Page 46 of Untethering Dark

She peeked over the edge, scanning the length of the room. Also empty.

What was he doing up here?

Astrid climbed the rest of the way, mildly disappointed he hadn’t stuck around to experience her wrath, and followed the wet, slushy footprints to her nightstand. There was a set leading to it and then away.

But what was the point? She looked through her drawers, checked the chest at the foot of the bed, trying to figure out what was amiss.

It didn’t look like anything had been disturbed. Was it just that he wanted her to know he was there, looming over the vulnerable place where she slept? That if he wanted, he could come back and murder her or some other vile thing?

But no, the footprints weren’t even turned toward the bed. If the poacher was here to gloat about such a thing, he’d have stood and stared, rifled through her belongings.

Something picked and pulled at the back of her mind. Something about the nightstand.

She went back for the only thing she’d left on it.

As she lifted the hairbrush, she realized what was off.

What was taken.

What he came for.

The bristles were clean, utterly devoid of hair.

And why? To keep as some sick souvenir? To taunt her? For magic they couldn’t possibly wield themselves? Whatever the reason, he certainly had her attention.

Downstairs, the poacher’s wet, slushy footprints exited out the back door.

Hefting her ax, Astrid stormed out into the forest, tracking the trail he left brazenly in the snow. He couldn’t have gotten far. She had to have missed him by mere minutes.

His prints led toward the pond, and that infuriating campsite that was active one moment, abandoned the next. But as the trail led on, the heat signature left behind got colder and colder. Which, given how the heat signature magic worked, made no sense. These prints were newer, fresher, and should be faintly warmer, but they weren’t. The poacher’s tracks led her round and round in a circle until they abruptly stopped.

Howling with rage, Astrid kicked at the snow.

She knew better than to come out here expecting to find something, and yet, she’d fallen to the bait. The poacher and his buddies were probably having a good laugh at her expense, somewhere out here, cloaked in powerful magic.

“Astrid?”

She shrieked, whirling around, ax raised.

Long, clawed fingers closed around the ax shaft, stopping its trajectory before it could slam into Gudariks’s skull. Breath caught in her throat as the Paleolithic being towered above her, blocking out the sun and casting her in deep shadow. His chest heaved, every hard exhalation steaming from bony nasal sockets. As if he’d run here. And yet she heard no sound, had no warning. Just a second ago, the space had been empty. Death came on swift wings, but staring up into Gudariks’s red eyes,their usual intense glow seemed softer, gentler, somehow. Not bright and feverish with the fervor of a hunt.

Astrid let go of the weapon as if it were on fire.

Clapping her mittened hands over her mouth, she sank to her bottom on the snow, trapped somewhere between terror and relief. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

Setting her ax aside, Gudariks sat cross-legged beside her, not quite touching but close enough to feel his radiating heat. “Who were you hunting?”

Exhaling raggedly, Astrid lowered her hands. “A poacher. The one with the cigarettes. He was in my house. He took...”

Lambent eyes flashed, their fierceness returned. Gentle one moment, ready to eviscerate and slay the next. “What did he take?” His roughened growl sent a shiver up her spine, but it wasn’t fear or a chill that caused it. “Tell me.”

“My hair. Pulled it out of my hairbrush.” The only reason she’d steal someone’s hair would be to hex or charm them.

The poacher couldn’t know magic, could he? She would’ve sensed it. No, it had to just be some sick attempt at intimidation. But just in case, she’d make an anticharm to wear as soon as she got home.

Gudariks tilted his head in her direction, taking a small, tentative sniff. “I don’t smell fear on you.”

“No, I’m furious. Not only did he come into my house and steal from me, he escaped!” She punched a hole in the snow. “Would really like to rearrange his insides.”

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