The Choosing (23 page)

He sounds so sure and confident. Jerath can sense his nervousness underneath his words but makes no attempt to acknowledge it. Meren needs to appear strong and fearless for the sake of his men, if nothing else.

Jerath butts against Meren’s hand and then settles down on the ground to wait the last few minutes before the sky lightens and the attack begins.

He senses it before it happens. The air changes temperature by a degree or two, and Jerath hauls himself up and growls. Meren turns to him and his voice is so low Jerath has to strain to hear it. “Remember what we said.” His tone is laced with desperation and Jerath wants to whimper but he holds it in. “Be careful… I need you to be careful.”

Jerath growls again and he hopes Meren interprets it as “the same goes for you too.”

The first bursts of sunlight start to break through the darkness, and Meren signals his men to get ready. When the first ray hits the village, Meren hisses for them to attack, and they race off toward the village on silent feet.

They reach the outer edges without being detected. From what they can see, most of the inhabitants are still asleep, and Jerath hopes that maybe they can do this without any fighting at all. But then they hear the thunder of footsteps, followed by the unmistakable sounds of battle.

Meren abandons all pretense at being stealthy. He and his men are armed with both bows and swords, and Jerath watches with grim resignation as Meren shoves his bow over his back, draws his sword high in the air, and charges forward. Jerath is glued to his side, teeth bared and ready to attack as they slip between the crudely built homes. They spill out onto a clear stretch of what looks to be a road through the village. Jerath senses movement from behind them and spins around. He growls out a low warning as ten angry-looking raiders come barreling toward them, swords already drawn

“This way!” Meren yells, and his unit turns as one and prepares to fight. Those at the back draw their bows and take aim, and a flurry of arrows fly overhead. Two of the raiders fall down dead and another clutches at his thigh as he stumbles, but Jerath has his sights set on the man in the lead. He recognizes him from that day in the forest and his animal side takes over, the desire for revenge thick and heavy in his veins.

He leaps for the man’s throat, slaps his sword arm away with his front legs, and growls with satisfaction as he feels the bone crack under his paws. Jerath knocks him to the ground and sinks his teeth into the soft skin at the side of the man’s neck. He bites hard, tearing at the flesh, and the dying man’s good hand scrabbles for purchase in Jerath’s fur, desperately trying to pry Jerath’s jaws open and away. But he’s no match for the raw power of Jerath’s jaguar form, and soon enough his strength starts to fade and his arms falls weakly to his sides.

“Jerath!”

Meren’s voice snaps him out of his bloodlust, and Jerath carefully extracts his teeth from the body of the raider. He looks up to see that Meren’s men have dispatched the rest of the raiders without incurring any serious injuries, and Jerath breathes a sigh of relief as his gaze sweep over Meren’s body and finds him relatively untouched.

“Which way now, Meren?” One of his men steps forward as Meren wipes the blood from his sword. Fighting can be heard in both directions along the road, and Jerath listens harder to see if he can sense who may need help more. All he can make out is the harsh cries of battle, and it’s impossible to separate the raiders from their own men.

A loud roar splits through the sounds of fighting, and Jerath recognizes it immediately.

Serim.

She must have found the prisoners. Before Jerath can even start to feel any relief, another of Serim’s roars fills the air, but it’s full of anguish and pain and Jerath instinctively knows she’s found Ghaneth. And that he’s hurt.

“Go.” Meren urges as he meets Jerath’s eyes. “We’ll follow you.”

Jerath turns and races down the road toward the center of the village. He can hear the fighting as they get closer. It’s a mixture of shouting, cursing, and the odd snarl. Jerath can’t tell who’s winning from this distance, but when they round the last bend he almost stumbles over the lifeless body of a lynx. His heart stops beating for the entire time it takes him to realize it’s not Mahli.

But it’s still one of his people, and he snarls with rage.

