A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness [188]
Remembering our play in bed that morning, my eyes closed against a sudden jolt of desire. I wanted him as badly here in the forest when he was about to kill something as I had this morning, and I began to understand what worried Matthew about hunting with me. Survival and sexuality were linked in ways I’d never appreciated until now.
He exhaled softly and left my side without warning, his body prowling through the edges of the forest. When Matthew loped across the ridge, the stag raised his head, curious to see what this strange creature was.
It took the stag only a few seconds to assess Matthew as a threat, which was longer than it would have taken me. My hair was standing on end, and I felt the same pull of concern for the stag that I had for Ysabeau’s deer. The stag sprang into action, leaping down the hillside. But Matthew was faster, and he cut the animal off before it could get too close to where I was hiding. He chased it up the hill and back across the ridge. With every step, Matthew drew closer and the stag became more anxious.
I know that you’re afraid, I said silently, hoping the stag could hear me. He needs to do this. He doesn’t do this for sport, or to harm you. He does it to stay alive.
Rakasa’s head swung around, and she eyed me nervously. I reached down to reassure her and kept my hand on her neck.
Be still, I urged the stag. Stop running. Not even you are fast enough to outrun this creature. The stag slowed, stumbling over a hole in the ground. He was running straight for me, as if he could hear my voice and was following it to its source.
Matthew reached and grabbed the stag’s horns, twisting his head to one side. The stag fell on his back, his sides heaving with exertion. Matthew sank to his knees, holding its head securely, about twenty feet from the thicket. The stag tried to kick his way to his feet.
Let go, I said sadly. It’s time. This is the creature who will end your life.
The stag gave a final kick of frustration and fear and then quieted. Matthew stared deep into the eyes of his prey, as if waiting for permission to finish the job, then moved so swiftly that there was nothing more than a blur of black and white as he battened onto the stag’s neck.
As he fed, the stag’s life seeped away and a surge of energy entered Matthew. There was a clean tang of iron in the air, though no drops of blood fell. When the stag’s life force was gone, Matthew remained still, kneeling quietly next to the carcass with his head bowed.
I kicked Rakasa into a walk. Matthew’s back stiffened at my approach. He looked up, his eyes pale gray-green and bright with satisfaction. Taking the crop out of my boot, I threw it as far as I could in the opposite direction. It sailed into the underbrush and became hopelessly entangled in the gorse. Matthew watched with interest, but the danger that he might mistake me for a doe had clearly passed.
Deliberately I took off my helmet and dismounted with my back turned. Even now I trusted him, though he didn’t trust himself. Resting my hand lightly on his shoulder, I dropped to my knees and put the helmet down near the stag’s staring eyes.
“I like the way you hunt better than the way Ysabeau does it. So does the deer, I think.”
“How does my mother kill, that it is so different from me?” Matthew’s French accent was stronger, and his voice sounded even more fluid and hypnotic than usual. He smelled different, too.
“She hunts out of biological need,” I said simply. “You hunt because it makes you feel wholly alive. And you two reached an agreement.” I motioned at the stag. “He was at peace, I think, in the end.”
Matthew looked at me intently, snow turning to ice on my skin as he