Heart's Desire, Part 3

Carrion
Book 2
Twenty-eight years later

The house was full of death. Chunks of flesh and bone littered the floors of almost every room, and gobbets of unidentifiable pieces of things once alive squished under Gabriel's boots as he walked further into the carnage.

It wasn't all animal. Here and there, he saw other victims of the troll's appetite--the gaping remains of a child-sized skull--clearly human--and a larger, almost intact body of an elf.

The smell was almost enough to overpower him, and he should have been used to death.

He had left the Hounds outside. They would have come if he had called, to pick through the debris in search of survivors, but this was something Gabriel wanted to do alone. And from the look of things, there had been no survivors.

After all, he had promised Lucas that he would see this through. And although he still resented the Council's binding, after almost ninety years of servitude, their 'requests' for his services were something he almost looked forward to, anymore.

After all, what was the alternative?

And he had not minded killing the troll who had begun to prey on the human world. It felt good to be able to kill again, especially with the Council's blessing.

Its body lay in what had once been a garden, a lump of stone now and forevermore. He had not yet decided what to do about the house, the doorway into the human world, or the remains of the troll's victims; Lucas had only requested that the troll be stopped before it killed anyone else.

But the house itself had not been built by a troll. Gabriel did not know of its origins, but bits and pieces of its former owners still existed--a worn table in what had once been a kitchen; and wooden doors blocking off rooms down a shadowed hallway.

A human habitation in Faerie?

In fact, the carnage did not reach all the way down the corridor. There were bones, more than anything, and stains on the stone floors that would probably never come out. But the majority of the troll's kills had remained in the main room, where it had built its nest.

Behind the first door was a library--a musty room filled with books and the moldering remains of someone's meal on fine china, delicate and flowery in the near-darkness. The dim light brightened as Gabriel stood in the doorway, as if welcoming him, but he did not know if he wanted to be welcomed in such a place.

Did he intend to stay here, then? The Hunt had never truly had a home. Before the Council's binding, he had been passed between Masters, all intent on their own gains. After the Council's binding, Gabriel had bowed to folklore and spent his days in one of the many caves that dotted the forest--and never the same one for long.

But after so many years of servitude, he had begun to reconsider a perpetually nomadic existence. The Council's binding had presumably destroyed the original curse that had forced him to obey a thousand different Masters over the years, and now, with such a fine house standing empty, Gabriel wondered what would happen if he and his Hounds just never left.

The binding would expire in a decade, leaving him free--he hoped--for the first time in many, many years.

And that would prevent another monster from moving in and using the door into the Human World for ill. Unless the elves thought that he and his Hunt were worse neighbors than a troll.

Silently, through the bond they shared, he instructed his Hounds to begin the removal of the bodies. The elves would want the remains of their kin, of course, and the animals that weren't anything but animals could become carrion for those so inclined.

He would give the human remains to Lucas for burial.

With that thought in mind, he opened the next door.

A bedroom, this one, with a dusty bed and shuttered window. When Gabriel opened the shutters, he saw that the window--impossibly--looked out upon the Human World and not Faerie. The room was empty, of course, with no sign that the troll had ever ventured inside of it.

The next door led to a hallway and another door, which led to a set of stairs, leading down into darkness that did not lighten at Gabriel's approach. He left that door for later and found two more empty bedrooms before he acknowledged the Hound standing in the hallway behind him.

As always, when he conversed with them, he wondered what would happen if he allowed them to shift shape. Before, he had replaced them as they were killed, not caring about their deaths. But since the Council's binding forbade him from creating any additional Hounds, he had grown to depend on the six that remained.

My lord, we have visitors.

Malachi was one of his oldest Hounds. Gabriel still remembered what he had looked like as a human all those many years ago.

He was only one of three that had not been outright victims of Gabriel's fury.

As Gabriel followed Malachi into the main room, he saw that six Hounds had made short work of the carnage. They had dragged each and every piece outside, and their white fur showed the signs of their determination to obey his order. Bloody and ragged, they were still a formidable sight.

That was probably why the two elves who stood at the edge of the garden had not ventured any farther.

Gabriel stood in the doorway for a moment, and studied them. He had not spent a lot of time in Faerie, despite the original summoning that had called him to punish the elves for their transgressions--both real and imagined. Through the inevitable grapevine of gossip that reached far and wide, he knew that they did not approve of him or his Hunt.

Not that he particularly cared about what they thought.

And there was always Magdalen to think of, despite the fact that he had seen no sign of her for many years. Was she still biding her time until the Council's binding expired? Or was she--as he could only hope--dead?

He doubted the elves would approve if he decided to stay in the house, either, but in truth, he had already half decided to stay, despite their inevitable protests.

The girl--lovely as all elves were--straightened up at his approach, her gaze steady and her mouth firmly set for an argument. The boy--younger than his companion--took a wary step back before scowling as he realized his weakness.

"We came for the body of my brother." Her voice showed no hint of fear.

"If you can find the body of your brother, you are welcome to it," Gabriel said, and wondered if the elf's body was the one they sought. "The very same goes for any of your kin who might be here." He spoke softly, since this was--at the moment--a place of the dead. "I had intended to contact your Queen as soon as I could."

The boy stared at the lump of stone that had once been a troll. "You truly killed it?" He sounded skeptical.

"It will not return," Gabriel said. "But if you doubt my word, I invite you to spend the night in the garden come nightfall, just to be certain."

That brought a delight of laughter from the girl and a scowl from the boy. The girl's laughter did not last for long. "I thank you," she said, simply. "This house is yours by right of conquest, of course. But I would warn you that my kin will not take your presence kindly in these forests."

"I have no intention of Hunting in these forests," Gabriel said, giving her the same respect she gave to him. He had no reason to deny her request or allow her words to anger him, especially since she did not speak them in anger. "And I have yet to decide whether or not to stay."

The boy looked as if he wanted to say something cutting, but the girl glared at him until he glanced away. "If we may--"

"You may," Gabriel said, and stepped aside so they could approach the piles of bloody flesh.

The boy turned green almost immediately, but the girl kept her composure as she moved between the piles of carnage, one hand covering her mouth and nose against the stench.

Gabriel watched them for a moment, and then turned back to where his Hounds waited in a patient line across the back of the house.

Or was it the front of the house? There was no true front, really, since the door into the Human World led to a cave.

He remembered the door leading down to the basement, or a dungeon, perhaps, and wondered what he would find when he ventured down those stairs.

The girl's voice stopped that train of thought. She had fallen to her knees beside the body of the elf, and the boy now looked embarrassed for her, as if he was ashamed of her grief.

"We will take him with us," the girl said a moment later when Gabriel approached. "And I will send someone for the others. I do not know their family, but we will favor their souls with a proper burial." She rose, unsteady on her feet now, as if finding her brother's body had taken away some reserve of strength.



"I will leave them here for you to take," Gabriel said.

The boy glanced at Gabriel, swallowed words that he might have regretted later, and nodded swiftly, his eyes bright with what might have been tears. "Thank you."

Gabriel nodded and walked back to his Hounds. He had yet to contact Lucas to tell him that the deed was done and to hand over the human remains.

And he would do that, soon enough. But first, before he ventured into the Human Realm again, he would explore the underrealm of the house. That dark staircase hinted of darker things below--darker, even, than the carnage strewn through the rooms above.

He did not watch the elves retreat with their sorrowful prize. In truth, as long as they left his Hunt alone, he did not care what they did.

If he ever allowed his Hounds to shift shape, that would change, of course, but he had not yet made that decision.

He set the others on guard for any additional visitors and took Malachi with him. Since the ambient light in the rest of the house did not reach into the underground, he was forced to search for the makings of a torch or the stub of a candle.

Despite popular folklore, even the Master of the Wild Hunt could not see in full darkness.

He found a store of candles in one of the worn cabinets in the kitchen, and a small tin of matches tucked under them, as if someone, long ago, had known he would need them now. Thus supplied, he opened the door to the hallway again, and ventured down the stairs with Malachi at his back.

Whose house had this been? The elves might have known, but Gabriel doubted they would impart that information willingly. Lucas didn't know about the house at all--and neither had Gabriel, at first. But whoever's house it had been, it was his now.

He would have to figure out a way to scrub the floors clean of the blood.

The basement was cool and damp, and opened into another set of caves far underground. The stairs had been carved--or built, Gabriel supposed--by an expert hand, rock-solid under his feet.

A narrow corridor ran the length of the small stretch of space, with larger caves hollowed out by both time and someone's chisel. Each of the openings--and there were four--had bars in place of doors, firmly set into the stone as if they had grown into place.

Malachi whined uneasily, his voice echoing between the walls.

And something shifted in response--a brief flash of white in the darkness beyond one set of bars.

With the candle flickering in the ghost of a breeze from some unknown source, Gabriel moved towards the first set of bars. Behind them, a small, bare cell of a room, with a narrow window cut into the back wall--and more darkness beyond that.

What, then, had been that flash of white?

He moved to the next--and found more of the same in the other two. Tiny, empty cells, each with a window that showed only darkness. Nothing more. Two on either side of the corridor, as if the builder had wanted to conserve space.

At the end of the corridor was a small alcove that held a handful of clues. A ring of keys--four, of course, despite the fact that he had not seen any keyholes, a single white feather, and a scattering of small discolored bones across the floor. Bird bones, Gabriel thought after studying them for a moment. From more than one bird. There was even a tiny, perfect skull perched on a small ledge near the back where the ring of keys hung.

Gabriel lifted down the key ring and approached the first cell again. This time, he had no trouble finding the keyhole, despite the fact that he had missed it earlier.

That probably meant there were spells in place here, especially since the entire area was so clean.

When he inserted the key in the lock, the bars retracted into the stone, moving smoothly and silently as if they had just been oiled. Once they were gone, Gabriel pocketed the keys and stepped into the cell. Malachi did not follow him. If this were a trap, then Gabriel wanted him outside of it. It would not do to kill the troll and then become trapped in someone's defensive spell before he had a chance to tell Lucas of his success.

