Bastien’s estimation of a day of travel turned out to be roughly accurate. It took us about a day and a half. We had a few scares along the way—all of them involving hearing the screech of a mutant, or spotting one flying overhead in the sky—but other than being forced to pause for a while here and then, we did not meet with any major obstacles.
Early in the evening the next day, we had arrived at another mountain range—a black mountain range. The home of the Northstones, according to Bastien. During the journey, he had explained to me a little about their history, and the real reason they were on friendly terms. It was because of an arranged marriage that had taken place several decades ago, between Bastien’s aunt on his mother’s side and one of the Northstone chiefs. Although the two packs remained living far away from one another, the marriage had made them allies, or as close to allies as wolves of separate tribes could get.
As we neared a large gaping tunnel at the base of the mountain—the entrance to the Northstone lair, I could only assume—I found myself contemplating how strange it was to have an entire realm populated by the same race and yet hardly any of them were even on speaking terms with each other. Perhaps this was one reason why the hunters had set up here first. Then again, I did not know if The Woodlands was the first place they had set up. It was simply the first one we had discovered.
Arriving outside the tunnel, Bastien set me down and requested I hand him another set of clothes. I did so, and he wandered off for about a minute to transform back into a man and dress. He returned to me in his fresh clothes and then lowered himself before me, allowing me to climb onto his back. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and then enveloped my long legs around his waist, wincing slightly as my ankle brushed against his torso. At least this was more comfortable than being on his wolf back.
We entered the tunnel, which wound in a semicircle through the base of the mountain. As we reached the end of it, we were met with a wide oaken door.
Bastien knocked, then stood back. I could tell by the pace of his breathing that he was nervous too.
The door swung open two minutes later, and standing in the spacious doorway was a werewolf—in his humanoid form—who, according to my estimation, was at least six foot seven in height. His body was as stout as a redwood’s trunk, his face wide and round. He had crinkled blond hair that trailed down the sides of his face and formed a goatee at his chin. His honeycomb-colored eyes bulged on seeing Bastien and me, but he didn’t look nearly as stunned as Bastien’s cousin had looked.
“Bastien!” the man cheered, a smile breaking out on his face.
“Uncle Sergius,” Bastien replied, managing to break out a smile of his own.
Oh, uncle. That must mean this is the guy who married Bastien’s aunt.
Sergius strode forward and drew Bastien in for an embrace.
“I’m glad you’re well and safe,” Bastien commented, as he gazed through the doorway over Sergius’ shoulder.
“Of course!” Sergius replied, still grinning. “And what a splendid surprise this is! My nephew, come to visit! Wait till Brucella finds out.” His eyes fell on me, his smile fading a little. “And who is this young… human?”
“She is my companion,” Bastien replied. He glanced at me furtively, as if to gauge how okay I was with that description, before looking back at his uncle. Companion was certainly a step up from concubine. It was comforting that Bastien trusted these people enough to tell them the truth. Hopefully we would not find ourselves doing another midnight leap from the top of this mountain. “I will tell you more about how we met,” Bastien went on, “as well as many other things we must discuss. I don’t know how much you are already aware of about the hunters?”
From the look on Sergius’ face, he didn’t know anything. He widened his eyes, his fair eyebrows raised practically to his hairline. “Hunters?” he asked, even as he realized that we were still standing in the doorway. Sergius took my hand, as well as the hand of Bastien, and pulled us both in through the door before closing it behind us and bolting it.
We had emerged into a small, bare entrance chamber that resembled more a cave than a room, nothing like the entrance hall of the Blackhalls’. Sergius led us through it, then up a winding stone staircase, until we emerged in a corridor that showed more signs of habitation. At least, there were woven carpets on the floor, and the walls were decorated with weapons—knives, daggers, swords, spears.