The Hunted (65 page)

He slunk forward through the long grass, coming to stop just to the side of me. His black eyes surveying the tree branch embedded in my abdomen. Gripping the branch just in front of me, with a quick flick of his wrists he snapped off the end of the trunk. The sudden fracture and shaking of the branch reverberated inside the wound, causing me to cringe and call him something that was not particularly ladylike.

He ignored my protests as he buried his face against the underside of my wound and drank down some more of my blood—blood that he simply could not resist. Before I went all weak and useless again, I lashed out, ignoring the pain lancing through my chest like red hot pokers, and kicked him as hard as I could in the groin.

That’ll teach you for waving it around like a flag.

As he fell to the ground, howling like the giant dog that he was, I inadvertently managed to swing myself free of the branch. I landed on my knees in a pile of damp earth and blood, clasping my hand to my chest and trying not to cry or pass out, or both. I couldn’t even begin to explain how much being impaled actually hurt. It was beyond anything I could ever imagine or had ever felt before. No wonder staking vampires was considered cruel. It must hurt like hell, but never actually killed them. Decapitation or direct lengthy exposure to sunlight was the only way to finish off the job properly.

I quickly sprung back to my feet while my attacker was still incapacitated, and clutched at my chest again. Blood was still dribbling from the wound and my hands were covered in it. I resisted the urge to get lost in my own scent, and instead balled my hands into fists and held them calmly by my sides. I watched my attacker moaning in pain and cushioning his damaged package with his hands. I wanted to scream at him.

So, down or not, I began kicking that vânâtor again and again until he no longer moved. My chest ached from the effort, but I could not allow this creature to get back up. Besides, that would bloody teach him for impaling me onto a tree trunk.

I looked down at his crumpled and bloodied body and felt for a pulse. There was one, but it was extremely weak. If he survived the bashing, there was a good chance that he would never walk again. The best thing I could do for him now was put him out of his misery.

I took a deep breath and tried to ignore my conscience. I’d never actually killed anything before with my bare hands. The knife was one thing. It was an extension from my body, a weapon or a tool of destruction that carved a path of death without true input from me. The blade was what tore through flesh and extinguished life. The hand that wielded it was merely the compass. But using my hands, to feel the consequences of my decision to kill beneath my grip, was going to be an experience that I would not relish.

Kill or be killed, Elena.

So why was I hesitant?

Pushing aside my doubts, I crouched down behind the beast and placed a hand on either side of his head. I closed my eyes momentarily when I heard him whimper, and before another sound could ever escape his lips—I snapped his neck with an audible crunch.

I rose back to my feet and wiped a hand across my eyes, wondering if I would ever forget today, the day I’d killed a human-looking creature with my bare hands.

I turned away, instead trying to figure out exactly where I was. Not an easy task when all that was surrounding was green, green, and more green. I was in the rainforest, somewhere. That much was obvious. But it was night-time, and very difficult to discern any real direction. I’d never paid attention during Malcolm’s lesson on using the stars to find north, south, and whatever. Pretty stupid in hindsight, but then again, I never thought I’d be stranded in the middle of the bush either. I couldn’t even smell anything that resembled civilisation, just the aroma of damp earth, rotting timber, and dried leaves.

An intensely loud howling thundered through the night air somewhere in the clearing behind me, spinning me around on the spot. I surveyed the darkened tree line and bolted in the opposite direction. North or south, I didn’t really give a crap, there was already another vânâtor close by, and with no weapon to call my own, being as weakened as I was, the best I could hope for was putting as much distance as possible between
this
dead body and the live one somewhere out there.

I ran as fast as my human legs could carry me. Stamina at least was not going to be a problem—my body constantly maintained its healing responsibilities, inflating my lungs with air and continuing my heart beat at an even keel. Marathon runners everywhere would be jealous if they knew my capabilities.

I ran through the trees and jumped over the undergrowth as I sped through the forest without a clue as to where I was heading. Not that it really mattered. The problem was, I knew that no matter how far I ran, he was going to find me. It was only a matter of time. I was leaving an invisible scent trail with every footstep that touched the forest floor.

I pushed myself ahead faster as another howl ripped through the trees behind me, closer than it had been before. I was definitely being hunted again. Vines were scratching at my arms and legs as I passed, and a couple of grasping tree roots caught at my sneakers, sending me sprawling to the ground each time. But when I pulled myself to my feet, not bothering with a dust off or an inventory check of damaged body parts, I took off again as fast as my legs could carry me into the darkness.

It wasn’t long before I heard the howl of the Vânâtor rip through the night air again close by, piercing the relative silence around me. This only made me run harder and faster, trying to put as much distance between us as humanly possible. I listened carefully as I ran, trying to hear the sound of footfalls or the rustling of undergrowth behind me, but there was nothing but the sound of my own breathing and the heavy destruction of wooded debris under my feet.

Silence has to be a good thing. Right?

Then a sudden force on my back hitting me like a ton of bricks, sent me plummeting down to the dampened earth at my feet with crushing force. Dried leaves blew up around me as my face landed against the dirt, forcing mud and god only knew what else into my mouth and nose.