When he touched the far wall, it felt solid enough under his hands. But when he reached his candle through the window, leaving him with little light to see by, the wall dissolved as if it had just been an illusion, showing him what lay behind the window.

Another cell, of course, but this only roughly formed from the original cave. The walls were slick with algae and water; puddles had formed on the floor. A half-rotten table and a broken chair sat against one wall, along with an oil lamp--long dry--and a small, crumbling stack of books.

On the opposite side of the room was a wooden cot--its legs white with mold--with a threadbare blanket and a stained pillow as its only comfort.

And in the corner, just beyond where he could see from his vantage point, a girl's wide-eyed face appeared in the briefest instant before it vanished again past an outcropping of rock.

Gabriel started forward and smashed into stone. The wall was not gone, but invisible, and the shock alone of such a spell caused him to drop the candle.

It spluttered and died, and he saw it roll into a puddle just before the darkness descended.

"Malachi, I shall need another candle." Gabriel did not turn around to see if his Hound obeyed--he knew that he would. "And bring the matches as well. This might take some time."

"I am not here to harm you," he said into the darkness after Malachi had vanished up the stairs. "The troll is gone, and whoever kept you here is gone as well."

How long had the house stood empty before the troll moved in? Did anyone know about the cells in the basement? Were the others occupied as well?

Gabriel felt the briefest touch against his fingers, and then heard a small splash. He withdrew his hand from the window--it was pointless to keep the spell running when he could not see past his nose.

But somehow, he could see, after a fashion. He did not realize that it was the candle's light flickering through the narrow window until the girl's pale hand reached through the window to give it back to him.

Her skin was moon-pale, her arm stick-thin. He saw the glimmer of her eyes through the hole, and smiled at her.

"Thank you." He kept his voice gentle. "Is there a way through this wall? A door of some sort?"

More splashing. She vanished from the window. He could have poked the candle through the hole again and activated the spell, but he was curiously reluctant to expose that horrible cell again, especially since he doubted it worked both ways. A moment later, she poked a folded piece of paper through the window. It was printed paper, from a book, but in the margins she had written the word Illumination in what looked to be her own blood, long dried.

"Illumination?" Gabriel asked as the brittle paper fell apart in his grasp.

In the middle of the wall, a stone began to glow. It was a rounded stone, protruding a little from the wall, its shape the only anomaly. When Gabriel pressed the stone, it began to turn, and the wall itself reorganized itself into a doorway with the smooth movement of magic.

The girl stood on the other side, swaying now, her eyes wide and frightened. She wore a white dress--more of a gown, although Gabriel was not well-versed in women's fashions--and her hair was also white like the feather he had found in the alcove. But her eyes were dark--green, perhaps, or grey. Despite her surroundings and her fear, she held herself with a sort of regal vulnerability that tugged at an empty space in Gabriel's heart.

He held out his hand. "You are safe now. I will not harm you."

Silently, she touched his hand with the very tips of her fingers, and then snatched it away, as if she couldn't quite believe that he was real. Then she crumpled, her legs collapsing, her eyes closed now as she fell.

Gabriel caught her, but he had to drop the candle again. And in its spluttering light, he saw Malachi behind him, watching silently, a fresh candle at his feet and the tin of matches in his mouth.

Yes, it would have been much easier to allow him his human form to fetch and carry. But would his Hounds scrub the floors?

He lifted the girl into his arms--she weighed next to nothing of course, all skin and bones. But her face was lovely under the signs of her ordeal, and he could only hope that she recovered both her senses and her strength after food and rest.

"She'll need to eat," he said to Malachi. "Take one of the others and find her some food. Raid someone's garden or an orchard. No rabbits."

Malachi silently padded up the stairs, and Gabriel followed him with the girl in his arms. He laid her on the bed in the first bedroom after calling a Hound to help strip away the top coverlet, which was thick with dust. The blankets underneath had fared better, but she still seemed a pitifully frail figure all alone in the bed.

He left the Hound to guard her and ventured back into the dungeon. He could not pretend and call it a basement any longer.

Only one of the remaining cells contained a prisoner, and it was quite obvious that the boy inside had died a long time ago. What remained of his skin was stretched tightly over weathered bones, and his grinning skull would haunt Gabriel's dreams much more than the carnage upstairs.

Someone had left him here to die, and he had died without any hope of rescue. But who had kept him here? And how had the girl survived?


He did not find out part of it until much later, when the elves returned for the rest of their dead. The girl came without her cousin this time, but with two others elves who set to work sorting through the mess without any qualms at all.

Gabriel did not envy them their work, but it was something that had to be done. He would gather up the human remains himself to bring to Lucas long before dusk.

The girl approached, wary around the watching Hounds, but still unafraid. "I came to thank you again," she said. "My brother lies in peace. And soon, these others will as well."

"Do you know who lived here before the troll?" Gabriel asked, wondering if she would answer him.

She hesitated, and glanced at the two elves. They paid her no mind. "A sorcerer. A shapeshifter."

"His books are still in place in the library," Gabriel said, by way of explanation so she wouldn't get suspicious.

She relaxed, as if she had expected him to say something more. "It was rumored to be quite the collection at the time."

"How long ago was this?" Gabriel asked. How long had the white girl been imprisoned?

"Years and years ago," the girl said, dismissing the sorcerer with a toss of her honey-blond hair. "I have been--instructed to offer you a boon for your cooperation here. You did not have to allow us to take the bodies."

"That is true, but why should I prevent you from taking them?" Gabriel asked. "If you grant me any boon, I would ask that you ask your kin to leave us in peace."

She bit her lip. "I cannot speak for my kin, but I can ask." Another hesitation. "My--My parents would be pleased if you accepted something a bit more--concrete."

"Your parents?" Gabriel asked, and wondered just who this girl was.

"The King and Queen," the girl murmured, not looking at him. "My name is Amalea. With my brother's untimely death, I am now third in line for the throne."

That certainly explained her attitude. Someone had raised her to treat others with respect, and expect the same in return. Which was rare for an elf, in truth.

"You needn't look so surprised," Amalea said with a quick glance at his face. "I volunteered to come."

"I am surprised they allowed you to come," Gabriel said. "What sort of boon were you thinking about?" He understood her insistence in granting him with something; the elves would feel they owed him something if he did not accept.

But short of the impossible request he had already asked, he truly wanted nothing from them. They could not free him from the Council's binding, and if he told her of the girl from the dungeons, they would only try to take her away.

"A brownie," Amalea stated without hesitation. She had clearly thought about this boon of hers.

Despite himself, Gabriel felt a grudging respect for this girl. A princess, in truth, but she did not act like a princess. "A brownie?" He tried to keep the doubt from his voice.

"All of this--" she indicated the piles of rotting meat and bones. "If you intend to live in that house, it will need to be cleaned."

That was true, but Gabriel did not know whether to be amused or offended by her offer. "You offer me this as your payment for allowing you your brother's body?"

"The house needs to be cleaned, does it not?" Amalea asked, and the glint in her eye told Gabriel that she was not used to being refused.

"Yes, it does," he said, and remembered wondering if he could allow his Hunt their human forms just to scrub the floor. But what would happen if the brownie saw the girl from the dungeons? "If I accept this boon, then I will make one request in return: that your brownie not venture beyond the library. My Hounds will be in the other rooms, resting, and I do not wish them to be disturbed."

"Very well," Amalea said, and did not seem to think anything wrong with his request. "By dusk, then. I'll see that your boon is honored."

"Agreed," Gabriel said, and watched as she rejoined her fellows. She would be one to watch out for, this Amalea. For a princess, she was almost too self-assured for her own good.

Behind him, in the shadows of the blood-strewn living room, Nathaniel whined a question.

"Yes. They will be gone soon," Gabriel replied, still watching the elves.

And the girl in the bedroom?

"If she wakes up, Seth will let me know," Gabriel said. "I need to tell Lucas that the troll is dead, and bring him the human remains. I'll need help, but two of you need to stay here. And Seth is already guarding our guest." Malachi had taken Josiah with him to find the girl some food to eat. And as long as Lucas did not keep him long, Gabriel should be back quickly. And then he would feed the girl, and hopefully she would eat.

If he waited for Malachi and Josiah to return, Lucas might become impatient and force him to come.

After eighty-eight years under the Council's binding, Gabriel knew he did not want that to happen.

I will stay, my lord.

Zechariah, this time. With a current of almost-anger running through his voice.

There had been spats between the eldest Hounds and the others before, but not lately. If he had time, he would have pursued the matter of Zechariah's anger, but it would take enough time to sort through the rest of the carnage and carry the human remains to Lucas' house. He would have to referee between his Hounds later.

"Very well." Gabriel waited until the elves were gone, then led the two remaining Hounds to the pile of human remains. With the aid of the dusty quilt as a makeshift bag, he helped them sort through the bloody bits and pieces until he was satisfied that he had found them all.

Then he wadded up the grisly bundle, slung it over his shoulder, and walked back into the house, through the hallway, and out the door into the Human World with his Hounds at his feet.

It would be so much nicer now, without having to work around the vagaries of the Veil.


Lucas Lane's house was stone just like Gabriel's new home, but its currents, of course, ran on electricity and not magic.

Out of respect for the souls of the dead he carried, Gabriel gently lowered his burden to the porch floor before knocking on Lucas' front door. As he expected, the wizard answered the door in less than thirty seconds, his ever-present gnarled cane of a walking stick clasped in one hand.

"Good news, I hope?" Lucas asked. "There were searchers in the forest today, looking for the last little girl."

"If she is dead, her body is on the porch, in pieces," Gabriel said. "The troll is gone. I killed it at dawn."

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "And you waited this long to tell me this?"

"The elves wished to claim their dead, and I saw no reason why they couldn't have the bodies," Gabriel said, refusing to rise to the barb. He did not want to get into an argument with Lucas, not with the girl from the dungeons asleep back at the Hunt's new home.

Home. It was a strange, almost yearning word.

"And it took time to sort through the rest," he continued. "As I said before, the human remains are on your porch. I thought you might wish to bury them before they smell any worse."

