The Alpha's Concubine (Historical Shifter Romance) (29 page)

Fear quickened Netya's breath. Vaya's companions, one young man and two women, moved around to encircle her, cornering her up against the trees. The huntress worked her jaw back and forth in contemplation, making a show of examining Netya's spear as she stepped forward.

"You would have been dead today without this thing, as useless as it is."

Netya gripped her weapon protectively, wondering for one panicked moment whether she might be forced to use it. Strength seemed like the only thing Vaya respected. Netya kept her chin up and responded as calmly as she could.

"I expect you would have been too, without your teeth and claws."

"Those are a part of me," Vaya said. "They are my gift from the spirits of life. What is your gift? A weak body that must flail with tools of wood and flint to survive."

Netya took a deep breath, fighting the urge to back away as the taller woman loomed over her. "I know you dislike me, Vaya, but I have never tried to make an enemy of you."

"You made me lose my kill today." The huntress glared at her. "Slaying a mountain cat would have won me the hunter's prize. This year's great hunt was mine to claim by right."

"I did not ask for your help —"

"No! Worse, you have made even Caspian and the alpha indulge your weakness. They protect you without seeing the harm they inflict on their own pack," Vaya spat.

As the huntress took another sudden step forward Netya backed away, jerking the point of her spear in front of her.

Vaya laughed, then grabbed the shaft of the weapon in one hand and twisted it out of the way. "Give me that."

Netya glared at her, refusing to release her grip. Vaya tugged again, then growled and yanked the spear hard, shoving Netya backwards as she tore the weapon from her hands.

"You insult me every moment you remain in our pack!"

Netya looked to the others in fear as she stumbled into a tree, but they only met her gaze with cold, unfeeling eyes. Whatever the three of them thought about what was happening, their loyalty to Vaya clearly mattered more.

"I am forced to endure you back at our camp," the huntress said as she brought the point of the spear to rest against Netya's chest. "But I will not tolerate you defiling our hunts."

The flint tip dug into Netya's skin, pressing sharply against the spot at the base of her throat until she felt a trickle of blood running down her chest. Even though her hands were now trembling, she curled them into fists and forced herself to speak.

"Give me back my spear," she said.

Vaya leaned in closer, lifting the flint tip until it rested beneath Netya's chin, forcing her head back. Then she smiled, stepped away, and snapped the spear in half over her knee.

"Go and fetch it," she said, then drew back her arm and threw both parts of the broken weapon over the edge into the valley below.

Even the punch that broke Netya's nose had hurt less than the moment her spear cracked, the sight of it disappearing over the edge into the darkness, and the sound of the broken wooden pieces rattling down the slope below. It was enough to fill her with such desperation and anger that she wanted to lash out and break something of Vaya's in return, but instead she threw her energy into an act that was perhaps far more reckless, and even more surprising to the huntress.

Before Vaya could grab her, Netya turned and threw herself down the slope after her spear. The instant her feet his the ground she knew they would go out from under her within seconds. The descent was too steep, the ground too uneven, and brambles tugged at her moccasins and threatened to trip her up with every step. She was not thinking, and she cared little for her mad descent as she stared wide-eyed into the darkness, searching frantically for any sign of where her spear had fallen. It was hers. It was her father's. It was everything she had become since living among the Moon People, and she could not bear to let Vaya take it away from her.

But in the darkness, she was blind. There was nothing ahead of her but black undergrowth. A hundred places where her spear could have fallen out of sight, tangled in a bush or the branches of a tree where it would be lost forever. She fell, the momentum of her body taking over the motion of her legs. Her palms dug into the moist dirt as it forced its way up beneath her fingernails, then the weight of her legs dragged her into an unstoppable tumble head over heels down the side of the valley.

Brambles scratched at her arms and rocks bruised her hips as she rolled. She tried to grab on to something to slow her descent, but the moment her fingers closed around the branch of a bush it was whipped out of her grasp again, skinning her palm in the process. Any moment she expected a rock or tree trunk to halt her progress, but she continued to tumble, again and again, until her body felt like it was about to break and her stomach threatened to turn.

Netya swung her leg out in one final attempt to steady her fall, and the valley slope took mercy on her as she skidded, threatened to topple, and then caught her foot in a tangle of branches that held on long enough to bring her momentum to a halt. She lifted her hair out of the dirt and looked up, but there was nothing left for her to see. Pitch blackness met her in every direction. She had fallen so far the trees had overtaken the night sky, and only the sounds of rustling leaves reached her ears. Her head swam. If her body was broken, there was nobody within reach to help her back up. Every bit of her ached or stung or throbbed. She made one desperate effort to begin lifting herself back up the slope, then collapsed.

—
23—

Alone

When Netya opened her eyes she saw green leaves. The stem of a plant twitched a few inches from her nose as a beetle crawled up it. Her whole body was sore. One by one she tried moving her limbs. Everything hurt. Bruises and scrapes covered her arms, and the morning dew that had soaked into her clothing brought with it a clammy chill.

The more she moved, the less painful it became. She did not think she had broken anything. After a few minutes she lifted her cheek out of the dirt and tried to sit up, putting a hand out suddenly to prevent herself from slipping. The ground was still steep and uneven, and she risked another fall if she so much as shifted position too quickly.

Tears pricked her eyes as she remembered her lost spear, glancing around with the vain hope of catching sight of it now that it was daylight. But there was nothing to see save bushes and trees in every direction. She could make out neither the summit of the ridge above her nor the valley floor below. Her throat was parched and sore, and she doubted she could call out even if she tried.

