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Ignoring her question, West nudged the boot of the nearest snoozing werewolf. “Help me carry him to the truck, would you?”
Anna grimaced. “Fine, but you take his feet. They stink.”
With the immediate crisis averted, Matilda and I spent the ride back to the Castle discussing the next one. I wanted to know everything there was to know about the Wild Hunt. No detail was too boring.
“I may not have been able to prevent their arrival, but I was able to obtain more specifics about Vortigern’s style.”
I cast her a sidelong look. “Style? Like what, he wears a feathered cap and a frilly white blouse when he hunts?”
She smacked my thigh. “His process. Every new leader changes tactics. It’s the same way a new homeowner puts their own stamp on a property.” She paused. “Except you.”
“They’re still hunting. How different can the tactics be? Find prey. Attack prey. Wreak havoc in the process.”
Matilda glowered at me as she dismounted outside the Castle. “You have no respect for the hunt.”
“I’m not a fan of hunting for sport,” I said, sliding to the ground.
“Vortigern is a different beast. His style reflects his personality. Methodical. Merciless.”
“Were you?” I asked.
Her eyes snapped to me. “Was I what?”
“Merciless.” I’d seen Matilda in action outside the hunt, and I’d seen the photos left in Vortigern’s wake.
I needed to ask.
“Does it matter, bach?”
I didn’t answer.
“No. I found the thrill of the chase exhilarating, whereas Vortigern is more concerned with the outcome.”
“I guess the fact that he’s methodical means we have time to prepare.”
“Exactly. A blessing in disguise.” She offered a meek smile. “You see, cariad? My visit there wasn’t entirely in vain.”
“Still too risky, especially when his spies spotted you. What were you doing—holding a glass against his wall to eavesdrop?”
She bit back a smile. “Something to that effect.”
“What else did you find out?”
“My informant tells me to first expect a woodpecker.”
I choked back laughter. “Seriously?”
Her expression remained neutral. “The woodpecker will be tasked with ascertaining the weather conditions and reporting back to Vortigern.” She shrugged. “It isn’t traditional, but I can see the rationale. Animals respond to barometric pressure. High pressure means larger game will be in search of a food source, eager to feed. The report will help Vortigern predict their movements.”
“He’s really convinced we’ve got magical hunting grounds, huh?”
“Well, you do have the white stag, not to mention you’ve had an assortment of creatures in the short time you’ve lived here. He would be delighted to chase a culebrón through the forest.”
I waved a hand in the direction of the forest. “I don’t think we should waste time watching for a woodpecker. Finding one in Wild Acres would be like trying to find a pearl in an all-you-can-eat oyster bar.”
She tethered the mare to the porch post. “Then we leave the bird be and focus on the next phase.”
“Which is?”