Lucas nodded. "Thank you. And I am sure the elves will thank you as well, for eliminating that troll. Did you find out how it was getting past the Veil? Those kinds of Faerie creatures can't usually pass between worlds."

"I have been assured that the way has been blocked," Gabriel said, and the lie only caused a twinge of pain from the binding. "Do you know the name Amalea?"

"She is fourth in line to the elvish throne," Lucas said without a second thought.

"Third, now," Gabriel informed him. "The troll killed her older brother, and it was his body she came to claim." Perhaps if he volunteered information, Lucas would not press for details.

"I see," Lucas said. "I will not keep you. Thank you for returning the remains--I will see that they are buried in consecrated ground."

Gabriel nodded. On his way out the door, Lucas called to him, his voice oddly intense.

"You said the elves came for their kin. Did they offer you anything in return for the favor?"

"The services of a brownie to clean up the troll's lair," Gabriel said truthfully.

"Ah."

Was it relief that Gabriel saw in Lucas' gaze? Relief that they hadn't offered him a way to destroy the Council's binding?

"I accepted their offer," Gabriel said. "And I'm to meet the brownie at the site. May I go?"

"Of course," Lucas said. "Of course. And thank you again."

Gabriel did not attempt to respond to that, other than to nod on his way out the door. He could not leave fast enough--not without fearing that Lucas would somehow guess about the house, and refuse to allow him to stay there.

Not that the Council had ever cared where the Hunt slept before. Why should they start now?


The cave that led to the house in Faerie was actually only a brisk twenty minute walk from Lucas' house. Gabriel wasted no time, since morning had fled and the afternoon was waning.

He let Nathaniel and Thomas run ahead to the cave, but they waited for him at the door.

Yet another reason why it would be smart to allow them their human forms. Hands were useful things, especially when doors were involved.

It was something to think about.

Seth sat looking out the window into the garden, so that meant Malachi and Josiah had returned as well and had probably carried the food into the bedroom.

Zechariah was in the garden, sniffing around a vine-laden tree.

Without a word to his Hounds, Gabriel walked down the hallway. Josiah slipped out of the library as he passed and joined the others in the living room, but not without giving his Master a guilty glance.

But he had no reason to feel guilty. Gabriel would not forbid them to explore.

The door to the bedroom was closed, which was new. When Gabriel opened it, he caught a glimpse of something--someone--sitting beside the girl before the vision was gone and a ceramic plate slid off the bed and crashed to the floor, casting globs of canned fruit and other tidbits flying under the dusty bed.

Malachi cowered on the floor beside the bed. And for a short, terrible moment, Gabriel didn't realize the import of the open can, the plate, or the piece of fruit lying beside the girl's head on the pillow.

Paws could not open cans. Hands could.



Next update: March 23

House St. Clair Home

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Heart's Desire, Part 2

Sixty years later

3.

Stefan had been watching the swans for a week now, noting their patterns and habits and planning his attack.

The maidens were--of course--quite lovely and suitable for his purposes, with long, flowing hair and sensuous bodies, not that he cared about that. He was more interested in their skins. And now that he had watched them for a week, he knew their hiding places, and knew where to find them.

Without alerting the bathing swans to his presence, he crept to their hiding place and stole one of the swan skins from the shallow depression under a flat rock. By the time the chosen swan realized what had happened, it would be too late. And he would have another shapeshifter for his experiments, since he had yet to discover Gabriel's secrets.

Sometimes, he regretted refusing Magdalen. But with enough research--with enough time, he thought he could succeed, even though many years had already passed.

She had been right about one thing: He would not die in Faerie.

As the swans prepared to leave, he stroked the stolen skin. And as the transformed swans flew away, leaving one behind, panic-stricken, her pale hands clenched together; her eyes wide as she scanned the forest for any sign of the thief who had stolen her skin, Stefan wondered what her blood tasted like; this maiden, pure as new-fallen snow.

When he stepped out from behind his tree, she fell to her knees.

"Please--"

He had not heard them speak before. They had a language of their own, of course; most supernatural creatures did. But he should have realized that even the swan maidens would have been touched by the human world. Even the swan maidens spoke English.

"Come with me," he said, and pulled her to her feet. She stood, swaying, her gaze locked on the swan skin he held in his hand.

With deliberate slowness, Stefan tucked it away under his shirt, snug against his skin. "Come with me or I will destroy it," he said, and took her arm when she made no move to approach him.
She trembled at his touch, her eyes awash with tears now, and they spilled down her cheeks like liquid diamonds. "Oh, please--"

Stefan had read the stories, and he knew what she expected him to do. Steal her away, like some sort of chattel; rape her, perhaps, so she would bear his children. Swan maidens--according to the stories, at least--were prized as wives. They never complained; they rarely spoke in their own defense. In fact, they were little more than slaves to the men who captured them, until that man grew fat and lazy and his supernatural wife discovered where he had hidden her skin.

That's where the stories differed. And despite the fact that swans were notoriously strong, Stefan could not find himself willing to believe that this pale girl was capable of killing him.

Quickly, lest they be seen by someone who would interfere, he led her through the forest to the house he had found as a ruin--a former wizard's retreat that now served his needs and allowed him to continue his research in peace. The elves weren't very happy at his presence, but they did not bother him. If they knew about his prisoner, they might have taken notice and tried to drive him out, but no one had come after the boy he had found in the forest, and no one would try to rescue his new plaything, either.

He left her in a spare room and locked the door. If he dared, he would kill her, but he had found out the hard way that death negated the effects of the shapeshifter's skin. That product of his failure lay under six feet of earth in the human realm, his bones mouldering, his skin burned. Stefan still remembered those stinking flames--and the taste of that boy's fresh blood.

Brenna whined at him as he strode past, an obvious question in her gaze. He ignored her, his mind intent on the swan skin that lay warm against his skin. He had rejected Magdalen's offer, confident that he would eventually discover Gabriel's secret.

Sometimes, he regretted that decision.



One week later, he was no closer to finding the secret. The boy in the dungeons had lapsed into delirium, and the swan girl hid from his rages, refusing to answer his questions.

A large piece of his mind realized that she probably didn't know the answer to his questions, but that did not bring him any relief. By the time he decided to try another approach with the girl, her pale skin was marked with bruises.

"I only wish to understand," he said. "How is it that you have a skin and I do not?"

She was curled up against the wall, tears fresh on her cheeks, her arms raised to protect her head. But when he asked his question, she raised her head and stared at him warily.

But she made no response until he shifted shape to show her. And then--almost fatally, for he had to hold himself back so not to tear out her throat--she laughed at him.

"You think I can help you understand?" Her laughter faded in the face of his growl, but the damage had been done. "You will have to ask the one who made you what you are," she said, dismissing him as wholly as a Queen would dismiss a lowly servant. "I cannot give you what you lack."

That night, he hunted one of her kin, tore out its throat, and threw the body at her feet.
"Tell me."

Her voice did not waver as she stared at the dead swan. "I have nothing to tell you."

Perhaps she thought that he would kill her if she held no importance to him. But Stefan had no other options, and she did not seem to realize that. Yet.

The second night, he threw the wolf skin at her feet. "I can use this--why can't I use your skin?"

Her recoil was so slight--so fleeting--that he thought that inadvertent movement was a mere shadow, at first. "If his kin find you, they will tear the flesh from your bones."

Stefan shrugged. "I found him at the bottom of a cliff with a broken leg," he said. "He was not born a wolf."

Her chin lifted, ever so slowly. "But I was born a swan," she said, staring at him with a challenge in her gaze. "You were born human, were you not?"

Stefan raised his hand to strike her, but this time she did not flinch back from the threat. "Yes. I was," he said. "But I need to know your secret."

She shook her head. "It is not my secret you need to know."

And perhaps that was true, but he could not search out Gabriel and expect to discover his secrets without a fight that he would most assuredly lose.

If his only other option was to slink back into Magdalen's embrace, he thought he would rather die. Surely, there had to be another way to uncover Gabriel's secret.

"Your wolf--is he still alive?" She touched the wolf skin, then withdrew her hand as if she feared the toothless head would bite.

"He was alive two days ago," Stefan said. "And he'll stay alive until I no longer need his skin." He purposely roughened his voice to show her just how little respect he held for the lives of his prisoners.

She flinched this time, but recovered quickly, and gathered the skin into her arms. "You said he had a broken leg--did you heal it?"

"No."

"And you expect him to live?" Her eyes narrowed. "Let me see him, at least--Perhaps I could help him--"

Stefan turned his back, remembering only when something growled behind him that she still had the wolf skin.

And perhaps swans were more dangerous than he had thought. He turned to face her again, shifting shape as she threw herself at him, her teeth bared--all wolf, this one, no sign of the timid maiden in her gaze now.

But despite the skin she had donned, she did not know how to fight as a wolf. And it was only a matter of moments--a quick and doomed fight--before Stefan had her throat between his teeth.

If he held Gabriel's secret, he could have turned her into a Hound and forced her to obey him. But since he did not, he shifted shape, tore the skin from her body, and watched, silent, as she curled up on the floor and vomited up what little food he had given her.

"If you wish to fight your way free of me, you'll have to try harder than that," Stefan said, and wadded the wolfskin into a ball. "Your attempt will cost you, my dear. I have no patience for betrayal."

For the next five nights, he brought her a swan. Twice, he tore off their skins and killed them in human form; once he caught a young boy, an anomaly, since male swans were rare. The boy fought, and died, just like the others, and Stefan used their skins to fashion a swan skin cloak.

He did not stay to hear his captive's pleas until the sixth night--the swans were becoming cautious now and trying to hide from his hunting.

"What do you want?" she cried as he pushed a little girl into the room--hardly old enough to be a swan, in truth. "Will you slaughter all my kin, just because I cannot help you?"

"Why can't I use your skin?" Stefan shouted, what little patience he possessed gone now in the fact of her tears. "Why can't I create Hounds? What knowledge do I lack?"