Careful not to disturb the beetle, she picked a broad leaf from the plant in front of her and curled up the edges to create a small dip in the middle. Then, ever cautious that the slightest wrong movement might make her slip, she moved from leaf to leaf, tipping them so that the beads of dew ran off into her improvised cup. Once there was enough on her leaf for a small mouthful she sucked it up hungrily, then repeated the process. Each drink was barely enough to wet her throat, but after a few minutes she felt ready to try her voice.

Filling her lungs, she called out as loud as she could. The noise echoed off the edge of the valley, startling nearby birds from their trees. Netya waited a few moments, then tried again. Silence was her only answer. How far had she fallen? Were the others still in earshot? Had they moved on to track the horses already? If Vaya had any intention of letting them know where she was they would likely have found her by now. Fern would have noticed her absence, but if Hawk had sent her home early she might not even have had time to realise her friend was missing among the bustle of the oversized hunting pack.

Once more her fear returned, and she called out again, louder. By herself, could she even find her way out of this valley, let alone back across the plains to the safety of the outcrop? There were mountain cats in this territory, and likely other wild animals too. Without her spear, she was defenceless.

The necessity of survival spurred Netya into action. She knew the seers used the leaves of these plants to treat cuts and shallow wounds, so she took the one she had picked and pressed it over her raw palm, binding it gently in place with a twist of long grass. It was still painful to move, but not so much so that it hindered her. She could endure the discomfort if it meant finding her way back to safety.

Once she had found her footing she began to edge carefully back up the slope, half crawling, half climbing, making sure she always kept her uninjured hand on a sturdy piece of foliage that would hold her weight if she slipped. It was a miracle she had not struck any of the trees on her way down, and she made her way from one trunk to the next, trying to retrace her fall as closely as she could.

It was not long before she came to an impassable tangle of brambles, and it took several minutes to pick her way further along the slope so that she could circumvent them. The going became more treacherous with every step, and it took Netya the better part of an hour to make her way barely a hundred yards up the slope. She constantly had to stop, find her footing, secure her grip, and spend long moments determining which route she could take that would not either send her toppling to her death, or leave her feet full of thorns.

Only the hope that she might still be able to find her way back to the hunting party kept her going. Every step of the way her sore body begged her for rest, until at last she came to a barrier that was truly uncrossable. Slippery shale covered the slope in front of her. The moment she tested it with a foot she knew the chances of her scaling the carpet of rocky fragments without falling was slim. She could see where it ended just a short distance above, but there was no way for her to reach the upper part of the slope without going over it.

After trying for several minutes to find a way around, Netya discovered that the path to one side led to an impassable crag, and in the other direction the band of shale seemed to stretch on as far as she could see. Her throat ached with desperation as she gazed at the trees above her. She tried once more to balance herself as she crept across the loose rocks, but within seconds her knee slipped and she very nearly lost her balance. She had been fortunate on her way down, but if she took a second similar fall she knew she might never get up from it.

"Fern!" she called out. "Caspian! Hawk!"

Only the echo of her own voice called back. The ache of her bruises set back in as despair filled her, but she resisted the urge to weep. She held out little hope of finding her way back to the others if the path above was blocked. She did not know how to follow tracks or scents, or use the night sky to navigate like the hunters did. Why had she not spent more time learning these things from Erech rather than dedicating every day to training with her spear?

It was hard to give up the painstaking progress she had made, but Netya finally turned around and began to shuffle her way miserably back down the slope. Maybe there were plants and berries she could scavenge in the valley below. Perhaps the others would find her eventually. She preferred not to think about what would happen if there were predatory animals nearby.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, something red caught her attention. It stood out among the tangle of green and brown, and it took several moments of squinting for Netya to realise that it was a feather. Her breath caught in her throat as she gasped. Could fate really have been so kind? She shuffled her way across the slope toward it, realising that the object had become lodged in a bush in such a way as to be invisible from further down the slope. The red feathers adorning the head of her spear stirred in the breeze, and as she made her way closer she saw the broken lower part of the shaft lying nearby.

The well of despair that had been filling up inside her gave way to merciful relief. A laugh burst from her lips as she pulled her broken weapon out of the bushes and clutched it to her chest. A broken spear did not save her, but it seemed like a sign. Her impulsive dash down the valley slope had not been for nothing, and neither had the last hour of trying to climb back up.

I will show this to you, Vaya,
she thought, smiling at her weapon with furious pride.
I will walk back into our camp, and you will see how helpless this little Sun girl really is.

Netya clutched the top half of the spear in her injured hand, despite the discomfort it caused her. Vaya had broken it off near the bindings that held the uneven join together, and she spent a moment looping the trailing strands of twine around her wrist for safety. She would not lose her weapon again.

The lower part of the shaft she tucked securely into her waist wrap. There was little hope of repairing it using the same pieces, but the broken pole was more useful to her as a tool than anything else she was likely to find nearby.

"Thank you, spirits," she whispered, closing her eyes in a silent prayer to the forces watching over her.

She edged her way steadily down the slope until it began to even out, determined to reach the valley floor as soon as possible. Before long the ground had flattened enough for her to stand without fear of falling. It was hard to gauge the position of the sun through the canopy overhead, but she judged it was approaching midday by the time she felt confident in stopping her progress and turning in the direction she believed to be south. As long as she kept the slope on her right, she reasoned, she would eventually reach the point where the valley opened back out on to the plains.