Nythor Frostbite
White Tiger Warlord POV
Her scent is going to be the death of me. Earth and sunlight. Wild magic and ripe berries. A forest witch's scent, yes, but uniquely hers. The moment it hit me, my tiger went feral beneath my skin. Wanted blood. Wanted to claim. Wanted to sink his teeth into that soft curve where her shoulder meets her neck and mark her mine before any other beast even looks at her. She's infuriating.
Goddess green eyes and wild chestnut curls. Legs as long as a summer day. Hips my hands are still aching to grip. Fierce, too, snarling at me from high in her cursed trees where I cannot reach, wearing nothing but leather scraps and bad manners.
A tease. A torment. A temptation. I growl low in my throat, pacing beneath the oak she's wedged herself inside. A clever climber. She knows exactly how far up to get where I can't reach without exposing my human form to an enemy's arrow. Wicked little witch. I swipe angry gouges into the bark.
The stakes are higher than ever this season. The beast clans are splintering, and war is brewing on the horizon. The humans in their Walled City cling to their "purity," doling out thirty criminals per year like scraps to starving dogs. We are expected to pick mates from these scraps. Breed heirs. Rebuild our bloodlines. But there are no female beast shifters left. Not after the culling war. Not after the plague.
We rely on human witches, like her, to bear our future. Yet the humans clutch their females inside stone citadels, pretending they are safe as the rest of the world howls outside. Even so, they will not share. The elders whisper of tearing down the walls, of ending the bargain, of taking every woman who can still breed magic.
I do not want all of them. I want her. Her power. Her scent. The way her lips curl like she's ready to bite someone. I glare up at her one last time, perched like a smug crow, refusing to come down. "I would treat you gently," I growl up at her in my human tongue. "You fight against your own survival."
She bares those pretty teeth and spits poison in return. "I'll die first. "My tiger howls with frustration inside me. Every instinct says to climb. Rip. Claim. Kiss. Bite. But I cannot risk being lanced from above by another hunter catching me distracted. The other clans are already circling. I will not hand this prize away.
I reluctantly peel myself from the base of her tree and pad back into the shadows. But not far. Never far. I will remain close. Wait. Watch. Listen for her heartbeat when she finally dares to touch the ground again. Alone or not. Willing, or broken. She will be mine.
Fenrick Bloodhowl Wolf Warlord POV
There…That scent again, crashing over me like a memory I've never lived. Earth. Sunlight. Ripe berries.
I kneel in the dirt, my claws digging grooves beside her small foot print, my nostrils flaring. It's fresh, still clinging to the soil, threaded with wild magic and female heat. My wolf hauls itself up inside my ribcage, snarling to be let loose. Mine.
A guttural growl rips from my throat before I can stop it. Ridiculous. I've had a hundred females throw themselves at my feet, but not a single one of them smelled like home. This one does.
I shift down to all fours, fur bursting across my skin, bones snapping until my paws hit the ground. My nose drops to her trail like it's been forged just for me. Even the way she moves is witchcraft, weaving chaos through the underbrush deliberately, climbing trees, masking her steps. She knows how to survive.
Good. It's no fun if they don't run. But I'm the Wolf Warlord, Fenrick Bloodhowl. The last thing she'll hear before I claim her throat is my heartbeat crashing against hers as I cover her body with mine. A low, cruel grin widens my muzzle. My witch… my sweet berry ripe witch…Another scent flickers faintly on the path, tiger musk and frostbite rage. Nythor.
He thinks he found her first. I rip a chunk of bark off a tree as fury flashes through me. Striped bastard doesn't get to keep her just because he stalked her up a damn tree. I'll tear out his throat if he tries. She'll be claimed by me. Willing or whimpering, she'll know exactly who she belongs to soon enough.
I break into a run, silent, fast and deadly, because her scent is growing stronger now. She's close. And gods save any fool who gets between a wolf and his mate.
Branwen POV
I wait in that blasted tree for what feels like a lifetime. One hour. Two? Hard to tell with the fog rolling through like it's trying to suffocate the dawn itself. At last, I convince myself he's gone. No more tiger eyes. No crackling twigs. No feral energy prickling my skin. I breathe a spell under my breath, "earth, light, quick," and crawl down the trunk inch by inch, silent as moonlight. When my feet hit moss, I crouch…and listen again.
Empty. Perfect. New direction. New hiding spot. Maybe even a makeshift snare, because if I'm going to survive thirty days, I'll need meat. And luck.
