The roar of the huge brown bear made the first of the eight men scramble to his feet, dumping his dinner to the ground. He screamed as Henry took his head in his mouth and crunched. As her companion took care of the men around the fire, Alira drew her knife and ran for one of the men trying to escape. She didn’t recognize any of these men but they were all of the same ilk: dirty, dangerous, vicious.

She felt her senses sharpen as she held the dagger, time seeming to slow. She leaped on the back of one of the men and slit his throat, the vicious act barely registering in her heightened state. He dropped to his knees, throwing her as he fell.

“Alira!” Henry roared in warning and she rolled as an axe cut the air where she had been. Henry swiped at the man before him who had tried to stab him with a long, rusted sword before loping to her and grabbing the axe-wielding slaver. He slowly pulled his arm off, the sound of a prolonged scrape and crunch filled the air coupled with the man’s horrified screams.

“Behind you!” shrieked Alira. Henry turned and pawed the man with the sword, this time raking him across the face. In a second, the bear was on the man, ripping and tearing. Alira shuddered in horror as Henry hunted down the rest of the men and she began to pick through their small camp.

The terror and violence was over faster than she could believe, Henry making quick work of the men and Alira’s slight but important contribution only speeding up their demise. In less than five minutes, the camp was silent and Alira’s heart slowed as she surveyed the damage. She turned her back to Henry’s bear form as he disembowelled a man, the crunch and wet slurp churning her empty stomach.

She found clothes for herself in one of the dead men’s packs and several small bundles of food. She quickly put on the clothes, grateful to be in something other than the threadbare, short slave’s tunic. She drank deeply from a large leather canteen, sputtering when she realised it was full of dark, spicy wine. She slung the wineskin over her shoulder, adding it to the considerable weight she already carried. Having looted as much as she could reasonably carry, she called to Henry and they left the ravaged camp, blood pooling around the dismembered bodies.

“Henry,” Alira said some time later as they travelled north. “Next time, just kill them. Don’t eat them. Don’t toy with them.” The adamance in her tone was enough to make her suggestion into a command. The fox in front of her slowed and allowed her to catch up.

“I didn’t eat them,” he said, incredulous. “I just, you know, had some fun.”

Her blanched face made his fox tail swish with glee.

“You’re too soft to be a Witch. We’re doomed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re going to have to toughen up if you’re going to resist the darkness.”

“What?” Alira ground to a halt and put her hands on her hips. “I’m not–” She shook her head and bit her lip, frustrated. “What did you mean when you said we were destined?”

“Are we going to have a serious conversation because if so I should be human for it because being a fox is far too fun.” He swirled and became the tall, lean man with golden red curls. His dark eyes glinted in the shadows of the trees as he took the heavy spidersilk pack from her.

“Are we relatively safe here?” Alira asked, hoping he would be honest and not pedantic for once.

“Yes, we can stop and you can rest. I’ll cook the rabbit I caught if you’d like?” She nodded then sat. The gemstones rattled in their jar as he set the makeshift pack down.

While Henry made a small fire and skinned then cooked the rabbit, Alira wandered a few yards to the river’s edge and washed her face and hands. She splashed water on her hair, dragging her fingers through it and rebraiding it. She sat and took off the boots she had taken from the slavers’ camp then rolled up the bottoms of the leather pants she had also liberated. The smell of the cooking rabbit made her stomach grumble loudly.

“Here,” Henry said a quarter of an hour later, handing her a stick laden with sizzling, dripping meat. “No, don’t get up. I’ll join you.”

He did so, leaning back on an arm, stretching his long legs. Alira noted that this time he had clothed himself differently in his human form. The long cloak was gone and he had on a light linen shirt with a laced neck. She frowned in annoyance when she noted that he had left the lacing undone, leaving a long line of his taut flesh exposed.

“You don’t like my human form much,” Henry noted, a touch of sullenness discolouring his tone.

“I hardly know you.” She turned toward the water, nibbling slowly on the rabbit skewer. It was delicious and she remarked on his culinary skill.

“I’ve done a lot of cooking for humans.”

“How long were you with my mother and father?”

“Well, only a year or so because she fell pregnant and abandoned me, if you recall.” His bitterness was laced with annoyed boredom. “But it was a good year.”

“Where were you before she left the Temple?”

“I was with her, at the Temple.” His voice was tight as he answered, as though he was wary of her next questions.

His response surprised Alira. For some reason, she assumed that he had joined her mother after her escape from the Witches.

“What did you do there?” Henry didn’t answer. His silence was telling as he had barely stopped talking since she had met him just a few hours before.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I don’t want to talk about it but if you command me to–”

“No, I won’t. Not if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I will say one thing.” He paused and the silence between them filled the air, birds and the sound of the water so loud it was painful. “Erin taught me how it felt to be human. How it feels to love. How it feels to…” He stopped, a catch in his throat. “How it feels to feel. The good and bad.”

“You loved her.”

“Yeah, well, that didn’t seem to matter much when she chained me to a burial ground.” Henry plucked a handful of grass and tossed it into the water, watching it drift down the current.

“But you even said that she was sure she was freeing you.” Alira felt the need to defend her mother’s actions despite having no idea why she had done them.

“Was she sure? Maybe, but it still hurts when the person you…love…abandons you.” Henry’s mouth twisted into an angry pout. Something in the way he said the word love made Alira wonder what he had actually wanted to say instead.

