Mating Rights Read Free

a
canopy. Grey moss laced through the leaves, dripping from the branches like
curtains. Dust motes drifted through the early morning sunlight that dappled
the pitted trail.
    Foliage hugging the
road slapped against his legs as he guided his horse along the little used
trail—if the overgrowth was any indication. If the baker was to be believed,
the couple that lived out here rarely went to town, but he said he’d caught
glimpses of a young girl a few times and thought they were keeping her out of
sight on purpose.Jaxon knew how small towns
were. If anything didn’t seem normal, it was up for conversation and
speculation. It could be she was just too young to participate in the
festivities and had overprotective parents. Tradition dictated all unmated
women gather for mating rights, but he wasn’t so sure he’d want a daughter of
his attending the sometimes brutal festival.
    The smell of earth
permeated the air, and the longer they traversed the trail, the clearer the
scent of cooking meat became. Jaxon caught a whiff of bacon grease carrying
through the air.
    “We’re close,” he said
to Torolf and Ranger.
    “I know. The smell is
driving me crazy,” Ranger said.
    “My stomach’s about to
eat me alive,” Torolf muttered, clutching his belly.
    “We’ll get done here
and go out on a hunt. I’m ready for some fresh meat,” Jaxon said.As he said it, the quaint cottage came into his view.
A small paned window stood open, allowing bacon grease and wood smoke to
perfume the air. The trail came to an end at a small, closed gate. Over the
rustic wood fence, Jaxon could see a few dozen chickens pecking at feed strewn
across the dirt.
    He dropped down off his
horse, handing the reins to Torolf before going to the gate. It opened with a
creak and he stepped under the small trellis trimmed in ivy before walking
stiffly down a flagstone path. His bum knee burned and pinched from riding in
the saddle for too many days, and he favored it with a slight limp.The way the sunlight filtered through the great pines
surrounding the cottage produced a homey picture that made him miss his own
place.
    Approaching the porch,
he could hear voices inside that quieted as he stepped on the hand hewn boards
and rapped sharply on the door.
    A chair scraped inside.
    His senses, ever acute,
detected furtive movement. Jaxon cocked his ear, listening to anxious moves,
steps across weakened floorboards—the scrape of two more chairs. He felt the
vibrations of a door being shut.
    Puzzled, Jaxon frowned
and knocked again. Harder this time.
    Footsteps approached
the door. Jaxon tensed, expecting the worst.
    “Who goes there?” a
male voice asked on the other side.
    By the raspy quality,
Jaxon suspected the man was older. “Open in the name of Clan Leader Nicodemus,”
he said.
    A few moments passed.
    The doorknob squeaked
as it rotated, and the door slowly opened. A cautious old man with black skin,a salt and pepper beard, and gray hair peered through
the crack. Behind him, Jaxon could see what had to be the man’s wife, round and
short with wide, fear-filled brown eyes.
    Why were they so
scared? Enemies certainly wouldn’t take the time to knock before attacking.
    “Who are you? What you
want?” he asked in a furious whisper.
    Jaxon cleared his
throat, relaxing the fists he’d made of his hands without realizing it. He
pasted a smile on his face. “Good morning, Sir, Madam. I’ve orders to round up
all available women for the Moonlight Festival. I’ve heard word from town that
you have a daughter.”
    “We ain’t got no
daughter,” the man said, moving to shut the door.
    Jaxon put his foot on
the stoop, blocking him. The man’s eyes widened then narrowed as he frowned.
“Reliable sources tell me you do. Can I check for myself? I’ve come a long
way.”
    Behind the old man, the
wife tugged at his sleeve. He dipped his head to let her whisper in his ear.
Finally, he nodded. “I reckon. But make it quick. We was eating