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The hounds dropped to their bellies, whining. Drops of saliva burned holes in the dirt.
Matilda stared at me, wide eyed. “If I had known you could do that, cariad, I wouldn’t have put myself at risk.”
“You know dogs don’t like me.” Until now, I wasn’t certain their fear and subservience would extend to spectral hounds of the Wild Hunt.
She observed the pack on the ground. “It’s far more than dislike. They’re terrified.”
It seemed cruel to frighten them. “Do you think they’ll listen to me if I order them to return home?”
“I suppose it depends on whether they fear you more than they fear Vortigern.”
I had to try. I approached the cowering hounds. “I command you to return home through the crossroads and never return. This land is under my protection.”
The hounds quivered and yelped. They seemed unsure whether to obey. The slash marks on their backs were indicative of the training they’d endured under Vortigern’s command.
“Did you ever whip them?”
Matilda looked affronted. “Do you think so little of me? I might’ve cracked a whip on the ground, but never on an animal.”
“It seems Vortigern believes in other methods of instilling obedience.” I pointed to the marks of the nearest hound. Thin lines of fur appeared to have been burned away by a fiery whip.
Matilda’s lips thinned as she examined their backs. “Bastard,” she hissed.
“If they’re spectral hounds, how does a whip hurt them?”
“If history has taught us anything, it’s that there’s a weapon for every occasion, cariad, and for every creature, no matter their composition.”
If only we’d found the one that could kill Vortigern.
I debated whether to issue my command again. The hounds had grown eerily silent.
“What should we do about the hounds?” I asked.
“If they won’t leave, tell them to abandon the hunt.”
I faced the hounds. “Time to go. In these woods, there’s a waterfall. Follow the sound of rushing water until you find it. There are caves nearby where you can hide. Do not leave the caves until I come for you. Do you understand?”
The hunt aside, I couldn’t risk them scaring anyone who happened to cross their path in Wild Acres once the police reopened access—assuming the forest survived its encounter with the Wild Hunt.
The hounds whimpered in response.
My pulse sped up as the ground trembled beneath our feet. “Go, now!” The horde was on its way.
The hounds sensed it, too. They rolled to an upright position and ran.
I unsheathed my sword. “It’s showtime.”
CHAPTER 17
Awailing cry pierced the air, raising the hair on my arms. I swallowed hard.
“Fear the Raging Host,” a voice shouted.
The earth shook as dozens of riders came barreling through the crossroads. I held my ground and awaited Matilda’s cue.
The Night Mallt’s mare reared up as she released a high-pitched shriek that stopped the hunters in their tracks.
She zipped back and forth in front of them, turning tight corners to block their path.
