A true son of the Urals, he shook off the cold and huffed out a breath, signaling Jesyn to lead those eager to hunt from the tour group to follow as Arit headed left to track a herd of roe deer. Normally, Arit wouldn’t set such an ambitious goal for tourists freshly arrived from the capitol. Many from the cities struggled to shift. Taking down larger prey as a pack was too challenging for them, whereas preying on the plentiful rabbits that made the mountains their home built confidence and skill. With the help of Jesyn and another guide to organize this bunch, Arit couldn’t resist testing the crown prince’s mettle, though.
So far, the white wolf had exceeded Arit’s expectations. First by an avid hunger to hunt that far surpassed Nick’s desire for the lodge’s cozy comforts and again, with Nick’s acquiescence to more experienced guides leading the group, Nick had proven himself an alpha wolf worthy of the honorific. Because Arit didn’t suffer fools gladly, he didn’t tolerate arrogant defiance from alpha wolves too insecure in their natural role as leaders to yield to those who knew the area and its prey populations best. Though Nick continued to stubbornly reject Arit’s advice to remove the enigmatic locket for shifting, the white wolf hadn’t balked at surrendering the lead to Arit and his guides. He’d suffered greater difficulties from Benjic who had split off from the pack to hunt by himself rather than follow his son.
Arit hoped he was hunting anyway. If he was meeting with one of his spies in the valley, Arit would have zero problems kicking his unwelcome ass back to the capitol, but he didn’t look forward to dealing with his dad’s wrath over Arit’s contempt for his sire afterward.
Downwind, Arit circled the herd of deer he scented ahead, and his guides distributed the pack around him. Arit, Jesyn, and his second guide, Chree, worked as a unit. They could read one another in the flick of an ear, the position of a tail. The newcomers lacked such familiarity, and a brief stay in the Urals wouldn’t improve that much. The co-owner and staff of Shifter Frontiers were accustomed to shepherding novice hunters and inexperienced packs at least. They’d take down a deer this evening. Arit could already taste the hot blood on his tongue.
Once everyone was in position, Arit crept forward. When he spotted a rack of antlers interrupting the horizon, he sank down. Frigid snow chilled his belly, but he, and the wolves accompanying him, got low. No one broke a twig under their paws or slid in the rocks, sounds that would have alerted the herd of danger. Gratification that his confidence in these shifters had been well-placed filled Arit as they moved closer.
Closer.
Closer still.
He didn’t halt until the pack was as near the herd as possible without risking a mistake that would rob them of fresh game for their evening meal. The others silently stopped, too. To his extreme right, Jesyn grinned at Arit. Young, cocky as only Shifter Frontier guides could be, Arit’s employee jerked his snout at a buck at the edge of the herd. Only a four-pointer, the deer was skinny and would grow skinnier yet if Arit and other predators didn’t thin the population before food sources depleted. The herd had already come pretty far up the mountain in search of buds and bark to munch if they were near Arit’s upper camp. The young buck favored its right front leg, an injury sealing its doom. Arit twitched an ear at Jesyn in agreement—the buck was their target. Arit lifted his muzzle at it to signal the shifters to his left.
The white wolf patiently waited. Gorgeous, Nick blended with the snow-crusted mountainside. If Arit had been sure of his hunting prowess, Arit might have selected him as the lead wolf in this hunt for that reason alone. Curious locket glinting in the sun, the prince’s fur otherwise camouflaged the crown prince and might have bought them precious distance to their prey, but Arit wouldn’t gamble the hunt’s success on a stranger’s self-control, especially an unknown wolf who had purportedly eschewed shifting since early childhood.
Pity. With the open-ended trip the group had booked, Arit would have opportunity aplenty to challenge the crown prince and assess how readily the white wolf took to hunting, though. Soon. Arit swore he’d see him in action soon.
In the meantime, he dug his paws into the slippery snow, bracing to spring to the attack. Around him, the others mirrored his stance. Heart thumping a happy staccato as adrenaline dumped into him, Arit hesitated. Poised on the cusp of running the deer down, he waited because he simply could not resist pushing the crown prince’s patience further. The white wolf didn’t break, and when Arit glanced at the other guests, he realized the others didn’t leap at the deer because of Nick. Arit and his guides might have organized this hunt, but the group didn’t follow Shifter Frontier’s guides. They looked to Nick, high alpha of the Urals and their crown prince. The white wolf.
Attention narrowed on Nick, none of the others would move a hair follicle without the white wolf’s permission. Arit, Jesyn, and Chree weren’t leading this hunt, after all. The last emperor was, and the son of a bitch knew it. Nick dipped his snout in acknowledgment, setting Arit’s teeth on edge.
Why Arit had ever imagined mating another alpha would be appealing was a mystery.
The herd shuffled nervously, sensing danger despite the still quiet of the pack. Wallowing in his ire at Nick would have to wait. The white wolf, if no other, had paused to follow Arit’s lead at least, and Nick’s deference to Arit would have to be enough.
With a quick huff, Arit bunched his haunches, rear claws piercing the frozen dirt, and he launched forward. Pulse racing as he gained ground, he shot toward the deer. The rest of the pack snapped into motion, streaking in an arc toward the focal point of the four-pointer.
Roe deer were bountiful in the Urals. Fast, too. As expected, the herd alerted and sprang to flee in a matter of heartbeats after Arit triggered the chase, but also as anticipated, their speed was hampered by the rocky terrain and the snow delivered by last night’s storm. The thunder of their hoofbeats rivaled the pounding of Arit’s heart in his ears, joined by the eager barking of less disciplined guests. Rolan, who Arit had judged most capable in the group, raced from a rocky ledge above the site the deer had chosen for their meal and speared into the herd, disrupting the flight response as Arit and the others reached the outer edges of their escaping prey. Barks, yips, and snarls punctuated the thud of fleeing hooves.
Chaos. Beautiful chaos.
Most of the deer readily maneuvered around Rolan and outpaced the pack. Arit didn’t care about the fleeing herd. What mattered was the four-pointer’s stumble.