Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

67 - Chapter LXVII: An Idle Day of Liaisons

Six hours later.

Lucian scrubbed his face with water. Trying to stay awake. Keeping to the river, entrenching himself by the bank and waiting for the prey to find him first. It was the second day of feasting. Although the bonfires were to begin in the evening, the Northerners had already raised a midsummer pole on the green, hence the reason he was now sitting in a forest, trying to avoid being seen.

In truth, he'd been avoiding Gottfrid and Thore since they arrived six days ago, but there came a point when one could no longer plead ignorance to one's surroundings. Their request that he join them for the third and final day of boar-hunting eventually forcing his hand in the sense of Allegra splashing cold water on his face and opening his bedroom curtains.

Breakfast at dawn and rifles at the ready by seven. The timing meant to give room for the evening festivities, but the reality of the situation causing more than one party to bow out for the sake of sleep. An option he had considered until he realised that-in addition to Allegra invading his privacy-there were forty-odd souls dancing and singing around a twenty-odd foot pole directly across from his bedroom window. Thereby limiting his options in that respect.

So in short...

...he could shoot himself. Or go hunting. His inability to relax or even sleep in his own home causing him to pity the next creature to cross his path. His right leg starting to cramp, his stomach grumbling with hunger, but the water still managing to lull him with its song.

Reminding him of days when he'd slept in this forest. His back against the moss and Bess...sweet, auburn-haired Bess laughing as she waded into the water. Blood, he could still see her. Freckles on her back, her skin dappled with sunlight, searching for rocks along the riverbed. Days when he could close his eyes and drift. Forgetting who he was. Forgetting where he had come from. Wishing he could stay in that dream...

...and with a jerk, pulling the rifle to his shoulder and aiming for the copse to his right. The scent trying to hide itself, but age providing him with the advantage. It took her a moment to stand up, her decision potentially sped up by him cocking the rifle.

A woman.

Dressed in shooting attire. About a half-foot taller than Reinette. Porcelain skin. Hair the colour of wheat...and lips to give Allegra a run for her money. She had the exact same rifle as him slung on her shoulder. The Sauer Sohn Kipplauf. The kind of rifle that expected to kill its prey with a single-shot. Likely one of the Northerners, given how few of the lycan women would go boar-hunting. Something to do with the smell.

The bitterness with which he was conducting himself lending him enough patience to lower his rifle, but not enough to temper his tone. "Has no one ever warned you about sneaking up on your elders?"

"Forgive me, milord." She gave a regal bow of her head. "I should have announced my presence."

Milord...

...she was addressing him formally. And speaking Latin to boot. He failed to return the courtesy, opting for German instead. "Do you have a name?"

"Freyja, milord."

Of course it was.

Seven years of reading Scandinavian literature after Reinette had retired for the evening having given him enough sense to know his Freyjas from his Hels. She was blond. Blue-eyed. Beautiful. She smelled of elderflowers. Like bait hanging from a noose.

He stood up. "And is there a reason you are stalking me, Freyja?"

She looked towards the east. Her scent filled with wry amusement. "I don't know what you mean, milord."