Page 10 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Son
I remain in the doorway, one hand gripping the stone frame hard enough that my knuckles show white. The sensation grounds me, keeps me from doing something foolish like demanding she take guards or insisting I abandon everything to ride with her.
She continues backing the zarryn away, never breaking eye contact, that smile never wavering. The morning sun catches the rich brown of her hair where it escapes her braid, turning it to burnished copper. Her green travel tunic brings out the warm undertones in her skin, and for a moment she looks like some woodland spirit sent to torment me with beauty I can see but not touch.
The distance between us grows with each step the zarryn takes, but she maintains that playful backward progress, determined to keep me in sight as long as possible. The gestureis so perfectly her—refusing to simply leave, instead drawing out our goodbye until the very last moment.
When she finally reaches the bend in the road, she blows me a kiss with theatrical flourish before turning the zarryn toward the mountain pass. I watch until her figure disappears beyond the line of trees, swallowed by shadow and distance, the sound of hoofbeats fading to silence.
The absence hits me like a physical blow. The carefully controlled unease I've been managing since we planned this trip erupts into something sharper, more desperate. It's as if half of my soul just rode away on a temperamental mountain creature, leaving me incomplete and aching.
I remain frozen in the doorway long after she's gone, staring at the empty road like I can will her back into sight through sheer force of longing. The morning mist continues to rise from the gardens, and somewhere in the distance a black pitter calls to its mate. Life goes on around me, but all I can focus on is the hollow space where her presence used to be.
Three days suddenly feels like an eternity.
6
KALEEN
The zarryn's hooves find their rhythm on the winding forest trail, each step carrying me further from Domiel's worried expression and deeper into the mist-shrouded mountains of Kaerion. I settle into the steady gait, letting my body move with the creature's natural motion while my mind wanders between the task ahead and the man I've left behind.
The morning air bites at my exposed skin, sharp with the promise of altitude and weather change. Tendrils of mist curl between the towering pines, their silver-green needles heavy with dew that catches the filtered sunlight like scattered diamonds. The forest feels ancient here, untouched by the careful cultivation of city life, and I breathe deeply of air that tastes of earth and growing things and wild spaces.
My zarryn—a sturdy mare the stable master assured me was "mountain-broken and sensible"—tosses her shaggy head occasionally but maintains her pace without complaint. Both silver tails flick at imaginary insects, and her ears swivel constantly, alert to every sound in the surrounding woods. Smart creature. These mountains demand respect, even from those bred to traverse them.
The trail winds steadily upward, carved into the mountainside by generations of traders and quarry workers. It's wide enough for a loaded cart but narrow enough that I keep well away from the edge where the ground drops away into misty valleys far below. The sound of my passage echoes off the rock faces—the steady clip of hooves, the creak of leather, the soft jingle of my pack's metal fittings.
Hours pass in peaceful solitude. I stop twice to rest the zarryn and stretch my own muscles, sharing water from my travel flask and dried jerky from my provisions. The creature accepts both offerings graciously, her temperamental reputation apparently not extending to well-deserved breaks.
I make it to Silverbrook with no issues, as well as booking a room at the end. Muscle memory takes over tasks I learned during my hardest years as I get ready to settle for the night. Unsaddle the zarryn. Check her hooves and coat for any signs of strain or injury. Block the door so I can sleep without anyone coming after me.
The night passes quietly except for the usual forest sounds—the hoot of hunting birds, the distant howl of something wild and lonely, the whisper of wind through pine boughs. I sleep deeply despite being alone in unfamiliar territory, exhaustion from the day's travel overriding any nervousness about my solitary state.
Morning comes gray and misty, the sun struggling to penetrate the low-hanging clouds that cling to the mountainsides like gossamer veils. I break camp quickly, eager to reach the quarry before midday. The sooner I can complete this transaction, the sooner I can begin the journey home to Domiel's anxious embrace.
The trail climbs more steeply now, winding through narrow passes where the trees thin and give way to exposed rock faces. The air grows sharper, thinner, carrying scents I don'trecognize—mineral-rich stone, alpine flowers, and something else. Something wild and predatory that makes the hair on my arms stand up despite the morning's chill.
My zarryn notices it too. Her ears pin back against her skull, and her step quickens without any urging from me. She tosses her head nervously, both tails lashing with agitation rather than the lazy swishing of yesterday's peaceful travel. When I try to calm her with gentle words and steady hands on the reins, she fights the bit for the first time since we started this journey.
"Easy, girl," I murmur, but my own voice carries a tension I can't quite suppress. "What's got you spooked?"
The answer comes as a low rumble from somewhere behind us—not quite a growl, not quite a roar, but something that vibrates through the mountain air with predatory intent. My blood turns to ice water in my veins as I recognize the sound. Something large. Something hungry. Something that's been following us.
I don't look back. Every instinct screams against giving whatever's stalking us the satisfaction of seeing my fear, and besides, I need to focus on the treacherous trail ahead. Instead, I lean forward in the saddle and give the zarryn her head, trusting her mountain-bred instincts to carry us both to safety.
She needs no further encouragement. The moment she feels the slack in the reins, she breaks into a reckless gallop that sends loose stones skittering over the cliff edge. Her hooves find purchase on surfaces that seem too narrow, too unstable to support our combined weight, but she doesn't slow. Behind us, the rumbling grows louder, joined by other voices—a pack, then, hunting together with the coordination that makes mountain predators so deadly.
The trail curves sharply around an outcropping of granite, and for a heart-stopping moment I'm suspended over empty air as my zarryn leaps a gap I didn't see coming. We land hardon the far side, the impact jarring through my bones, but she recovers quickly and plunges onward through the morning mist.
Something crashes through the underbrush to our left—massive, moving fast, paralleling our desperate flight. Through the swirling fog I catch glimpses of dark fur and yellow eyes, hear the scratch of claws on stone as our pursuer keeps pace with terrifying ease. It's hunting us, driving us toward something. That realization sends fresh terror racing through my system because predators that coordinate their attacks are infinitely more dangerous than solitary hunters.
My zarryn's breathing comes in harsh gasps now, foam flecking her silver coat as she pushes herself beyond safe limits. But she doesn't slow, doesn't hesitate, even when the trail narrows to a ledge barely wider than her body. I press myself low against her neck, making myself as small as possible, feeling the terrible emptiness of open space just inches from my right knee.
The attack comes without warning.
Something huge and dark launches itself from the rocks above, landing squarely on my zarryn's hindquarters with enough force to drive her stumbling sideways. She screams—a sound of pain and terror that cuts through me like a blade—and her rear legs skid toward the edge of the trail.
I have a split second to see massive jaws lined with finger-length teeth, to smell the rank musk of a predator that hasn't bathed in blood for too long, before my zarryn bucks violently in an attempt to dislodge her attacker.
The motion sends me flying from the saddle like a stone from a sling. For a moment that stretches into eternity, I'm weightless, suspended in mist and terror, watching the ground rush up to meet me with implacable certainty.
