Dragon.

Aerouant.

My mind ground out the words, almost hissed them, my dreams flooding up through my consciousness to blind me. The amulet around my neck was burning me and through the blur of it all, my almost double vision, dream and reality intertwining, and the dizzying thud of my heart, I felt myself weightless.

Here, a voice in my head whispered, here it is.

What exactly it was I couldn't tell, could hardly put a name to. But I felt instinctually what had been building since the Ritualist had begun his grisly work had been leading to this. Somehow what had run me to ground was a part of it all, a piece of the great pattern, a thread in the weave.

It didn't matter I didn't understand it. Didn't matter aerouant, dragon, was a poor definition for what I saw. The hunter had come to life out of Seanmháthair's stories, and there was purpose behind it.

Purpose that might eliminate me but that hardly mattered, either.

If a god wanted to hunt you, did you tell it no?

I snarled at the thought, at the predator outside the space I huddled. Snarled at it even as I took it in and admired what I was beginning to suspect would kill me.

In the sparse, shadowed light of the woods the hunter stood there, almost considering. Its head cocked as it looked at me, those strange, quiet clicks resonating out from behind some kind of helmet that covered its face and blended back into a mane of thick dreadlocks which fell over its shoulders and down its back. A mesh type armor hugged its powerful torso and chest, and ran down to its hips where a heavier, kilt-like skirt of mail hung over its thighs, barely hiding exactly how male this god was. Ridged greaves and gauntlets clung to its arms and legs, fitted perfectly to its form as if they'd been forged specifically for this hunter.

This apex predator.

I'd guessed it to be over seven feet tall. But I'd guessed wrong. Guessed too little. Eight feet was a better measure and definitely over five hundred pounds in that armor.

I was little more than a puppy growling at its heels. A cub playacting at hunting compared to this forest god.

The fact we both knew it, knew I'd only been toyed with this whole time, made the silent seconds we watched each other all the more weighted.

He didn't have to wait. Didn't have to allow me to see him like this. But perhaps the fact he did was a slim acknowledgement I'd been an entertaining hunt. An amusing chase.

And I'm not finished yet, a part of me growled. I'm not going to roll over and die for you.

Eyes narrowed, I bared my teeth at this nameless god, and he bent forward and roared at me.

Then everything happened too quickly to logically follow.

Faster and with far more grace than his size indicated he should have, the hunter swooped down, thrust his arm into the small space I'd been crouched in, and pulled me out as if the feat were nothing. As if I truly were no more than a pup he'd plucked up by the back of the neck.

Only he was holding me by the front of my hoodie and my binder, the claw-like nails on his hands digging into the fabric.

It wasn't a secure hold. Not a good hold. And the fact he took the time to snarl another challenge in my face gave me opportunity.

My hands were free and I may not have had my phone, but the momentum of being dragged out of the hole I'd crawled into slapped something else of substance against my leg.

Jackknife.

The thought was a flash accompanied by the tiny remembrance I'd slid the blade into a pocket after finding it on my floor. I barely registered this before the short blade was in my hand and I was slashing at the hunter's wrist.

He hissed and dropped me and I rolled away. Rolled a few feet, then rolled to my feet, coming up in a crouch with my arms spread and the knife in my hand.

The predator matched me, sinking into a crouch with his arms flung out. One of his hands was leaking a bright yellow-green, almost fluorescent fluid I realized was its blood. A blood that also coated my blade.

I'd made him bleed.

And if you could make a thing bleed you could kill it.

I doubted highly I was any match for this god, its very stance was mocking, challenging, standing there empty-handed while I held a knife. Yet… Challenging felt the better word. He seemed to think it a fitting match. Him barehanded, vs me with a weapon. There were rules I wasn't getting and maybe I could fight this hunter after all.

Like it matters.

He lunged, I dodged, slicing upward as I did so, and somehow finding myself in the dirt, dazed with more of the god's hot blood on my hand and arm. Rolling onto my stomach I had a quick glimpse of a huge body coming at me, part of the torso bright with fluorescent blood. Then I was being snatched up again and this time the hold was true.

My back connected with a tree and the air in my lungs was forced out of me. Not a good thing considering this time the predator's hand was around my throat. I tried hacking at his wrist again, but the same trick wouldn't work twice. He grabbed my hand and squeezed until my bones creaked and the knife fell away.

Then there was nothing to do but squirm and that only for a moment. The hunter was choking me. And doing it efficiently. Not bothering to be so crass as to break my trachea, crush my windpipe, he was simply squeezing. Applying delicate, exacting pressure to my jugular veins.

Blood choke, my mind registered.

And then it was drifting.

Drifting…

Drifting because this kind of strangulation could put you out in as little as ten seconds.

Could kill you in as little as twenty.