"I do not know," his captive whispered, and turned her face towards the wall.

There was no joy in the young swan's death. Stefan left her body out in the garden and tried to summon up the desire to hunt the rest of his captive's kin. Perhaps she told the truth. Perhaps she couldn't help him.

Perhaps serving Magdalen was the only way.

As if he had summoned her, Magdalen appeared to him a week later with her two Hounds at her side.

"Have you given up?" she asked, her voice cool. "While your failures are interesting to watch, your actions against the swans are drawing notice."

"Notice from whom?" Stefan asked. The swans had no protection; he had made certain of that.

"Your Council, and the elves," Magdalen replied. "I've heard that the elves intend to investigate, and while they aren't inclined to care if you stay in your place, they will care if you prey on their own."

"The Council holds no jurisdiction in Faerie," Stefan snapped. "What do you want?"

Magdalen smiled. "The same thing I wanted before: your cooperation, and your strength."

"And in exchange you will give me Gabriel's secret? You will teach me how to make my own Hounds?"

"You already know," Magdalen said.

This was too much to bear. "If I already knew--"

"You assume the Hounds of the Hunt are true shapeshifters," Magdalen said. "But I told you before that they have no human form."

This was not true, but even now Stefan hesitated to tell her what he had seen. "Then my daughter is truly lost to me," he said.

"As a daughter, yes," Magdalen said. "But not as a Hound."

She had made the same argument before, and Stefan had refused her. But he had nothing to show for the time he had spent searching out Gabriel's secret; nothing but his prisoners, who would soon be dead, if the boy wasn't already dead.

"And yet you say I already know Gabriel's secret," Stefan said. "What makes you think I won't discover it myself?"

"Do you remember when he turned you into a Hound?" Magdalen asked.

"Of course!" But the question awoke dark memories of that time; and a host of regret that clouded his mind. Those were memories best left forgotten. But he remembered running through the snow--a white, freezing forest--and hearing the Hounds behind him. He had held fast to the reason for his sacrifice, and in truth, Brenna had only been an excuse.

He had wanted glory. But instead, he had become an outcast.

"I am offering you a position as my trusted warrior," Magdalen said. "I would not offer just anyone this position."

"And how do you know I won't betray you?" Stefan asked. "I betrayed the Council, in effect; I betrayed their ideals and their edicts. How do you know I won't do the same to you?"

"I don't know, of course," Magdalen said. "But I can only hope you will not. I have a lot of knowledge to share--knowledge that you wish to possess."

"And when I no longer need your knowledge?" Stefan asked. He could not tell if he was trying to talk her out of this service or if he would seriously consider her offer this time.

"Then we will see," Magdalen said, her lips curving into a smile, as if she sensed victory at hand.
"You have a place to stay?" Stefan asked.

"I have a place, yes," Magdalen replied. "it is not so fine as your--your house, but it will do until I find something more suitable."

She said the word house as if his dwelling was a hole in the ground and little more.

"And your Hounds? They would be mine?" Stefan asked.

"Of course," Magdalen said, as if there would be no question of that.

Still, he distrusted her motives. He only wanted one thing from her--or did he? Once she gave him the secret to create his own Hounds, he could serve her, but what would that accomplish? He had no true goals, other than possessing the knowledge he lacked. Once he had his own Hunt, what would stop him from destroying Gabriel and his Hounds? What could stop him from becoming the raging terror Gabriel had once been, but without the constraints of a Master to serve?

If he aligned himself with Magdalen, she would expect him to fight Gabriel when that time came, and she would expect him to win.

"How long must I serve you?" he finally asked, not aligning himself either way.

"Until Gabriel is free," Magdalen said. "No longer than that, I promise you."

Time passed quickly in Faerie. Stefan had already discovered that. "You will not stop me from forming my own Hunt?"

"I would encourage you to form your own Hunt," Magdalen said. Before he could stop her, she touched him--a light, fleeting stroke on his arm. "But don't decide now. Think on it. As a gesture of good faith, I will gift you these Hounds."

And then, just as if a switch had been thrown, he felt the minds of the Hounds beside her in his head, just as he felt Brenna's presence through the bond he had formed with her. He called them to his side before Magdalen could change her mind, and they obeyed instantly.

Their minds were different than Brenna's. Less aware; more hound-like and less human-like. Brenna wondered things, and questioned things. These Hounds did not.

"Meet me here tomorrow at dusk if you decide to accept my offer," Magdalen said. "Otherwise, enjoy your Hounds."

She vanished before he could reply.

And, musing on this strange set of circumstances; still not quite convinced that service to Magdalen was the best course, Stefan returned home with the two Hounds at his side.

He had moved the girl to the dungeons days ago, refusing to give her the luxury of a bed when she was slated to die as soon as he killed her. Tormenting her was an effort now; she refused to react to his taunts and his efforts to break her. She grew lovelier every day, however, and even in her silence, he secretly marveled at her strength.

But if he were to accept Magdalen's offer, his prisoners would have to die. Both of them, and quickly. He would have no time to return to carry out the deed once he agreed to serve Magdalen and was a slave to her every whim.

And yet, he hesitated to end the swan maiden's torment. Dead, she held no challenge. And perhaps he could return; slip away from whatever place Magdalen had found.

Or, perhaps--perhaps he should give her the choice herself. Leave her in the dungeon cell with a dagger, to take her own life once she realized that her freedom was forever lost.

He had taken pains not to broadcast the location of the stone house. The elves had left the spot alone; the other creatures who lived in the forest had never come close. Whoever had built this house had instilled wards around its grounds to drive off the unwary, weak wards, yes, but they had worked over many years.

If he left the girl alive, and returned later to gloat over her body--would he find these halls as dusty as they had been when he arrived?

He stepped inside the house to find it in shambles, the furniture broken, a pool of drying blood on the floor and Brenna nowhere to be found. The path of destruction did not reach down the hall, but something had gouged out the wood around the doorway, and a smaller path of blood dribbled down the darkness of the hallway, vanishing into one of the bedrooms.

What had happened? And on the tail end of that thought--had Magdalen caused this?

The two Hounds sniffed around the pool of blood, then froze, hackles raised, as a shadow blocked the doorway and a--a thing pushed its way inside, dragging an elven deer behind it.

A troll, Stefan realized in the heartbeat before it saw him. A wild troll, not a member of the tribes of trolls that roamed both Faerie and the human world. This one had moss and lichen growing on its skin, and dull, greasy hanks of hair sprouting in tufts on top of its head.

And it had obviously claimed his house as its own.

For a fleeting moment as he shifted shape, Stefan wondered if Magdalen had somehow set the troll upon him. And as it roared--showing stained and rotting teeth--he wondered if three Hounds were enough to defeat it.

The troll's only weapon--other than its strength--was a thick wooden club that sheered off chunks of stone from the thick floor, and shattered the rest of the door frame. Stefan fell back and let the other Hounds attack. While they were occupied, he ran down the hall, following the trail of blood.

It stopped right outside one of the bedroom doors. Inside the room, Brenna lay near the body of a girl--an elf, Stefan realized, but not one of the elves who lived in the castle nearby. The ruling elves were tall and thin and pale, unearthly beautiful and with mannerisms to match. This one was small, and brown-skinned, the front of her dress a mass of blood and gore.

Brenna whined when Stefan appeared in the doorway. And since there was no chance this elf had dragged herself down the corridor, Stefan shifted shape and approached his Hound.

"Did you think to save her, then?" he asked, his lip curling. "Didn't you think that driving that troll away would be a better task?"

Brenna flinched and whined, pawing at the girl's body. At first, Stefan couldn't imagine what she wanted; the girl was obviously dead. But then, as he studied her, he realized that he could see the pulse flickering in her slender neck--fading, but still alive.

The troll roared. The two Hounds appeared in the hallway, panting and bleeding, one favoring its right front leg.

The door was not wide enough for the troll, but that did not stop it from trying to get through, and the thuds and cracks of its club echoed down the hallway.

As one, Brenna and the two Hounds looked to their Master for instruction. And for a moment, Stefan did not know what to do. If he sent his Hounds against the troll, he had no doubt they would be killed. And he did not want to lose his Hunt so quickly.

But the troll blocked the only exit back into Faerie. At least--the only exit Stefan knew.

A small sigh from the elf girl was the only indication of her death. Brenna had saved her, but for what? So she could die in peace instead of being eaten by the troll? She would not answer him when he asked her through the bond, and he lacked enough expertise to force her reasons from her mind. Perhaps Gabriel could do such a thing; perhaps not.

"Tear her apart," Stefan said, and watched the look in Brenna's eyes when she realized what he meant. "We'll use the pieces to bait the troll so we can leave. This place holds nothing for me now. That troll can feast in these halls and destroy every sign that I was ever here."

However much he hated to admit it, he had a new Master now.

4.

Lucas Lane hovered outside the library door, politely waiting for the old man who sat inside to acknowledge him. His uncle Peter sat in shriveled splendor with a worn velvet blanket spread over his useless legs, a sheaf of papers clutched in one age-spotted hand.

After a moment, Lucas thought he recognized the writing on the papers, and his heart sank.

"Uncle Peter?" He spoke softly, since the old man's hearing was just as good as it had ever been.

Peter Lane stirred. "Lucas." He motioned with his free hand. "Come in, come in. And shut the door behind you."

Lucas cleared his throat. "You--You wanted to see me?" How much trouble would he be in for writing that paper?

"Professor Honeycutt gave me this yesterday," Peter said. "He informed me that he intended to give you a passing grade, despite the incredulity of your claims."

"I researched!" Lucas forced his voice not to rise. "I read everything in the library about the Hunt, Uncle. And I--"

Peter raised his empty hand, a smile creasing the lines on his face. His blue eyes twinkled. "I didn't send for you to tell you that you did a bad job, Lucas. I sent for you to tell you that not all knowledge is contained in the books of this library."

Lucas sat down, uninvited. "I know that," he said. "But short of--of interviewing Gabriel himself--"

Peter's smile widened. "Yes, I understand. Your paper deserves the highest grade in class, despite what Professor Honeycutt says. You have done your research. And your theories are sound."

