The Nosferatu Adventures
page 177, chapter 177
The Seer pressed his palm against the tree, swiping it downward as he silently moved through the edge of the woods. There surprisingly didn't seem to be any real territorial marks in the area. This worried him. With a pack of werewolves so close by, his senses should have been over run with them. Every inch of the woods should have had both normal animal markings as well as lycanthrope. Something was clearly wrong. He continued on his path, winding around a small pond, again sensing nothing. There didn't seem to be any wildlife in the area at all. No birds, no animals, not even a cricket. Stopping, he removed the strap of his leather bag bending to one knee, his dark curls smashing into the ridge of his eyebrow as he did. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a handful of ash and sage that he'd powdered. Chanting over his closed fist, the Seer sprinkled the powder onto the ground in a circle.
Just as he thought, the powder turned to a slime green-yellow colour, glowing bright before disappearing into the night. Turning on his heel still crouched, he listened as he looked over his shoulder. He chanted again raising his right hand out before him in a sweeping gesture, stopping when he hit a hot spot few feet away, as if someone had turned on a furnace in that one spot. The reason there wasn't any natural territorial markers, was because of the magickal one blocking them. Getting up, he picked up his leather bag, magic misting a dark shirt, dark jeans, and a thick dark coloured plaid shirt, in place of his usual grey pajamas before continuing on. The last thing he needed or wanted was to find himself in the middle of a coven stated turf war; as a witch or he was guessing, more then one witch, had marked this area as a boundary line.
The Seer rarely used his magic anymore, and he was angry at himself for that. Being bitten almost two years ago had changed everything for him. More then just the fact it made him a werewolf, but because it took him off his spiritual path. He'd worked so long, dedicating himself to witchcraft that it pained him to push it aside. But sadly, the shapeshifter in him burned so much energy, he rarely had enough juice in him to preform the simplest magickal tasks.
Some point between discovering the spelled territorial line and reaching the village where our heroine was, the Seer had made a major decision. He wasn't going to try to seduce her in order to gain the alpha position in the pack as originally planned. He'd decided he was going to find a shaman he'd heard about deeper in the kingdom and ask for help getting his life back.
Catching her scent, the Seer followed it into the hotel, into the room she was renting. There was no one sitting in the empty room, but the sound of the shower informed him someone was there. Closing the door, he locked it, dropping his own leather bag on the floor by the bed. Silently, he crossed to the bathroom, the steam obscuring his vision. But the scent of wet dog hung in the air. If it wasn't her, there was about to be one very angry and startled werewolf in that shower as the Seer entered the room. The taps were shut off just as he reached the curtain, flinging it open.
Handing her a towel, he smirked tilting his head to the side, his hand automatically going to his hair smoothing it down. Being half sidhe, seduction was more natural to him then breathing. All he would need to do was touch her arm, her neck, any bit of exposed flesh and his natural ability to seduce would have her relaxed and waiting.
The Seer took a step back, allowing our heroine to step out of the shower. She said nothing as she looked at his outfit, her slim pale fingers running along the edge of his flannel plaid jacket. She magic misted herself an outfit to match his. Dark jeans, dark t-shirt and the same flannel plaid jacket.
Sniffing, she grabbed his wrist dragging him out of the bathroom, and picked up both their leather bags tossing his at him.
"Are you asking me to runaway with you again? It will I'm assuming, once again be tragically romantic. Without the whole of supernatural beings out to kill me this time, and you not running away because you got your heart broken..." he smiled wide, then let his lips form a perfect 'o'. "But you are running away because you got your heart broken aren't you?" he'd broken enough hearts over the years to know the signs. Literally in most cases. Being half sidhe meant seducing for food, which always ended in his conquest's death. "Works for me." he cleared his throat gesturing towards the door.
Tune in again for another installment of the Nosferatu Adventures starring your heroine...me (straight up story. *deep sigh* The Seer. Who wouldn't want to risk death if it meant a night with him...)