I spat as I struggled to get up, the wolf laying heavily across my back. Something wet and warm fell from above and landed onto the side of my cheek, drool rolling steadily down the side of my mouth. I nearly vomited right then and there from unabated foulness invading my nostrils. I used my shoulder to wipe it away as, my hands were pinned underneath me at an awkward angle. The last thing I wanted was that crap getting into my mouth. I’d rather eat the dirt.

The Vânâtor tilted back his muzzle and howled deeply and loudly into the air above, piercing my ears. Nesting birds in the trees above squawked loudly and flew from their nests in terror, dispersing into the darkness above without hesitation. I could feel the anger rolling off this werewolf in waves. He was not happy about me killing his pack member.

I tried rolling to the side, trying to free my hands from under me. All I got for my efforts was a feral snarl and a few snaps of his snout right next to my ear.

I got the message.

Stay put, or lose an appendage.

He sniffed at the side of my face, his cold, wet nose brushing against the flesh of my cheek, his whiskers tickling the corners of my nostrils. I didn’t move. I barely even breathed.

He stepped to the side of me slowly, removing his crushing weight from my frame. A long, warning growl sounded in the back of his throat as he watched me roll onto my side and then climb back to my feet hesitantly.

What was his game?

I took a step forward and he growled again, his muzzle drawing back to reveal a complete set of yellowed fangs just dying to tear the flesh from my body. ‘What do you want from me?’ I choked out.

He garbled a strange sort of sound in the back of his throat and flicked his head behind him.

‘You want me to follow you?’ I asked, staring into the dense foliage ahead and noting nothing of significance.

The wolf bobbed his head up and down before padding around behind me and pushing his snout into my back to make me move.

I resisted. ‘I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you’ve taken me and where we’re going.’ I already had a pretty darn good idea what the answer was, but still, I wasn’t about to make this easy for him and stalling seemed like a pretty good idea until I came up with a better plan.

He opened his snout, barked at me angrily and then snapped it shut again, shoving me hard in the back and sending me stumbling forward into the underbrush.

‘Push me all you want, vânâtor, but I’m not going with you,’ I said, climbing back to my feet and staring down the big grey wolf standing behind me.

He tilted his head to the side, his black eyes narrowing, assessing me. He pushed back on his front paws and rose to his full height, looking down on me. Without hesitating he lashed out with his long dark claws and swatted me hard in the side of the face. I didn’t even see it coming. The force of his blow sent my body flying through the air again and straight into the side of a toughened tree trunk.

What was with me and hitting the damn trees?

My head swam with pain and barely contained consciousness as the tree cracked under the severe impact of my body as I slammed into it. My back, shoulders, and head all suffered from the impact, effectively breaking a couple of key vertebra in my spine. And despite my healing capabilities, my legs were completely inoperable. I just prayed that it was temporary, else I was going to need some serious therapy after all of this was over and done with.

I fell to the ground in a heap, my eyes opening and closing as the blackness of my mind started to close in on me. The head trauma was obviously worse than I thought. At least there was no pain anymore.

The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes for the final time was the werewolf. He was stalking towards me again on all fours, his razor sharp teeth exposed and his black claws drawn and ready to take my life.

*          *          *

The smell of damp earth and rotting flesh was assaulting my senses long before total consciousness returned. It weaved its way through my air passages, clogging my lungs with mustiness and washed my unconscious self with dread. I was definitely not in the forest anymore.

My eyelids fluttered and faltered slightly, before I slowly began to open my eyes.

I sat up slowly at first, waiting to see if my luck had run dry and if my healing abilities were not strong enough to fix the severe damage that had been inflicted upon me. Fortunately, my spinal break had obviously only been short-lived as I could now move my limbs again.

I was still definitely looking a little worse for wear. My hair was a total disaster. I didn’t need a mirror to know this to be true. The ringlets had taken hold and claimed the rest of my hair, turning it into a prisoner of war, my usually straight hairdo changing to a wretched curly mess. My fingernails were covered in dirt and caked with blood and, from the state of my skin, I looked like I hadn’t been bathed in weeks. I didn’t smell too great either. My clothes were another story entirely. My jeans were completely shredded from the knees down, my sneakers covered in mud and more blood. The T-shirt that I was wearing had more holes in it than a sieve, and was covered thickly in a sticky mess of blood and dirt.

I reached around and felt the back of my head, remembering I’d had hit the tree hard enough to crack my skull, but all that I found there was mud and some dried up blood.

I pushed off the dirty little cot that I had been lying on and looked around me for the first time since opening my eyes. Judging by all the steel and lack of windows, I gathered that I was being held in some kind of cell. It was only about two and half metres long and wide, with a small metal door. The door had a tiny barred window set into it. The walls themselves appeared to be constructed from the same steel that the door was made from. The floor was simply mud and dirt.

Great. If things did happen to get really hairy, I could always dig my way out of here.

In the corner of the room was a dirty bucket, which I presumed was my bathroom. Next to that were some cardboard boxes which were filled with tins of long-life foods.