Despite himself, Lucas felt a flush of pride. He had slaved over that paper. "You said--you said my theories are sound."

"They are." Peter stacked the pages neatly and set them on the table beside his chair. "But there's plenty about the Hunt that you won't find in any of these books or journals."

Lucas swallowed hard. "You were there when the Hunt was bound, weren't you?" He had not interviewed his uncle, because his professor had insisted on paper sources. Even interviewing Gabriel would have counted against his grade, if he had dared do such a thing.

"I was there," Peter said. "At that time, I was the youngest member of the Council." He smiled again. "Younger than you, even."

"I read your account," Lucas said. "You were very brave."

"I was scared stiff," the old man said. "Not brave at all. But I knew what had to be done, so I did it. That's one of the reasons why I sent for you tonight."

Lucas frowned. "What does that have to do with bravery?"

"Nothing and everything," Peter said. "About a week after the Hunt was bound, I followed a survivor of the carnage to the waterfall. You know about the waterfall, I expect?"

It was a wonderful secret, deep in the forest. There were no real rules, so to speak, that the students of Darkbrook weren't allowed to venture that far, so Lucas had no qualms about telling the truth.

"I've been there a couple of times," he said.

Peter nodded. "I expect you have." He stared beyond Lucas now, in the past, perhaps, where he was younger and had full use of his legs. "I followed a survivor of the Hunt's binding. He wasn't truly a Hound, not anymore, and the binding had affected his mind. When I tried to talk to him, he turned on me."

"He--He turned on you?"

"And stabbed me, right here," Peter said, pushing his gnarled fingers into his side. "I expect he intended to finish me off, but the Hunt arrived in time to stop him."

Lucas blinked. "The Hunt arrived? To save you? Why would they do such a thing right after the binding?"

"Gabriel could not harm a member of the Council," Peter said.

"But what does this have to do with my paper?" Lucas couldn't find the connection at all. This was fascinating history, of course, but--

"You wanted to know if it would be possible for the Hounds of the Hunt to have a human form," Peter said. "What I'm about to tell you--" he coughed, suddenly, and had to take a moment to catch his breath. "I'm old, Lucas. Too old, I think sometimes."

"You're not that old," Lucas lied.

Peter chuckled. "You don't have to lie to me. I know how old I am."

Embarrassed, Lucas shrugged and stared down at his hands.

"I've been watching you," Peter said. "Of all my relatives here at Darkbrook, you have the most inquisitive mind, Lucas. You'll make a wonderful Council Historian when the time comes."

Lucas stared at him. "That's--that's what I want," he said, struggling not to let his hopes rise too high. "But I realize that there's a lot of competition for the position. And that the most qualified person will be picked."

Peter laughed. "That's very diplomatic of you," he said. "Some of your peers wouldn't be so kind."

Lucas shrugged, embarrassed at the praise. "What were you going to tell me?"

"What I want to tell you cannot leave this room, Lucas." Peter's smile faded. "Ever. You may pass the information on to your successor, but by then the Council's binding will have expired, and hopefully there will be no reason for such secrets."

"And this secret is about the Hunt?" Lucas guessed, both excited and frightened about being responsible for such an important secret. "No one else knows?"

"As far as I know, if I did not pass this to you, the secret will die with me," Peter said. "Your paper here made my final decision."

"It did?"

Peter picked up a pair of reading glasses from the table beside his chair and flipped through Lucas' paper until he found the paragraph he wanted to read. "'As such, and since the Hounds are indeed bound to their Master--and, as such, are reflections of their Master, then would it be so impossible to wonder if they, too, have a human form?'"

"Well, it's possible, isn't it?" Lucas had debated long and hard whether or not to leave those sentences intact. Despite his reservations, he had left them in.

Now, perhaps, he would find out why.

"Oh, it's not only possible," Peter said.

Lucas' heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

"They do."



Next update March 16th.


House St. Clair Home

Read more!

Heart's Desire, Part 1

Heart's Desire

a novel of the Wild Hunt

Book 1 in the Beth-Hill Series

By Jennifer St. Clair

This book is dedicated to my Mom and Dad, in whose woods the Wild Hunt will always roam.

As such, and since the Hounds are indeed bound to their Master--and, as such, are reflections of their Master, then would it be so impossible to wonder if they, too, have a human form?

--Excerpt from a paper written by Lucas Lane at age 17.

Binding the Hunt

Part 1

1.

When the smoke cleared and the last howl died away, Peter opened his eyes and stared at the destruction.

The Hunt had not been easy to bind. Bodies littered the clearing, some still and obviously dead, others merely stunned, as Peter had been mere moments before.

It would take days to clean up the evidence of this night. Perhaps Stefan would--

The thought crystallized inside of Peter's mind. Stefan. He scrambled up, ignoring the shooting pain in his legs, and stumbled across the devastation until he reached the circle.

The Master of the Hunt lay inside the circle, his eyes closed, his chest still. Peter had not been close enough to him to tell if he normally breathed, but didn't all living creatures--mundane or supernatural--have to breathe at one time or another?

He drew himself up and tried to quench the fear that still shivered through his heart. Tried to push past the pain. He was the only conscious member of the Council, and the Wild Hunt was now under Council control.

"Gabriel." His voice cracked, so he tried again. "Gabriel."

The Master of the Hunt stirred. His eyelids fluttered, but he did not awaken.

The Council's shared power was depleted from the binding, but Peter found enough left to tweak the circle. The Master of the Hunt groaned.

He looked human now, or more human than he had before. The unearthly glow that surrounded both the Master and the Hunt had faded as the battle raged, leaving Gabriel a mere shadow of his former self.

"Gabriel." This time, Peter found enough strength to back his order with power.

The Master of the Hunt opened his eyes. For a moment, Peter did not think he realized where he lay, but those silver eyes narrowed when he saw Peter standing on the other side of the circle.

Gabriel pushed himself up. It must have hurt; Peter saw pain flit across his face before it vanished under his habitual mask, but he seemed whole.

"Gabriel, where are your Hounds?"

At Peter's question, the pain returned. This time, Gabriel could not mask it. He stayed on his knees, swaying a little, and stared at the desolation around them.

The Master of the Hunt opened his mouth and licked his lips. "Dead."

Shock pinned Peter in place. He choked on his next question, swallowed it, and took a deep breath. "All dead? All of them?"

Gabriel closed his eyes. "You have your wish, wizard. You've bound me. Why should I give you my Hounds?"

"Because your Hounds--"

Nora's harsh voice broke through the silence. "Because you are bound to do the Council's bidding, dog, and your Hounds are part of your Hunt."

Peter saw Gabriel's eyes kindle fire. The Master of the Hunt rose to his feet, his face taut with pain. He took a step forward, seemed to remember the circle, and glared at Nora and Peter.

"If I were not bound to this circle, you would be dead, witch." He fairly spat the words.

Nora tweaked the circle's binding a bit harder than Peter had dared. Gabriel staggered back and fell to his knees.

"Where are your Hounds?"

The Master of the Hunt's gaze swept across the devastation. "Dead. I told you."

Nora didn't tweak the circle this time. She reached out and pulled. Gabriel's breath hissed from between his teeth.

"You've bound me, witch--"

"I think you might find our binding a lot easier to bear if you accepted it and answered Nora's question." This voice belonged to Peter's mentor and uncle, Nathan Lane. He was not the eldest Council member, but Peter privately thought he was the most powerful wizard in all of Beth-Hill. He walked with the aid of a cane most of the time, but it had been destroyed in the struggle. Now he leaned heavily on a tree branch, looking all the more like a druid of old.

"You forced me into this binding and you expect me to cooperate with you?" Gabriel's voice dripped with scorn. "Why should I?"

"It would make the next century bearable for all of us," Nathan said mildly. "More especially for you and your Hounds."

"I will still be here long after you and your Council crumble to dust," Gabriel snapped.

"Perhaps you will," Nathan agreed, unperturbed. "But you will still be bound." He stepped up to the very edge of the circle. "I could force you to tell us where your Hounds hide. I could force you to tell us how your Hunt came into being. I could force you to serve the Council in the basest of manner, but I only ask that you answer a simple question of your own free will."

Peter held his breath as Gabriel stared at Nathan. For a long moment, he though the Master of the Hunt would refuse, but then Gabriel nodded.

"You speak the truth," he said. "You could force me to do all these things." He hesitated. "But why--" His gaze slipped to Nora, who stood beside Peter, still glowering. "But why do you not?"

Nathan smiled. "Because the Council would not wish that existence on its worst enemy," he said. "You are bound to us, yes. But only because we did not wish to kill you or your Hounds."

"But I wish to kill you," Gabriel said. His smile chilled Peter's soul. "If I were free, you would be dead now. Have no doubt of that."

"You were not summoned here to kill us," Nathan said.

"True. But the person who summoned me here is dead. You--" With a shrug, Gabriel dismissed those he and his Hounds had killed. "You kept me from my task."

"Where are your Hounds?" Nathan asked, refusing to rise to the bait.

Gabriel stared at him for a long moment. "They are dead."

"All of them?" Nathan asked.

"Six still live," Gabriel whispered. Peter saw the strength of his true desire shine in his gaze. He shivered. His arms prickled with goosebumps.

Now it was Nathan's turn to hesitate. "And Stefan?"

Peter's heart gave a rabbity lurch in his chest at Stefan's name.

Gabriel shrugged. "I don't know. I feel six lives." He closed his eyes. "Weak. Some fading. All in agony because of you."

"You are their Master," Nathan said. "We tried our best to end this peacefully."

Gabriel shook his head. "My Hunt has never known peace."



"Then it is far past time that you know it," Nathan said. "Where are your Hounds?"

Gabriel closed his eyes.

"Where are they?" Nora lurched forward and came dangerously close to the circle's edge. "Where did you hide them?"

Gabriel opened his eyes. "You shielded Stefan from me."

"We tried," Nathan said. "Did we fail?"

