bathing him in swathes of silver.

He took a moment to orient himself. The front of the mansion faced south with an oak-lined avenue leading to the entrance. At the back were a few sprawling gardens dotted with willows and elms eventually fading into forest.

Kimber opened his senses summoning the energy the thief emitted. It was there, certainly, but something about it made no sense. Erratic, a confusing kerfuffle of energy sometimes pulsing strong and a second later feeling like a beast, wounded and in distress.

At least the direction was clear; the thief had gone North....

...in the direction of Darkfrith.

Kimber turned to the tree line where his prey await, swirling his long elegant body, surging forward following the vibration of energy.

He wanted to give the runner a bit of time allowing him further North, further away from any Other that might see him Turn. Kimber flattened his wings taking a gentle glide, meandering back and forth as he gained distance from the human manor. Every now and again he dipped low enough to graze a tree with a deft talon. On his approach his ears picked up the soft squashing of feet on humus and the occasional snapping twig. Kimber's heart pounded.

He was just above him now, the thief picking through the underbrush maintaining a steady pace. There was something peculiar though: a sort of strange glow -if Kimber could even call it that - lurking around the figure. Kimber would get his chance for a better look soon enough.

It's time, he thought, releasing his own energy making his presence known waiting for the thief to panic and Turn.

Oddly, the chap only scratched at his neck as if a mosquito had bitten him and looked once over his shoulder.

On the ground.

Where he stayed.

To Kimber's surprise he kept walking on his own two human feet.

Kimber circled back around silent as the grave. He Turned to smoke and settled on the forest floor just meters away. He pulled himself together, his beautiful body a wonder in the moonlight.

"How far did you think you'd get?"

The thief stopped dead in his tracks in a bright pocket of moonlight and cocked his ear. He wore an over-sized valet's livery and had a mop of curly, unkempt hair. Kimber could feel his pulse rise, could feel the crackle of magic that this drákon possessed.

Turn, he thought. Turn and try to flee.

"I would caution against midnight strolls in the wood, my Lord. There are oh so many predators about."

If Kimber hadn't been so consumed with the Hunt and captivated by an indescribable flutter weaving around this stranger he might have caught the higher pitch, the feminine undertones.

"I'm the only predator you need be concerned with," he warned.

The thief whipped around planting their two feet firmly as if preparing for a fight. He wore an over-sized valets livery and had a mop of curly hair. He resembled that boy snuffing out candles and opening curtains, but there was something different. The thief raised their head defiantly and looked straight into Kimber's unwavering eyes.

"Is that so?" came the most sensuous voice Kimber had ever heard.

Dear God, it was a woman.

Kimber looked precisely at the thief. The over-sized clothes masked her feminine curves, but they were certainly there. A hint of breast arched a lovely silhouette under the white, linen shirt not covered by the valet's coat which hung wider where her hips began. Her short hair had first suggested something boyish, yet now Kimber saw gentle curls lacing around a delicate face. A peculiar halo seemed to surround every inch of exposed skin, playing tricks on his senses.

Kimber's heart skipped a beat. The adrenaline already coursing through his veins took a terrifying new turn. What once was a familiar feeling was now all new territory, a thrill Kimber wasn't prepared to process.