Tides

CHAPTER 10--Cassin

Cassin traveled quickly and cautiously, aware of the fact that the farther he went from camp, the more likely he was to run into the hunters. Urgency burned a hole in the pit of his stomach–he had been away from his people for too long. He wondered who was keeping the palace all in order for him and why they hadn't sent a search party to this camp yet. Cassin guessed that it was because werewolves were nomadic, moving whenever the land couldn't sustain them anymore. So they were never in the same place for more than two weeks. They had moved when Cassin had been there, but only a couple miles westward.

Unfortunately, Cassin couldn't switch to bat-form until he was way away from camp. Seeing a giant bat-like creature rising above the trees would surely put everyone on high alert. And if Valeno saw it, he would most likely say something, especially because he had seen Cassin's other form and he had just been reinstated into the Pack.

The werewolf wouldn't want to compromise his position for a lowly vampire slave.

Cassin cursed as a wayward branch smacked him in the face, leaving a bloody scratch on his cheek. Batting the branch out of the way, Cassin hurried on, straining his sensitive hearing for any sign of the hunting party. Only birds chirped in his ears.

As Cassin forged on, the sounds of the camp faded behind him and the sounds of wilderness surrounded him. Plunging through a ditch, Cassin thought about how he had left the palace–under attack. He wondered how many vampires had been wounded–how many had escaped? Had they replaced his Guard after the original had been killed defending Cassin? Who was ruling in his place? Probably Venin, the Grand Duke of the Clan of White Fangs. In the vampire hierarchy, Clans came before Tribes. He hoped his kingdom was in good health, or otherwise he would have a lot of cleaning up to do. 

After a half-hour, Cassin was covered in muck up to his knees, and he was panting heavily. It was time to take a break. The hunts could last all day, so Cassin had no fear of being discovered by somebody back at camp. Now he just needed to stay out of the way of the Hunters. Sitting on an overturned log Cassin rested his hands on his knees and tried to breathe deeply. A few minutes later, he got to his feet, ready to start off again. The bushes trembled.

A white-tailed deer buck bound out of the bush almost bowling Cassin over.

Cassin dodged to the side, wondering what had spooked the deer. A second later the answer came, and Cassin felt his blood turn cold in his veins. Out of the bushes stepped a familiar figure.

It was Valeno.   

Valeno stared at Cassin for a long minute while the latter froze under the werewolf's gaze. He was caught. Maybe Valeno wouldn't put two and two together, and he would just assume that Cassin was gathering water. A mile away from camp?
Valeno moved first, setting down the foot that he had raised in a step. No branches crunched under his step; his footfalls were as silent as a cat's. "Hello," said Valeno. He tilted his head to the side, studying Cassin.

"Uh–" said Cassin, brushing twigs out of his hair. The two continued to stare each other down, Cassin feeling a blush creeping to his cheeks.

"You made me lose my catch."

"I'm sorry, your-your...Hunterness?"

"I can always track it again," said Valeno with a shrug.

"Right," said Cassin, warily. Where was the cold calculation that the werewolf had backhanded Cassin with when his true intentions had been revealed. Why was he speaking with the kindness of a savior who had just pulled Cassin from the river?–Or the protective note of one who is about to plant himself between blood for a slave?