"I do not sense him among the dead," Gabriel whispered.

"Nor among the living?" Nathan asked.

Gabriel nodded. "Nor among the living."

"Peter." Nathan did not turn around. "Are you hurt?"

"I'll live." He could ignore his wounds to discover what had happened to Stefan.

"I need you to--"

Nora shook her head and grabbed Nathan's arm. "No. Send the Hunt to find him."

"But they'll kill us!" For a moment, Peter forgot about the binding; forgot about the terrible price the Council had paid to leash the Master of the Hunt. He remembered the terror of the past few months--that horrible realization that a dead man had summoned something he couldn't control.
And how it had fallen to the Council to fix things.

"No. The Hunt is bound to the Council now. In effect, we are their Masters. Am I correct, Gabriel?"

Gabriel hesitated, then nodded, as if loathe to admit such a thing. "But once your binding has ended--"

"A hundred years from now," Nathan said. "The world will be different, and so will you."

"And you will be dead." Gabriel said this without any heat at all, merely stating a fact.

Nathan nodded. "That's true. By then I'll be dead. But the Council will still live, and you are bound by the Council, not any single person."

"What would you have me do, then?" Gabriel asked.

"He'll try to kill one of us the second you erase the circle," Peter whispered, his throat dry. He'd seen the Hunt's victims, after all. All too clearly.

"He'll find out he cannot," Nathan said, and scuffed out one line of the circle with the toe of his boot.

In a flash, Gabriel stood on the other side, far too close to Peter for comfort.

Madness and pain ruled in his silver gaze, trapping Peter where he stood. Gabriel's lips drew back from his teeth in a soundless growl.

But nothing happened. Gabriel didn't attack. Instead, he waited for Nathan's order, like a servant would wait for his Master's call.

"Find Stefan," Nathan said. "Dead or alive--and bring him back to the Council's house as soon as you find him."

"Obviously we want him alive," Nora said.

"Obviously," Gabriel said, and for a moment, Peter thought that the Master of the Hunt was laughing at them.

After all, what was a century to the Master of the Wild Hunt?

"If he will not come, then do not force him," Nathan said. "Report back to me."

"Very well." Gabriel waited for a moment more, but Nathan had nothing left to add. With one last glance at Peter, the Master of the Hunt turned on his heel and vanished into the forest, just as the sun broke through the haze leftover from the destruction.

Peter remembered to breathe only after he tried to speak. "He--"

"The Hunt can harm no one, save on the order of the Council," Nathan said. "I suggest we leave Gabriel to his Hunt and see to the wounded."


In all, five Council members died binding the Master of the Hunt. Peter could only console himself in the fact that Gabriel had lost more Hounds. For five days, he helped care for the wounded and cleared the evidence from the forest so no one would stumble upon the remains of the carnage.

On the sixth day, when Gabriel had not returned with Stefan in tow, Nathan used the binding to call him out of the forest.

The Master of the Hunt appeared near to dusk, a much-reduced gaggle of Hounds ranging around his legs. Peter studied them as they approached. Although Gabriel masked the pain well, there were small clues in his posture and bearing that told Peter all was not well. And his Hounds seemed dazed and unsure of themselves; no longer the fierce harbingers of death that had terrorized Beth-Hill for so long.

Peter had never purposely harmed an animal before in his life, but he wanted to beat those Hounds within an inch of their unholy lives for what they had done. But he knew they had no true choice but to obey their Master's every whim.

Gabriel's eyes glittered in the dying light. "I have not found him," he said before Nathan could speak.

One of the Hounds whined, then cringed back when Gabriel turned to stare at it. He did not speak, but the Hound quivered as if he had shouted.

"You don't need to punish them for your failure," Nathan said softly.

Gabriel shook his head. "They are my Hounds. They belong to me, not you, old man."

"But you belong to us," Nathan said, unperturbed. "Or must I remind you of that?"

The binding shimmered between them, a connection that would not fade in Peter's lifetime. A century seemed like an eternity to Peter, but he knew it would only be a blink of Gabriel's eye. That the Council had been able to bind the Hunt still surprised him. Something as--mythical as the Wild Hunt did not seem like it could be bound.

"No." Gabriel ground out the words between clenched teeth. "You needn't remind me. I cannot help but feel your binding, wizard."

"Is he alive?" Peter blurted out.

"I have found no scent of him in the forest," Gabriel said. "He may be dead."

"And he may yet be alive," Nathan said. "We cannot give up. Keep searching for any sign of him, Gabriel."

"Very well."

But in the end, Stefan came to the Council instead of the Hunt.


Less than a week later, Peter saw a dark shape slink behind the Council safehouse, hugging the shadows along the walls as if it did not wish to be seen. Curious, he stepped off the lighted path and into the shadows--and found himself staring into the gaze of madness.

"Peter." Stefan's eyes glittered in the reflected light from the path.

"Stefan!" Peter quelled the fear that leapt into his throat and tried to smile. "We hoped you survived. Where have you been?"

"Did you send that bastard after me?" Stefan bared his teeth. "Did you?" He grabbed Peter's arm with a bruising grip.

"I--Nathan--" No, it had been Nora. "Nora thought it best."

Stefan spat something on the ground that started to smolder in the dry grass. "Of course."

"We hoped you survived," Peter said lamely, trying to understand his anger. "We tried to shield you from the worst of the--"

Stefan's grip tightened. "Hush."

"But I--"

"Stefan, let him go."

Relief weakened Peter's knees at the sound of Nathan's voice. He tried to twist out of Stefan's grip, but the other man only tightened his hold.

"Why? So he can run to you again?" Stefan grinned. "I think not."

"We tried to shield you from the brunt--"

"Silence, old man," Stefan said. "Do you realize what you did? You almost killed her!"

Peter's heart lurched. He licked his lips. "H-her?"

"Brenna. Damn you." Peter did not see Stefan's hand move, but a knife appeared in his free hand. Moonlight shimmered off the blade.

"Stefan!" The rest of Peter's protest lodged in his throat. Again, he tried to pull away. Again, he failed to break Stefan's grip.

"You do realize she's lost to me now," Stefan hissed. "No matter what I do, I can't have her back."

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Nathan said, "but there's no reason to take it out on Peter--"

"Yes, there is," Stefan bared his teeth again, but dropped the knife. "I will admit I've grown quite fond of human flesh--"

Something small and bright zipped past Peter's left shoulder and hit Stefan in the chest. It smoldered where it landed, and then Stefan's clothes burst into flames.

To put out the fire, Stefan had to release Peter's arm. Peter staggered back, behind Nathan, gasping for air.

"This isn't over," Stefan hissed, cradling a burned arm to his chest. "This isn't over, Nathan. I'll see you punished for what you've done to her."

Before Peter could react, Stefan shifted into a hound and vanished into the darkness. Peter thought he saw a smaller shape detach itself from the shadows and follow him, but he couldn't be certain.

He rubbed his arm and stared after them. "What--What do you plan to do?"

Nathan sighed. "It's truly unfortunate that Stefan's daughter was taken by the Hunt," he said. "But there is little the Council can do now."

"Stefan's daughter?" Peter stared at his mentor in shock. "But--"

"He never married Brenna's mother," Nathan said. "But evidently, when his daughter was taken, he decided to volunteer for the task."

The 'task' had been a terrible risk--allowing a member of the Council to become a Hound to infiltrate the Wild Hunt. The experiment had worked, after a fashion; Stefan had been able to keep a small measure of independance despite Gabriel's iron hold on his Hounds.

"Can't--Can't Gabriel just change her back?" Peter asked. Was such a thing even possible?

"Gabriel has no control over Stefan or his daughter," Nathan said. "And to even consider that possibility, we would have to find Stefan and he would have to be willing to work with us. And so would Gabriel."

"But--" There had to be a solution.

Nathan didn't reply. He turned and limped back into the safehouse, an old man again. Peter watched him go.

Why wouldn't he try to find a way to free them? Peter remembered the mad look in Stefan's eyes and wondered if there was anything left of his mind to save. What if Gabriel couldn't release him or his daughter? What if they were trapped this way for the rest of their lives?

Peter's eyes pricked with tears as the image of the small group of graves rose into his mind. Veronica had been one of the first Council members killed. He missed her sharp wit and equally sharp spellcasting.

And most of the deaths stemmed from the attempt to shield one of their own from the binding. Peter couldn't forget that either.

In the end, safe in the knowledge that Nathan could find him at any time using the Council's shared power, Peter slipped away from the safehouse and vanished into the forest.

He told himself he was not going after Stefan, but the trail was too easy to follow.

He walked for miles, trusting the stars to tell him which way lay home. After two hours, he heard the roar of a waterfall, and knew exactly how far into the forest he had traveled.

Nathan had explained that the forests of Faerie and the forests of the Human Realm had similar layouts. Thus, the awesome waterfall and rushing river that lay in the middle of the forest surrounding Beth-Hill had a twin in Faerie that was even more spectacular.

Peter had yet to visit Faerie to see it. The mundane waterfall was beauty enough.

And on the other side, for those foolhardy enough to try to cross the raging river, pocket portals glowed between the crossed branches of trees and a natural arch of stone. This was treacherous territory. The wild portals could trap the unwary in Faerie--or places Peter did not want to imagine.

Stefan stood on the edge of the bank, staring down into the water. The small, dark shape of Brenna sheltered in his shadow.

Peter had never even seen her as a human. But surely no one deserved that fate. Surely the Council should tear Gabriel's remaining Hounds away from him and set them free--

"Why did you follow me, boy?" Stefan's harsh voice carried easily over the roar of the waterfall.

Peter flushed, even though he realized Stefan was only baiting him. "I'm no boy. I'll turn seventeen in two weeks."

Stefan snorted. "You are no man. What do you want?"

Peter tested the shared power that would allow Nathan to find him instantly, but he sensed no awareness from the other Council members. In fact, Nathan seemed a bit annoyed that he wasn't in the sickrooms caring for the wounded. Peter felt a flush of shame at that.

