them speak of Vela’s Mark and a curse and dead children, that she was forsaken and unwelcome even at an inn. Yet none of it made any sense. That Lizzan would be shunned here, not just Koth—and not merely ignored and nameless.
And had she not told him? In the healing baths, Lizzan had said that she’d rather be nameless in Koth than cursed here. But Aerax hadn’t understood what she’d meant, because he couldn’t understand how all the world did not see the shining jewel she was. But even here, she’d been tossed in the mud.
Chest tight and aching, he paused where she and Caeb had stopped to study a set of tracks. His heart slammed into his throat. As they’d traveled north, the woods and creatures in them had become more familiar to Aerax than those in the jungle. This one, too. The shape was similar to that of a man who walked on the balls of his feet, but three times the size and with curved claws that gouged the earth with every step.
A woodstalker. As a boy, Aerax had seen one of the massive apes. The howls and screams of battle had drawn him to a snowy canyon where a woodstalker and a sun raptor had fought over the remains of a mammoth that the reptile had brought down. With fangs that rivaled Caeb’s, scythelike claws on its feet and hands, and long-armed strength, the woodstalker had torn the giant raptor apart. Aerax had taken care never to come across one again.
Yet now Lizzan and Caeb hunted two.
Heart thundering, he raced after them. From ahead, a primal scream sliced jagged ice down his spine and was answered by Caeb’s roar. Not far distant from him now. He vaulted over a stream and Caeb charged out from between the trees ahead before turning and roaring again. A woodstalker burst into view, matted fur as pale as birch bark, fangs gleaming in the poor light.
Barely did Aerax see Lizzan before she was on the beast, leaping from the tall branch of a tree and onto its shoulder, her sword stabbing deep into its neck. The woodstalker screamed, reaching back with talons that shredded the hood of her cloak but skated over her skin. Its grasping hand caught her around the shoulders and yanked her off even as Aerax rushed forward, knives in hands.
His blade sliced through the beast’s ankle, and then he gripped a handful of the ragged fur and climbed the thick leg to stab the back of its knee. Howling, the woodstalker crashed forward, leg buckling. Caeb lunged for its exposed throat, his fangs stabbing deep into muscle and tearing through veins that spurted crimson across his chest. Weakly the woodstalker reached for the cat . . . with Lizzan still caught on its hand, choking and thrashing.
Shouting for Caeb, Aerax surged across the woodstalker’s convulsing form. Lizzan’s hands were at her neck, fingers desperately dragging at the thin silver chain at her throat. Terror razed his heart. When the woodstalker had raked his talons through her cloak, the claws had caught beneath the necklace, pulling it tight enough to choke. Only the charm that prevented the silver chain from slicing through her skin had saved her from beheading, yet wouldn’t save her if she couldn’t breathe.
Aerax couldn’t break the silver links without yanking the chain tighter. Snatching her sword, he carefully wedged it between the claw and the necklace before bearing down with all his strength. Barely did the blade scratch the talon’s enameled surface.
With a growl, Caeb shoved him aside, caught the claw between his bloodied jaws and snapped the talon in half.
With the tension on the chain released, Lizzan rolled free, gulping air before coughing uncontrollably. Aerax caught her up in his arms, holding her tight as she wheezed into another coughing fit.
Yet Aerax could not hold her as long as he needed to. “Did you kill the other?”
Still coughing, face red, Lizzan shook her head—and mimed firing a crossbow.
“Injured?”
She nodded, stabbing her fingers into her chest.
Wounded, then. So he would finish it. Taking her sword, he bade Caeb to stay with her. He found the female lying still—though not dead, as Lizzan had said. The crossbow bolt had barely penetrated the dense muscle over her heart. Instead she was sleeping.
Drugged with the corpse vine on the arrowhead, most likely. And this had not been a hunt, but a perfectly executed ambush that used Caeb as a distraction and a lure.