I turn to move, and nearly walk straight into him. The White Tiger Lord. His snowy hair gleams and his chest muscles flex like he was sculpted by some very horny god. Those eyes are locked only on me. His mouth parts...and another presence slams into the clearing. A massive shape explodes from the undergrowth. It's huge and black furred, with eyes burning amber, and teeth like daggers bared in a snarl. Wolf. Big one.
He growls low and lethal, his fur spiked along his spine. His attention isn't on me, it's on White Stripes. Territory challenge. Mate challenge. "Oh bollocks!"
The tiger drops into a half crouch and lets out a spine curdling roar. The wolf answers with a snarl that sounds like it came from the belly of the earth. And suddenly they launch at each other, claws and teeth colliding in a blur of white fur and black rage. They rip into each other's hides like they've both been waiting centuries for an excuse. Blood sprays. Thunderous growls shake the trees. The forest shudders beneath their fury.
Which is my cue. I whisper a cloaking charm, spin on my heel, and bolt up the nearest tree with more speed than grace. I yank myself into a high fork and flatten against the trunk.
Below me, they're still tearing into each other like rabid gods. Tiger slashes at Wolf's side. Wolf clamps his jaws around Tiger's shoulder. They crash into a fallen log and trees explode under their weight.
All over me. Men are ridiculous… even when they're monster beasts. I stay perfectly still, high in my new tree, heart pounding. My bow is ready in case one of them remembers I'm the damn prize. After a few minutes, the fight lumbers away, deeper into the Killground as they drag each other out of my immediate area. Silence finally returns. I exhale slowly, forcing my limbs to stop shaking.
"Sweet forest and sacred vines," I whisper, wiping sweat off my brow. "If they want me that bad, they'll have to chase me to the end of creation." I shift back into the shadows of the branches, tighten the straps of my rucksack, and begin planning my next move.
Because this hunt? It's just getting started. By midday I've scouted a new stream, and selected a massive oak twisted like a clawed hand as my next roost. Plenty of branches. Good vantage between two boulders and thick brambles. Best of all? Fish.
I set to work like a true Mosswood witch. Two snare traps under the fern line using vines and bent saplings. A shallow pit trap with sharpened stakes (camouflaged under leaves). I added a ring of noise wards using stones and whispered magic, so anything walking heavy nearby will clang like a church bell in my head.
Once I'm satisfied, I climb my new tree, shove a fish in my mouth raw (better than dying on an empty stomach), take measured gulps of water, and rig my pack as a pillow. Finally, exhaustion drags me under for what I pray is a quick nap. It isn't. I snap awake to the sound of growling.
My eyes fly open. I stay motionless in my tree, breathing shallow. Down below, just past my traps…White Tiger Lord stands gleaming in the moonlight. Black Wolf Lord, monstrous beside him. Only this time…they're not tearing each other apart.
They stand shoulder to shoulder, bodies tense, sniffing the air. They're tracking the scent of me and my efforts like I left them a handwritten invitation engraved in berries.
"Fucking hell," I whisper. They pace around the base of my oak. The tiger in human form, glancing up into the branches with glowing gold eyes. The wolf is still fully shifted, jaws dripping. They don't fight. They don't snarl at each other. They are… working together.
Wonderful. As if this couldn't get any worse. "Come down," the tiger calls into the leaves. His voice is rich and sharp as wine and weapons. "You can't hide forever, wild witch. Wolf and I have agreed. You belong to us."
The wolf growls approvingly, his tail flicking like he already owns me. I bare my teeth, even though I know they can't see me, tucked back into shadows. "Bugger off!" I hiss. "I'll skin the both of you before I let either of you lay a finger on me."
The wolf snarls. The tiger only smiles, slow and dangerous. "Wild Witch," he purrs, letting the words roll off his tongue like smoke. "You have two choices, survive this hunt as our mate … or bleed to death alone. The other Warlords won't give you mercy."
My pulse thunders but my face stays hard as iron. "I choose option three," I growl down. "Win this Godsdamn hunt and never see either of your smug faces again." The tiger's eyes narrow. The wolf snaps his teeth. But neither tries to climb. They can't reach me. Not yet. I press my back to the trunk, dagger in hand, determined to stay awake this time. Because one thing is now painfully clear.....
They've stopped hunting me. They're now circling me like a claim.
And I've got a terrible feeling they'll bring more beasts with them next time.