"I want you to--" Why had he followed Stefan? "Most of the deaths were due to shielding you from the binding, did you know that?"

Stefan still did not turn around. "No. I did not know that." He hesitated. "I was too busy trying to save my daughter's life!"

"If you had told us the truth before volunteering to be a Hound--" Peter could not erase the contempt from his voice. Too many people had died without knowing Stefan's true reasons for risking his life.

Stefan spun around. "You know nothing, boy! You know nothing, and you never will know. You will die wondering if you could have prevented--" A sword appeared in his hand, glittering and deadly in the moonlight.

Peter stepped back. "Stefan, don't be hasty. I came--"

Stefan lunged.

The moonlight tricked the gaze and made sharp blades seem farther away. Peter thought he was far enough out of range until he felt cold steel slide into his stomach, tearing through skin and muscle until it poked out the other side.

The pain nearly overwhelmed him. He fell back and choked on a scream, blood thick and wet under his fingers.

Stefan stood above him and raised his sword for the killing blow.

A whisper of sound was the only warning Peter had before Gabriel appeared beside him, one pale hand upraised to grasp the sword's blade as it descended. Stefan hissed in surprise and tried to jerk the sword away, but Gabriel held fast.

"You do not want to fight me," the Master of the Hunt whispered. Even though the pain, Peter had no trouble hearing him.

Stefan grimaced. "You destroyed my life and the life of my daughter. Why shouldn't I kill you?"

"You could try, but it would be folly." Black blood seeped through Gabriel's clenched fingers, but he did not seem to notice. "I have nothing left to live for, after all. But you do." With his free hand, he pointed to where Brenna crouched.

Peter tried to sit up. He felt Nathan's alarm through the shared link to the other Council members, but he couldn't gather his wits enough to cast any spells. The pain was too great.

Gabriel spared him a glance. "Stay where you are or you'll bleed to death, Peter."

Stefan sneered. "So now you're the Council's protector? I thought you wanted them dead!"

"I--I was not summoned here to murder the Council." Gabriel's mouth twisted. "They prevented me from achieving my goal. But even bindings such as this one can be worked to my advantage."

Peter tried to fit his mind around this new acceptance, but the pain prevented him from concentrating on the marvel.

Stefan seemed to have trouble with it as well. "You did not bring your Hounds," he finally commented, sounding almost sane.

"Yes, I did," Gabriel said. "They wished to see your death as much as I do." At his words, the six remaining Hounds flowed from the depths of the forest and surrounded their Master. Peter was close enough to make out each individual hair on their bodies. Too close. He could not choke back a whimper of fear.

Stefan bared his teeth. "My death?"

With a twist of his hand that had to hurt, Gabriel tore the sword from Stefan's grasp and threw it on the ground. "How long will you survive before the Council orders me to Hunt you down, Stefan? They will not tolerate your thirst for blood."

Instead of replying, Stefan launched himself, not at Gabriel, but at his Hounds. He changed in midair, twisting sideways as he bore one Hound down under his teeth.

Gabriel shouted something Peter didn't catch and the other Hounds attacked.

And then, something impossible happened. Peter thought he'd lost so much blood he was hallucinating, at first. The Hound Stefan had attacked first stumbled out of the fray and shifted its shape. Instead of a Hound, a man no older than Peter crouched on the ground, bleeding from a dozen wounds from Stefan's teeth and claws. He wore human clothes; held a human shape, but he was a Hound.

Peter gasped. The Hound glanced up, froze, and opened his mouth to speak. At the same moment, Stefan gave a loud cry, turned, and dived into the river. The rest of the Hounds gathered on the bank, staring after him.

Silence descended, broken only by the roar of the waterfall. The spear of pain in Peter's stomach prevented him from fleeing when Gabriel loomed over him. He braced himself for death.

"My lord, I--" the Hound spoke, his voice quick and fearful.

"Silence." Gabriel's voice snapped at his Hounds more effectively than any whip. He stared down at Peter. "You saw."

Peter licked his lips. He could not deny it. "Yes. I did." The Council had not known the Hunt could shift shape. That explained quite a bit, in hindsight. How Gabriel had managed to evade them for so long. How the Hunt had seemed to understand human speech. "Nathan will want to know." Peter did not realize he had spoken aloud until Gabriel's hand closed over his shirt and bore him up.

For a heart-stopping moment, Peter stared death in the eye. And then Gabriel released him to fall back on the ground, and the Master of the Hunt stepped away.

"I cannot kill you." He sounded genuinely regretful.

"I--I rather wish you wouldn't," Peter whispered. "But I--I doubt I will reach the Council house before I die." Speaking of his impending mortality helped ease his fear a bit, strangely enough. Peter pressed his arm against the wound and tried to push past the pain.

"You will tell your Council what you saw, won't you?" Gabriel asked.

"I have to," Peter whispered, half-wondering why he hadn't told them already. The link of shared power could be used for communication, after all, but he was so weak--and scared--

"I could leave you here to die."

"I could order you to save me." Blackness rimmed Peter's vision. He doubted he had much time left for consciousness. Would the wolves in the forest pick his bones clean before Nathan and the others could reach him? Would the Hounds feast on his flesh?

Gabriel hesitated. "We could--We could make a bargain."

"What kind of a bargain?" Peter asked.

"If you give me your word you will not tell your Council what you saw, I will give you my word to deliver you safely home. Alive."

To keep a secret of this magnitude from the Council crept close to the edge of betrayal. He could use the binding to force Gabriel to save him, but--but the Master of the Hunt had saved his life when Stefan would have ended it. And that had to count for something.

Peter licked his lips again. "Agreed."

Gabriel hesitated. "If you break your word--"

"I will not break my word." He put as much force as he could in that assurance.

The Hounds ranged around their Master, wary and unhappy. Peter watched them for a moment, trying to pick out the one who had shifted shape. Could they all do that? Would his bargain with the Hunt rise up to haunt him one day? Would he regret giving his word that the Council not ever know of this?

A small whine broke his chain of thought and set the Hounds on alert again. Gabriel spared a glance at Peter, then approached Brenna, who still crouched near the edge of the river. He stretched out his hand. "Child, come with me."

She growled at him and bared her teeth.

"I can help you." Gabriel's voice was swallowed by advancing pain. Peter dully wondered how much blood he had lost.

Brenna growled at him again. When he drew too close, she snapped at his fingers with shining white teeth, turned tail, and followed Stefan into the river.

Gabriel stood for a moment, staring at the rushing water. Then, after an age had passed, he roused himself and turned to where Peter lay.

"You should not have followed him."

Peter could not help the laugh that bubbled from his throat. It tasted like blood. "I had to." How to make him understand? "I had to try."

Gabriel picked up Stefan's sword and stared at it. For a moment, Peter thought he would test the binding again and try to drive the sword into his heart, but he sighed instead and threw it to follow Stefan and Brenna into the river.

"That wasn't very intelligent; throwing away your only weapon."

It was a woman's voice, as cold as ice. Peter gasped at the sound, and Gabriel's Hounds were on guard in an instant, even before she appeared among them.

"Magdalen." Gabriel almost sounded--weary.

"It's been twenty years," the woman said, her red gown black in the moonlight. "You've been busy."

"I go where I am summoned," Gabriel said mildly. "You know that."

He stood in front of Peter now, with two Hounds on either side. Protecting him, Peter realized. The Hunt was protecting him. But why?

"Who is it that you're hiding?" the woman asked. She took a step forward, but a snarling Hound blocked her way.

"No one of importance," Gabriel said.

"And the one who ran away?" With one pale hand, Magdalen motioned towards the river.

"You're too late," Gabriel said, his voice still mild. "Two weeks too late, in fact."

Now he sounded as if he were smiling, but when Peter glanced up at his face, he found that it was just as remote as before.

Who was this woman? And what did she want with Gabriel?

The smile fell from her face. "What do you mean? The man who summoned you here is dead--I saw his body myself!"

The Council hadn't been able to find Jacob Daulton's body. But every indicator cried that he was dead. Peter tried to store this information away for Nathan and the rest of the Council, but he couldn't concentrate hard enough to remember it. He closed his eyes, then forced them open.

"You are too late," Gabriel said again. "Two weeks ago, the Council that rules this place bound me." This time, Peter saw a fierce smile flit across his face. "For a century, even. You'll just have to wait."

Magdalen did something--a spell of some sort, Peter thought. When nothing happened, she tried something else, and then something else, each one more desperate.

Nothing happened.

Gabriel let out a breath, as if he had not quite believed that the Council's binding would hold. "I spoke the truth."

Magdalen snarled at him, furious in an instant. "You dare mock me! I could destroy you!"

"You could try," Gabriel said. "But I would not wish to be around you if you failed."

There was a warning in his voice now, almost daring her to make the attempt. Peter tried to think past the pain--if someone tried to kill Gabriel, what would happen to the Council's binding? Did the binding place the Wild Hunt under the Council's protection?

He thought, perhaps, that it did.

One of the Hounds growled again, and moved to stand in front of its Master. Another one soon joined it, and then another. The rest circled around the woman's back, white smudges in the darkness.

"I will not leave you in peace," she said, as if just now realizing she was, in fact, outnumbered. "I will have you. If I have to wait a hundred years, then I will wait. But you will not escape me again."

Before Gabriel could reply to that, she vanished as quickly as she had come, leaving the Hounds growling at nothing.

Peter closed his eyes.

A moment later, Gabriel lifted him up.

Peter's heartbeat thundered in his ears. For a moment, the pain robbed him of his voice, but then he gasped, "What--what are you doing?"

"Fulfilling my end of our bargain," Gabriel said mildly, his face both remote and sad. "I do not give my word lightly." His Hounds ranged around his ankles as he carried Peter into the forest.
Peter stared at the Master of the Hunt, certain he would see a hint of humor in those silver eyes, but they were blank and cold. "I don't either."

But he could, very easily, break his word, and Gabriel had to realize that. Did he expect betrayal?

"I will keep my end of our bargain," he whispered, and let his eyes slide shut again.

Gabriel hesitated. "Thank you."