“I’m so sorry.” Meren is beside him then, firm, comforting hands on the back of his neck. They scan the scene in front of them, gazes darting over the fighting to see where they need to help out most. Jerath easily spots the prisoners—corralled in the center like animals. Caleb and his group are fighting to get to them, and from what Jerath can see, they’re more than holding their own. He searches for Serim, unable to see her among the mass of bodies.

“Over there!” Meren points over to the edge of the group of prisoners, and Jerath whines in panic as he sees her. She’s standing in front of Ghaneth’s prone form, snarling and braced for attack as three of the raiders advance toward her. Jerath wants to go and help her, but they suddenly have raiders coming at them from two sides and he knows he needs to stay and help fight.

He looks back at Serim as she bravely faces the three men down. Her tail swishes furiously and her ears are flat to her head. Jerath’s torn between his best friend and his mate. The pull to stay and protect Meren is almost too strong to ignore, but Serim is going to
die
if someone doesn’t help her. He can’t see Torek or any of her group, and the raiders are almost upon her and Ghaneth now. Jerath tries to contain his feelings of desperation, but Meren senses it anyway.

“Go help Serim.” Meren’s voice is strained as he fights off an attack. Jerath leaps and tears the man’s arm from his shoulder and spits it out at his feet. Meren finishes him off with a dagger to the throat and turns to push Jerath away. “Go!” Jerath growls his refusal; Meren and his men are outnumbered. “Now, Jerath! She’s going to die! We can handle these.” He shoves Jerath again before taking his bow and firing at the oncoming raiders. He takes two more of them out. “Go!”

Jerath swallows down the pain of leaving Meren’s side, pushes the need to protect him down and out of sight as he races over to Serim.

She’s backed right up against Ghaneth. There’s one man lying unmoving on the ground, but the other two are closing in, and there’s a deep gash across Serim’s left shoulder. It’s bleeding heavily, and there’s already a sizeable pool on the ground at her feet. She’s limping, favoring her right side, and the two raiders try to capitalize on that. One draws her out by going for Ghaneth while the other slips in to jab at her flank. She howls in pain as the blade finds its mark, and Jerath roars.

She’s got nowhere left to go, and the raiders grin as they approach her from opposite sides. “Not so fearless now, are you, Blackie?” Serim hisses and snaps her teeth. Jerath knows the exact moment she sees him because her blue eyes flash and he swears he can see her smile. He lunges for the man on the left and bites out his hamstring while Serim takes the other from the front. Her claws tear into his belly and he screams in agony, but Serim’s limping badly now and she can’t get in a killing blow quickly enough.

Jerath hurriedly finishes off his man, snapping his neck in one clean move, and rushes to help Serim just as the raider manages to raise his sword arm and take a swing at her. It would have sliced down the middle of her back, but Jerath is much quicker. He leaps in front of her, knocking the blade flying, but it glances off his side and nicks the top of his back leg. He lets out a yelp, but the pain is easy enough to ignore.

He turns and growls as the man scrambles to back away. Jerath can taste the blood and flesh still on his teeth, and he must look a terrifying sight because the raider tries in vain to get to his feet. His wounds from Serim’s claws are too severe, though, and he stumbles to his knees with a cry. Jerath tears his throat out before he can make another sound.

Serim has collapsed on the ground, and Jerath pads over, licking at her wounds and nuzzling under her chin. She whimpers back and looks over her shoulder at Ghaneth. Jerath follows her gaze and is shocked at the sight. They’ve only been gone just over a week, but Ghaneth looks awful, as though he hasn’t eaten in days. He has bruises all over his face and arms and four long angry welts across his back. Jerath’s anger flares deep inside him and he wants nothing more than to kill every single one of the men who did this. He wants to hunt them down and rip them apart with his teeth and—

“Jerath… hey… calm down.” It’s Meren’s voice that pulls him back from the edge. His firm, soothing hands on Jerath’s back that rein in his temper and make him focus. “I could feel your anger all the way over there.”

