Bayou Wolf. Debbie Herbert

didn’t care. The increased gales cooled her hot skin and made her restless, hungry for action. Wisps would be out this evening—the storm energy called to their chaotic, wild nature. For the past week, they’d been more active. So had the Ishkitini, as they’d hooted and fluttered in the treetops, ever watchful, looking for an opportunity to swoop in and slash with their sharp talons.

      It wasn’t her imagination. Her brother, Tombi, and the rest of the hunters felt it, too. They’d be joining her during the next full moon’s hunting. For now, they were busy with new lives, new loves. Tallulah tamped down the jealous twinges. She’d had a shot at domesticity last year when Chulah, a lifelong friend and hunter, had proposed marriage. She’d even had second thoughts about turning him down, but then he’d fallen for a fairy, and that was the end of that.

      It was all for the best. No one could ever compare to Bo, and second best wasn’t fair to anyone.

      Whoosh.

      Tallulah ducked and loaded her slingshot in one swift movement—but not before a talon swiped the side of her neck. Ignoring the pain, she released the stone. It thudded against flesh, and a lump of brown-and-gray feathers hit the ground.

      Excellent. But the damn owl had got in a lick. Tallulah carefully touched the scrape and then examined her fingers, sticky with blood. Not too bad. Might not even need stitches. She dug in her backpack and unwrapped an antiseptic wipe. The alcohol stung a bit as she placed it on the gash, but nothing like a future infection would hurt. Quickly, she bandaged the wound and continued into the woods.

      Where the Ishkitini appeared, the will-o’-the-wisps were sure to follow. The night would not be wasted if she killed a wisp. Every defeat ensured a safer, more successful full-moon hunt. She attuned her senses to the night, amplifying sight, sound and smell, then inhaled the scents of wet leaves and damp soil, and even the coppery smell of her own blood, which left a metallic taste in her throat.

      Branches scraped bark. Little critters—squirrels, rabbits, mice—scrambled about the carpet of pine needles and the prickly underbrush of saw palmettos and stunted shrubs. Tallulah’s vision adjusted to the gathering darkness, and she unerringly kept to the path leading to the center of the forest.

      A teal glow burst through a gap in the oaks—a wisp. Her breath quickened. She needed to get a little closer. Soundlessly, she padded from tree to tree, pausing to hide her body while she edged nearer.

      The glow dazzled her eyes. The wisp floated a mere ten feet away. She’d been spotted.

      Tallulah loaded the slingshot.

      It’s useless, the negative whisper echoed in her mind. She had come way too close to the wisp. Close enough that it could invade her thoughts, inducing despair and misery and hopelessness. The wisps thrived on human suffering. It made them stronger, more deadly.

      Death is imminent. Don’t fight it.

      No way. Tallulah’s arm drew back the slingshot band, ready to strike.

      Join Bo.

      Her lungs squeezed, and her throat painfully tightened, as if a boa constrictor were wrapped around her chest. Her breath grew harsh, and her biceps quivered and strained on the band.

      You know you want to see him again. It would be so easy. Give in.

      Bo. It dared mention his name. She stared at the center of the wisp, where the blue-green heart pulsed. Where the imprisoned spirit lived its miserable existence. Because that’s what wisps did. They killed humans and trapped their souls inside their parasitic bodies. That’s what they had done to Bo—until she had killed the wisp host and set Bo free.

      Bo was dead, but at least he’d passed over into the After Life.

      “You lie,” she growled harshly. She could never be with Bo again. Not in this life.

      Hot, angry tears burned her eyes, but Tallulah got off her shot. Then another and another. Stones whizzed through the air at top speed.

      The wisp collapsed upon itself, gray smoke from its dead form carried up to the skies by the storm’s wind. Tallulah swiped at her eyes, wanting to see the soul’s release. It was one of the few pleasures of being a shadow hunter.

      From the dying, gray ash, the teal heart transformed to a small, pure white spirit, as tiny as the flick of a cigarette lighter. The trapped soul took wing, flying up to the After Life. Tallulah leaned against the nearest tree, watching. Praying. It was a sacred moment. A shame that April, the fairy, wasn’t here. April had the ability to communicate with and identify the released souls. Whoever this soul belonged to, Tallulah wished it Godspeed on its journey to reunite with ancestors and loved ones.

      Before Tallulah could pack her slingshot away, a chilling cry rent the air—the unmistakable cry of an animal in the throes of death. Once heard, it was never forgotten. Tallulah shoved off the tree, instantly wary, and tried to pinpoint the location. Such was nature—one moment divine, the next moment a brutal kill.

      The question in her mind wasn’t figuring out the kind of victim, but rather identifying the size and ferocity of the predator. Was she in danger?

      Judging from the small size of the victim and the distance of the killing, probably not. She turned to go home. One Ishkitini, one wisp and one wound were enough for a day’s work. And what an aggravating day it had been, right from the beginning when she drove to work and witnessed the trees being destroyed.

      Payton’s image flashed in her mind’s eye. The challenging spark in his smoky gray eyes, the power of his lithe body... Not that she was interested in someone employed in that despicable occupation. Besides, she wanted a man like Bo—kind and sensitive and understanding. Domineering men like Payton held no charm.

      So why was she thinking of him? Impatiently, Tallulah wiped Payton’s image from her thoughts and quickened her step. If she hurried, she’d arrive at her cabin before the worst of the storm was unleashed.

      The death cries continued. Nature was a cruel bitch, she mused. As quickly as they had begun, the pitiful squeals stopped—it was dead and done, and the knot in her shoulders relaxed. She might be used to the ways of the wild, but it didn’t mean her heart was immune to its violence.

      A crack of thunder rumbled, and she upped her pace to a light jog. Her mind calmed and jumped ahead to trivial matters—what to fix for dinner and what TV show to watch afterward. Another exciting evening alone.

      Tallulah rounded a bend in the trail, only to find the wolfish creature from the night before blocking her path, twenty feet ahead.

      She stilled and drew a sharp breath. It came with no warning. Perhaps she wouldn’t have been caught unawares if she hadn’t let her attention drift. Focus. That was the number-one rule of the shadow hunter—a basic tenet to avoid spirits and predators before you became their next meal.

      Blood dripped from the beast’s gaping mouth, and bits of rabbit carcass hung from its back molars. Mystery solved as to the screams—the thing should be sated. Its eyes focused on her neck, and she touched the crusty bandage. Could it smell her blood from that distance? Anger replaced fear in pounding waves of adrenaline. She was bigger and smarter than the animal, and she was a skilled hunter with a weapon. If anyone had the upper hand, it was her.

      “You want a piece of this again?” She withdrew her slingshot from her backpack.

      The animal growled, but hung its head in submission. The cagey fellow remembered that, all right.

      “Go on—git!” she yelled, and the beast snarled, but turned and trotted off.

      Were there others like him? Was she in the midst of its territory? Impulsively, Tallulah followed it from a respectful distance, using all her tracking skills to move as soundlessly as possible. It never even looked back.

      Curiosity killed the cat, you know.

      She ignored the internal warning voice. In her experience, knowledge was king. Twice in two days, this animal had confronted her, and she vowed to learn more about it. Kill or be killed. That was the lesson of the wild.