“She must have had her reasons.” Alira’s voice was soft.

“Anyway,” Henry cleared his throat and motioned for her to keep eating. “We can argue Erin’s motives later. Let’s talk about you.” His eyes glinted wickedly. Alira set her mouth in a neutral line and refused to meet his gaze.

“You said we’re bonded, destined.”

“Ah, little Alira.” His coo was a breath on her neck, making her jump. He had moved closer without her realising. He ran the back of his finger down her cheek, grinning.

“Stop that.” She shrugged him away. “Answer the question.”

“I’m yours, Alira.”

“Henry,” she warned. “I’m serious. What did you mean?”

“I’ll be honest, I’m not usually this…forward but you’re so easy to discomfort and I’m finding it incredibly alluring to see you blush and shake me off. You’re so unwilling.” He laid back, his hands behind his head, a stupid grin pasted to his face. Alira frowned, biting the inside of her cheek.

“You can’t be saying my mother was more willing.”

“Aethra take me, no. She had eyes only for your father and even after he died, when she would visit, she would only hold my hand.” He looked wistfully into the treetops watching the sunlight sparkle through the leaves.

“Our bond, Henry.”

“I do belong to you. I’m the gift your family got when the witches got to keep Erin. But that’s not how we’re bonded, pet.” He rolled to his side, propping his head on his hand and blinking up at her brightly. “We’re Erin’s last hope. We’re her plan. We’re the tinder to the fire she wanted to set to the Witches.” Henry sat up, crossing his legs and holding out his hand to Alira. After a brief pause, she reached out and took his long pale hand in hers.

“Pickles,” he whispered.

“What?” She withdrew her hand in confusion.

“Witches are like pickles,” Henry said, but his reply clarified nothing. Alira shook her head and blinked.

“What?” she repeated.

“They’ve marinated, they brined for so long in their own power that they become bitter, sour, unsavoury. The longer they are steeped in the magic of their coven, the darkness that…they were given, the more inhumane and rotten they become. Insane, even.”

“Pickles,” Alira said, angry now.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise pickles were such a touchy subject. Fine, I’ll change the comparison. They are like…” he looked around them. “The rocks at the bottom of the river.”

“I understand the analogy! I just don’t know why you used pickles as your choice!”

“I’ve been stuck up on the top of a rock for over two decades, excuse me for being a little rusty in decent conversation!” The grin on his face didn’t match his angered tone and Alira glanced at him sideways.

“You’re just trying to rile me up and make me forget what we’re supposed to be talking about!” Her accusation must have hit the mark because he immediately began laughing, rolling backwards, his legs flying up.

“Gods, you’re so easy to nettle!” He said, wiping tears from his eyes. “You’re just so easily upset!”

“Are you going to tell me or not?”

“I am, I am. Keep your shirt on.” He sat up suddenly. “Or don’t! I don’t care.”

“Henry!”

“Fine, alright. Ok.” He held up his hands, placating her. “Relax.” He got up and went back to their small fire and brought her back another stick of rabbit meat, his soft leather boots nearly silent. “Eat and I’ll try to be succinct.”

“For once, please do.” He rolled his eyes at her and lounged along the bank again.

“Erin found a book she wasn’t supposed to find.” Henry’s tone had changed dramatically, suddenly serious and hushed. “She found a book that a crazy Witch had written hundreds of years ago. It was a book of prophecies and predictions, and it detailed the fall of mankind and the summoning of something dreadful.” He held her gaze for a moment and then looked out at the river. “The Son of Nature shall make the Daughter of Man into Shadesorrow, The Unmaker, casting the World into Unending Dark.”

“And I suppose that’s meant to be us, is it?” Alira tried to keep her tone light and sceptical but something about Henry’s words had sent a thrill through her.

“Erin thought so. I guess there was more in the book that seemed to point to yours truly being the Son of Nature and either her or her daughter being the Daughter of Man.”

“I’m sure.” Alira chewed thoughtfully then added “Like what?”

“The more obscure passages talked about the time of birth for the Daughter and the origin of the spirit.”

“And I suppose those narrowly fit our own descriptions?”

“Something like that.” His shrug was casual but she could sense his tension in his movements. He was desperately trying to maintain his composure.

“If my mother truly believed those things, she had her reasons. And you’re clearly convinced she’s right.” She wiped her greasy mouth on the back of her hand and looked across the water. “But I don’t see anything really convincing in what you said.”

“You’re frustrating, Alira.”

“It’s been a harrowing few days for me. I apologise for being a little short on wit.” She threw her empty stick into the river and pulled her now chilled feet from the water. She slipped her boots back on and stood, dusting off her backside. She glared down at the impish spirit.

“You keep asking questions and then getting upset when the answers are…upsetting!” Henry stood and pointed a finger at her chest. “You’re asking the questions. I’m just answering them. Stop asking if you don’t like the truth!” His angry face was inches from hers as he shouted the last word at her. She didn’t flinch, merely brushing his hand aside and stalking away.

“I’m going to sleep for a little. Keep watch and let me know when we should be on the move again. I need to rest.”

“Yes, mistress.” Henry spat after her. When she turned to look at him he was gone, a ripple in the water the only clue as to where he had gone.