Page 13 of The Witch’s Shifter (Season of the Witch #3)

Rowan

I SET OFF AFTER brEAKFAST, a pack strapped to my back, weighed down with a plethora of items Aurora thought might be important: clean clothes and a cloak, boots, bandaging materials, a few carefully wrapped meals, a bedroll, and a canteen.

She didn’t seem pleased when I attached my scabbard to my side, but I am going after a shifter that I just recently sent into a snarling rage—embarking without my weapon certainly wasn’t going to happen, no matter how determined I am to fix this.

At first, Harrison follows along with me. He’s made himself scarce since we brought Faolan back—not that I can blame him—and I’m glad to have his company. I’ve missed having him around.

“You think this is a good idea?” I ask him.

He glances up at me, and his stare is so powerful, I’m certain he’s trying to communicate something to me. But without Aurora here to interpret, I can only guess at his opinion on this whole mess. He probably thinks I’m an absolute idiot. That makes two of us.

Once I’ve gone about a mile into the woods, Harrison leaps up onto a boulder and sits down, his gaze on my back as I continue on without him. I lift a hand and wave, and then I’m alone.

Faolan’s track is easy to follow—he fled in a hurry, and given the drops of blood on the leaves and pine needles, he was injured. That’s no surprise, given he was already injured before throwing himself through a window.

At least I’m not the only one who’s made bad decisions these past few days.

Beneath the trees, the air is cool, but hiking along with the weight of the pack on my back keeps me warm enough that I don’t need to put on my cloak. I do pause to sip from the canteen and ensure I’m still following the right track, and then I’m off again.

I suppose it’ll be some time yet before I get back to my patrol duty.

I’m usually stopping in at Lydia’s mercantile around this time of day to share conversation with her and her husband, James.

It feels like forever since last I saw them, almost like it was a different life altogether. Weird how stress will do that to you.

Stress and shifters, that is.

Faolan’s trail is a jagged, chaotic thing. Branches are broken all around, and the earth is torn, great clumps of dirt and moss rent from the ground in violent gouges. Miles in, I’m still finding drops of blood.

How badly is he injured? And will he even be able to make it back to the cottage? I might need the bandages Aurora packed after all.

As I walk, the sun tracks across the pale autumn sky, peeking every so often through the gaps in the trees stretching high above my head.

Faolan’s trail doesn’t move in one specific direction; instead, it turns this way and that, oftentimes moving through dense undergrowth, slowing my progress through the forest. Though I keep my eyes always on the lookout for wolf tracks and signs he passed through here, my mind still wanders.

And when it does, it always finds its way back to Aurora.

Five months—that’s how long she’s been carrying my child. It feels like a lifetime and yet no time at all. It was only spring when I met her, when I first bumped into her in the mercantile, and now here I am, tracking her shifter mate through the woods.

I really don’t like that word.

If someone had told me how things would go when I got to Faunwood, I’d have called them mad.

Me, living in a tiny little cottage with a woman, a cat, three hens, and another man?

That would’ve made me laugh. Hard. But now I’m just wondering whether the child will be a girl or a boy, whether it’ll have my hair or Aurora’s.

Aurora.

Being around her is a little like getting lost in time; you’re never quite sure if a day has passed or a year has passed, and yet you can’t bring yourself to be bothered, as long as she’s there when you open your eyes.

Witchcraft indeed.

I laugh to myself as I stoop beneath a low-hanging pine bough, careful not to get my pack snagged.

I’m not sure how Alden was so friendly toward me when we first met; he even invited me into the cottage and poured me a cup of tea.

Meanwhile, I wanted to toss Faolan out before he’d even opened his eyes, and that was only partly because he’s a shifter—and a dangerous one at that.

I didn’t like having him so near Aurora, with his hulking physique and sharp cheekbones and silky black hair.

But I suppose it’s too late for that now.

Mate.

That word keeps ringing through my head, setting me on edge. There’s such a finality to it, like Aurora doesn’t even get a choice in the matter.

Not for the first time, I remind myself that it does no good to get upset; my anger is why I’m out here in the first place, traipsing through the dense forest in search of a shifter who could tear my head from my shoulders if he caught me unawares in the trees.

The thought makes me reach for the hilt of my sword. I rest my palm across it, comforted by the familiar feel against my skin. It’s always here if I need it—I just hope it won’t come to that.

I’VE BEEN HIKING FOR HOURS by the time I emerge from the trees atop a bluff and spot a large lake glittering in the distance.

Moonstone Lake, I believe. Though I’ve never visited it myself, the fishermen in Faunwood speak of it often, and I know Harrison has a special appreciation for the wispfish found in its waters.

Perhaps we can go there next summer—the child will be here by then.

That thought brings a light smile to my lips.

The wind is strong, and I reach up to tie my hair back out of my face while scanning the treacherous cliffside. Even a shifter would have a difficult time descending such a steep and rocky decline, and that’s especially true for one as injured as I’m assuming Faolan to be.

If he didn’t descend the cliff, he must’ve gone around from here.

I step away from the edge and sip the canteen while backtracking a short distance.

Sure enough, I find where Faolan must’ve done the same.

His trail veers north, keeping close to the edge of the cliff just inside the tree line.

When I do spot pawprints in the soft soil, I note that they’re closer together now; it seems he stopped running by this point, which makes me hopeful he’s around here somewhere.

It’s likely only due to his injuries that he slowed.

As far as I know, wolf shifters can travel many tens of miles in a day, much more than I could ever hope to cover on foot.

I didn’t plan for a days-long trip, and if I don’t find him soon, I may need to return to the cottage and set out again tomorrow with more supplies, though I’d really prefer not to.

The trail leads to another descent, though this one isn’t so sheer a drop.

