Huntsman - Morgan Brice Page 0,53

left the trail—easy on all fours and in a form better suited to travel through the tangled brush. Liam knew he might not find many foxes, but if he could just talk to a few, he might learn something, or at the least, persuade them to keep a sharp lookout and provide updates.

He hadn’t wandered far before he caught a stronger whiff, navigating the rocky ground and hopping over tree roots, footing that was treacherous for humans.

A warning bark and hiss revealed a male fox blocking his path, defending his territory. Liam had found a skulk, but he had no desire to fight.

Here’s where it could get interesting, Liam thought. He mentally spoke with his shifter self in human language, aided by images and flashes of feelings. Wild foxes had a complex set of vocalizations, as well as body language, which they used to communicate. Liam was not a native speaker, despite his fur. Since he hadn’t grown up with a skulk, and his mother had rarely shifted, his vocabulary was, at best, simple.

And I’ve probably got a funny accent.

Liam wagged his tail to show non-aggression. He cobbled his question together as best he could, feeling like a tourist with a bad phrase dictionary.

The barks, yips, and howls he strung together taxed his memory and his vocal cords. He hoped he had said, “Big strange cats go lost. Bad hunter maybe take? You see? Know?” Keeping the Tile in his mouth gave him a lisp, on top of everything else.

This is going to be like in those movies where I’ve accidentally insulted his honor and called his mother a hamster.

Two other foxes padded up behind the first one, all keeping their distance from Liam. He heard a muted back and forth in whines and growls but lacked the proficiency to guess what was being communicated.

Liam waited, increasingly uncomfortable with the stark evidence of just how far he was from being a wild animal. He could easily smell the native fox musk and the pungent aroma of their scent marking. I probably smell like shampoo.

The male fox brought his attention back to Liam. Liam desperately hoped he wouldn’t be even more embarrassed by not understanding the answer.

To his relief, the male’s string of chirps and yips was slow and simple enough to follow, as if he had guessed Liam’s limited ability. What he picked up translated to, “Bad man, cage cats. Traps. Also kill ours.”

Liam hadn’t expected to learn that the Huntsman had also killed regular foxes. One pelt is the same as another, I guess, he thought, and shivered.

“Soon go.”

Liam looked up. “You want I leave?” he managed in broken “foxish.”

The male fox swished his tail in irritation. “No. He go. Soon. Take cats.”

If it was the Huntsman, then he was either planning to make his move on Liam in the very near future or come back after he found a buyer for the cat-hikers. Either way, Liam’s chance to find the Huntsman…and very possibly, the arsonist who nearly cost Russ his life…was closing fast.

“Show me where?” Liam asked before he had a chance to lose his nerve. “I stop him.”

The male gave him a skeptical look. “Just you?”

Liam shook his head. “I bring friends.”

Once again, the skulk conferred. Finally, the male turned back to Liam. “Follow.”

The other foxes did not accompany them. If the Huntsman had already killed some of their group, Liam didn’t blame them. He argued with himself the whole way, even as he did his best to remember the path so he could bring help back with him.

Not too smart to walk right up to the secret hideout of the guy who wants to kill me.

But there’s no guarantee I’d meet up with these foxes again. And if they know where to find him—

Can’t go back for a posse if I’m dead.

Can’t bring in the cavalry if I don’t know where the secret hideout is.

By this time, Liam figured they were more than half an hour off the trail, deep in the forest interior. Park visitors weren’t supposed to leave the marked paths, for good reason. The stony ground made for treacherous footing. Rocky outcroppings that dropped off to deep ravines weren’t uncommon.

Had the hiker who fell been running from someone? A shifter wouldn’t hesitate to leave the regular trail, counting on instinct to find the way back. That same kind of awareness usually kept wild animals from plunging off cliffs by accident.

Unless he’d been running for his life. Or would have rather died than be