Either loss of blood and the pain from his wound tweaked with the passage of time or Peter had tracked Stefan with the speed of a snail, for a scant hour later they emerged from the forest once more. Torchlight blazed from the Council house's windows. Nathan himself stood in the doorway, his arms folded, but his aura worried.

"I believe--I believe the Council owes you a debt of thanks for returning Peter to us," Nathan said as they approached.

"I know," Gabriel said. "I could have very well left him to die."

"I will remember this," Nathan said, a thread of what sounded like--respect?--running through his voice.

Peter felt hands pulling him from Gabriel's grasp. He did not fight the release of the Master of the Hunt's cold grip, but he did force his eyes to open one last time before blackness swept him away.

"Thank you." He said those two words from the very bottom of his heart.

Gabriel nodded, then turned to vanish back into the forest. His Hounds followed, ghostly shapes among the trees.

"You should not have followed him," Nathan said, both his words and tone of voice mirroring Gabriel's earlier admonishment.

"I had to try," Peter whispered. He could barely force his eyes to stay open.

Nathan ruffled Peter's hair. "I know."

And then, with healing magic stealing through his veins to heal the damage Stefan had wrought, Peter closed his eyes and allowed the darkness to bear him away.

2.

"Show yourself, witch. I know you're there." Stefan didn't bother to raise his head--if she had wanted to kill him, she would have already made the attempt.

"I do not like your tone," the woman in red said, and appeared on an outcropping of rock not far away from where Stefan lay. He had seen--and heard--most of the exchange from the other side of the river. "Especially since I intend to lend you my aid."

"I don't need your help," Stefan snapped. "And do not assume I'm stupid enough to fall for your tricks." He licked his lips, and remembered the taste of the Hounds' blood.

Brenna whined from the shelter of a scrubby pine tree, and shivered at the woman's regard.

"I find it quite endearing that you're going to all of this trouble just to save your illegitimate daughter," she said, rising from her perch to approach him. "But surely one child is not worth all the effort?"

"I love my daughter!" Stefan rose to his feet and shook off the remnants of the lake water--like a dog. "Unless I'm mistaken, you are the trespasser here. Begone!"

The woman pursed her lips. "Very well. If you refuse my offer to help, then I cannot aid your daughter." She turned, as if to go, but hesitated, waiting for his word to stop.

Reluctantly, Stefan growled the words she wanted to hear. "How can you help her? She is lost to me unless Gabriel changes her back. And I do not think I can persuade the Council to order him to do that, despite what they claimed they could do before the Hunt was bound."

He had no true idea how many members of the Council had died during the binding, but he had felt their deaths along with the deaths of the Hounds.

Not that they had helped him.

When the woman did not reply, he sneered. "I didn't think so." He turned away from her and summoned Brenna to his side.

"You control her already," the woman said. "Impressive! With a bit of knowledge, you could very easily become the Master of your own Hunt, Stefan."

That comment alone gave him pause. He had envied Gabriel's control of his Hounds. Even after the Council's binding had freed him from Gabriel's influence, he had used what he had learned on his daughter.

The very life he had set out to save.

"The Council is lost to you now," the woman said. "They will not welcome you back."

"I know." He had not thought past surviving the binding of the Hunt. "The only thing I do not know is how to make more Hounds."

Brenna whined. Stefan could sense her confusion. And part of his mind wanted nothing to do with the woman's proposal. But the larger part--

"I know how," she said. "I know more about the Wild Hunt than you think. If the Council had consulted me before they attempted their binding--"

"The Council didn't know that you existed," Stefan said. "You know my name; may I have yours?"

"Gabriel is safe from me for a hundred years," the woman said. "A century of servitude to your precious Council."

"I cannot break the binding," Stefan said. "And I cannot attack the Hunt if the Council will retaliate." All at once, he realized how effortlessly Gabriel had managed to work this around to his advantage. What had he lost, other than his freedom and a few Hounds? A century was nothing to the Master of the Wild Hunt.

"I won't be alive in a century," he said, frustrated and weary. "If I cannot circumvent the Council, then Gabriel will go free and Brenna--"

"Surely Brenna is much better off as a Hound," the woman said. "You already control her. If you order her to attack, she will attack."

"But she is just a child!" Stefan protested. "An innocent in this--she wasn't supposed to become a Hound!"

"You never cared for her before," the woman said. "She is lost to you now, except as a Hound."

Her words were true. He had not married Brenna's mother, but he had sent her money for the child's upbringing. The Hunt's appearance in the forest had consumed the Council, especially after Jacob Daulton's death had set the Hunt free to terrorize the forest and the tiny villages that broke through the thick stands of trees.

Now--Now, she was lost to him. But as a Hound-- "You--You say you know how to create other Hounds?"

"I can teach you," the woman said, smiling now, as if she sensed victory.

"And how do I know that you're telling the truth?" Stefan asked, his eyes narrowing as he strove to ignore Brenna's soft whines. If she was well and truly lost to him, then he would have to think of her as a dog, nothing more. Not as his daughter. "And what is your name?"

"Do you know how the Wild Hunt came into being?" Again, she ignored his request for her name. "A long, long time ago, Gabriel was a servant in my mother's castle. When he displeased her, she created the Hunt and placed him at its head." She laughed. "You have an advantage over Gabriel already. He does not have the form of a Hound."

That was a nugget of information Stefan had not known before, but it still rang untrue. "I find it doubtful that Gabriel was a servant," he said. "Servants don't--Servants don't have the presence to command."

"He has always been a servant to me," the woman said with a shrug. "Prince or servant; what does it matter now? He was created by my mother, and for many years he served her by destroying her enemies with his Hounds."

"And then?" Stefan asked when she did not continue.

"And then he broke free from her spells and murdered her." The smile dropped from her lips. "With her dying breath, she cursed him to wander and to obey any summons from any Master that wanted him." She scowled. "If she had left well enough alone, Gabriel would have died a long time ago and none of this would have happened."

"You've been--following him for all this time?" Stefan had to grudgingly admire such a single-minded pursuit.

"Yes and no," the woman said. "I've been following him, but I haven't caught up with him in many years. Until now."

Stefan glanced down at Brenna. For a moment, he thought about asking the Council to save her--he would have to throw himself on their mercy and hope that nosy little Peter Lane did not die from his wound. But then, he remembered the Hound that had shifted shape. Their human blood tasted much different from their Hound blood--if that made any sense at all.

As a Hound, Brenna at least had teeth and claws to fight with. As a human, she would be a child still, helpless and weak.

"And now, I know exactly where he will be for the next hundred years." The woman's smile held no warmth at all, only a coldness that made the hair on the back of Stefan's neck rise.

"You say you know these things. Do you know how the Hunt shifts shape? I couldn't shift before, but I can now. How is that possible?" And then, just because she had yet to tell him, "May I have your name?"

"Magdalen," the woman said shortly, as if she loathed to give him that piece of information. "And the Hunt has no human form. That is why I approached you instead of one of the others."

Stefan almost told her what he had seen. But in the very last instant, he decided to keep that scrap of information to himself, just in case he could use it, later. "There are others? Survivors?" Surely she could not mean the Hounds still under Gabriel's control.

"There are two," Magdalen said. "And I have them, if you're wondering. The Council's spell to protect you also protected them, but I fear they are little more than Hounds now without a Master."

"And what do you want from me in exchange for this information?" Stefan asked. "And don't assume I will fight the Hunt in a hundred years. Despite the fact that I was one of Gabriel's Hounds, I am still human." Or close enough, at least.

"I am new in this place," Magdalen said, and smiled at him. "I need your strength and your knowledge. I need you to be my champion."

Stefan did not see her move, but she was suddenly beside him, her hand on his arm, stroking his muscles. He had to steel himself not to step away.

"And what strength you have!" Her smile widened. "I would ask that you challenge Gabriel once the Hunt is freed from the Council's binding. But you need not worry about mortality, Stefan." She ran one fingernail down the side of his face. "You will not die in Faerie."

Stefan stared at her. "If you are new here, then how do you know you'll be welcome in Faerie?" he asked. There was something in her voice--some spell, perhaps--that threatened to overcome any sense he had left. And he had to keep his wits intact.

"I don't," Magdalen said. "But I have not been unwelcome before."

"And you would teach me how to create Hounds?" Perhaps he could figure out how to give Brenna back her human form later. Or not, in truth. She did not need to fear anything as a Hound.

"That is only one of the things I will teach you," Magdalen promised.

Immortality--or, at least this version of it--meant that he would outlive both Peter and Nathan Lane and every other member of the Council who had survived the binding of the Wild Hunt. A century from now, the world would be much different--in ways he could not yet imagine.

But he had just won free of Gabriel. Did he truly want to bind himself to someone else so soon?
Could he not find Gabriel's secret on his own? How difficult could it be to learn how to make his own Hounds?

He had hesitated too long. Magdalen's face darkened. "Well?"

But then again, Stefan didn't wish to anger her either. Three enemies would spell his doom. He had already burned too many bridges.

"Your offer is--tempting," he said. "But I find myself loathe to swear myself a new Master so soon." When she did not react with fury, he continued, striving to keep his voice soft. "As you said, Gabriel has a century bound to the Hunt. If I cannot discover his secrets, then I will bind myself to you."

For a long moment, Magdalen did not speak. But then she nodded. "As you say, a century. I will be watching you."

And as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone, leaving Stefan both bereft and glad of her absence.

He would have to watch for her presence now, but he thought she would keep her word.
With a thought, he called Brenna to his side. "We'll need a place to stay."

She wouldn't look at him; this hound-daughter, as if she realized he had shifted his priorities from finding a way to change her back to something a bit more selfish. And for a moment, he felt a pang of shame for what he had sentenced her to.

"Would you rather have me as a Master or Gabriel?" he growled, pushing away both shame and regret. "We'll need a place to stay."

Brenna whined, but obeyed his order, as he knew she must. And with his Hound at his side, Stefan vanished into Faerie, leaving all regret behind.

Next Update: March 9th

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