Still, I have to sink low and use my hand for balance as I skid down the rocky slope, sending tiny stones clattering with my boots.

When I get to the bottom, I look around for any sign of the shifter having passed through this area.

It’s rockier here, and the trees are thinner, which makes it difficult to discern where he could’ve gone.

Slowly, I peruse the area, gaze sweeping over everything in my path. And it’s by a stroke of luck that I find a tiny blood spatter leading northward still.

Something tingles along my spine as I cautiously head in that direction.

I’m in a bit of a bowl now, and I don’t like the feeling of being surrounded by steep cliffs.

Once again, my hand finds the hilt of my sword, and I wrap my fingers about it, though I don’t pull the blade free of the scabbard.

It would be yet another poor decision on my part to approach Faolan with my weapon drawn, assuming he’s around here.

But really, how much farther could he have gone?

Another blood drop upon a smooth gray stone sends me eastward, following along a small rivulet of clear mountain water.

It’s so quiet here that the racket created by a murder of crows taking to the sky echoes off the slopes, sending their eerie cries back to me even after they’ve departed.

In my chest, my heart beats slightly faster.

It feels like the land is listening to me, watching me.

The rivulet grows larger as I trek nearer to Moonstone Lake. Around me, the air grows cold, and when I tip my head back, I find the sun obscured by heavy gray storm clouds.

Rain. That’s the last thing I need. If it starts falling before I find Faolan, it’ll wash away any blood spatters and turn his pawprints back into mud.

Then all this will be for nothing. The thought of telling Aurora I failed in my quest to find him makes me clench my free hand into a fist. There’s no way I can let that happen.

I’ve already disappointed her once—I don’t intend on doing it again.

Hastening my pace, I tread alongside the waterway, gaze sweeping through the thin pines and along the boulders littering the valley.

The going isn’t easy, and the terrain becomes more rugged the closer to the lake I trek.

Looking around at how harsh this environment is, I imagine the fishermen go the other way around, using the road rather than clambering through the forest; there’s no way they take such a rough path to their fishing spot.

Boots quiet, I hop up onto a large flat stone, using it as a vantage point. And it seems Faolan must’ve done the same, for there’s a blood smear and a muddy pawprint on the stone beneath my boots.

“Where are you?” I whisper, narrowing my eyes against the darkening gray.

The clouds overhead are moving in quickly, ushered along by a powerful wind that sends me digging in the pack for my cloak.

Up along the steep bluffs, the pine trees groan and hiss.

The wind through their needles produces such a loud sound that it drowns out the burbling of the waterway I’m following.

Trying not to lose Faolan’s trail, I leap from the rock and land on another, and from there I see a pawprint pressed into a small section of dirt at the water’s edge. There’s no time to hesitate; the rain will start falling any moment now.

Light on my feet, I continue along the water, getting closer to Moonstone Lake with every step. Could Faolan have traveled that far?

And could his pack be around here somewhere?

I feel foolish for not getting more information from him when I had the chance; it would’ve been a good idea to ask him where he’s from.

I’m not aware of any packs in this area—King Jorvick likes to stay up-to-date on the different groups of shifters and where they reside within his kingdom—but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t be out here searching for Faolan, or perhaps seeking a new place to live.

And if one shifter makes me nervous, I certainly don’t want to face a whole pack of them.

My sword would be nigh on useless against such overwhelming power.

With that thought running through my mind, I begin scanning the cliffsides once more. Is Faolan up there, watching me? Is his pack? Are they waiting to ambush me?

As the storm draws closer, the shadows beneath the trees grow darker, and I realize with a jolt that I’d not be able to see a wolf even if it were standing in the forest staring right back at me.

A raindrop pelts me in the neck, then slides under the collar of my tunic and traces a frigid path down my back. I shiver.

It starts slowly at first—one raindrop here, another there. But then, like so many autumn storms do, it unleashes its fury in one fell swoop. Icy raindrops thunder down around me, striking the stones and water with such unrelenting force that the sound drowns out everything else.

Pulling up my hood, I abandon my search for signs of Faolan and instead begin seeking shelter. The rain and cold have created a gray mist. I can only see about twenty paces ahead, and the cliffsides towering above me are soon obscured by fog.

Brilliant. Absolutely wonderful.

By some incredible stroke of luck, I spot an outcropping of rock through the rain and head toward it.

I’ll shelter from the storm, perhaps have a bite to eat.

I’d rather not be stuck out here all night, though I do have a bedroll, just in case.

Didn’t think I’d need it, but it never hurts to be overprepared.

The rocks are slick with rainwater, and I have to tread carefully to avoid slipping. Even now, the rain is coming down harder, striking the earth with all its might.

The outcropping is located slightly above me, so it takes some scrambling through the mud and loose stones to climb toward it. When I finally ascend the incline, I find a cave waiting for me, its mouth opening to darkness.

Looks like a den , I think. Immediately, my hand goes for my sword. The hilt is cold from the rain. Once more, I remind myself not to look threatening. If Faolan is in here, I don’t need my sword out as I enter.

Resisting the urge to arm myself, I step into the mouth of the cave and push my dripping hood from my hair. The thin gray light from outside doesn’t do much to permeate the darkness, so I walk slowly, letting my eyes adjust with each step into the chasm.

The roar of rain from outside quiets the deeper I go.

And just when I think the cave is empty, that its dark corners are all vacant, I notice a hunched shape lying as far to the back as it goes, facing the stone wall. The sight of it makes me reach for my sword, but again, I force my hand away.

You’re a knight , I think. Don’t be a coward.

I take a steadying breath, then call into the dark, “Faolan? Is that you?”

The dark shadow shifts, turning slowly to face me, and two blue eyes glare at me through the darkness.