Torek is with him, and together he and Meren lift Ghaneth up. He’s barely conscious, so they have to carry him over to where the other prisoners are being escorted out of the village. Some of the raiders are still trying to fight, trying to prevent their escape, so Meren and Torek hand Ghaneth over to a couple of men from Caleb’s team and return to the fray.

Jerath nudges Serim to her feet. She’s still unsteady, but the bleeding has slowed down considerably. He watches her back all the way out of the village. Meren, Torek, and the rest of the men follow behind. Jerath roars as loud as he can to signal the safe extraction of the prisoners and hopes the others can hear. He hasn’t seen the other groups, but has to trust they’re okay. Mahli is somewhere in this village, and Jerath refuses to believe that anything bad has happened to her.

He nudges at Serim again, urging her to move faster. They need to get out of here and put some distance between them and the raiders before they meet up with everyone else. She huffs at him, but dutifully picks up her pace. Jerath doesn’t miss the small whimper that escapes her every time she puts her right front foot down, though.

They’re almost at the outskirts of the village, and Jerath finally begins to relax as the raiders fall behind, obviously deciding the prisoners aren’t worth pursuing. He looks at Serim and sees her gaze fixed firmly on Ghaneth as he’s half carried up ahead of them. Jerath wants to give her a hug and tell her it’ll all be okay but he can’t, so he settles for licking her ears and rubbing his head under her chin. She purrs in response, leaning on him for a moment before straightening up.

Jerath’s just turning back to look for Meren and Torek when a sharp, sudden pain rips through him and he stumbles to the ground. It hurts so much Jerath expects to find a gaping hole or at least an arrow poking out, but when he looks down at himself there’s nothing there. His mind scrambles to catch up but he’s hit with another wave of pain, and his heart stutters as he realizes what it is.

Meren.

J
ERATH
feels cool hands stroking his face. He must have blacked out because he’s on his back and staring up at the early morning sky. He turns toward the soft voice whispering his name and sees a human Serim looking down at him. It’s not until he raises his hand to touch her injured shoulder that he realizes he’s shifted back too. And then he remembers.

He sits bolt upright, his hand rubbing against his chest where the pain tore through. “Where’s Meren?” he gasps, frantically looking around, but he can’t see him anywhere. He remembers how much it hurt and he knows Meren’s injuries must be bad. He needs to find him now. He goes to stand up, but Serim pushes him back down.

“Just wait, Jerath.” She looks at him with pleading eyes, her voice full of concern. “You’ve been out of it for nearly an hour,” she says, looking up at the sun. “You need to take it steady.”

Jerath notices she’s dressed in one of the hunters’ shirts, and when he looks down his body, he sees that he is too. Not that he cares much for his modesty at this point. “Where is he, Serim?” Her reluctance to tell him is making him nervous, and he’s getting an awful feeling deep in his stomach. “Is… is he…?” He can’t say the word, but Serim understands and she shakes her head quickly.

“No, Jerath. He’s not… dead.”

But he’s not good either.
Jerath can hear it in her voice. He tries to sense Meren’s emotions across the bond, but there’s nothing. It’s like an empty void, and Jerath tastes bile at the back of his throat. “But?”

Serim sighs. “It’s bad, Jerath.” He jumps to his feet and Serim doesn’t stop him this time, but she catches hold of his hand. “He took a dagger to the chest. One of the raiders threw it at Torek’s back, and Meren pushed him out of the way.” She tugs on his hand, and he pulls her up alongside him. “Come on, I’ll take you to him.”

Jerath lets her lead him past the groups of people scattered around. Someone must have carried him, because they’re now at the meeting point and it looks as though all the groups made it back. But not all made it back alive. Jerath shudders as he spots a line of still, lifeless bodies off to the left, set apart from everyone else. He can see at least two shifters, and he wonders who didn’t make it back while feeling guilty that he’s glad neither of them are Mahli.

“Where’s Mahli?” he asks.

Serim points over to the right where most of the shifters are gathered, along with the rescued prisoners. “She’s safe.”