Page 11 of The Huntmaster

"I can... I can do it! Just give me a second!" she snapped, her voice breaking.

I didn't give her a second. I was tired of the noise, and the sight of her hurting herself was twisting something in my chest I didn't want to acknowledge. I moved with predatory speed, and pinned her good arm down with my knee, whilst gripping her injured wrist. Before she could process the touch, I placed my other palm against her collarbone and gave a sharp, expert twist.

Pop.

"FUCK!" she screamed, the word exploding out of her in a burst of surprised, white-hot agony.

Her back arched off the furs, her eyes flying wide. Then, the tension snapped. The pain gave way to the heavy, leaden weight of total exhaustion. She slumped back into the bed, her head rolling to the side.

"You... asshole..." she whispered, though there was no heat left in it.

Her eyes drifted shut, the heavy pull of the healing grubs and the trauma of the day finally winning. She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, her golden hair spilling across my dark furs like a spilt treasure. I sat in the silence, watching her breathe, wondering what kind of storm I had truly invited into my home.

Chapter 8

Lyra

The first thing I felt was the warmth. Not the searing, bone-deep fire of the fever, but a heavy, steady heat that felt like being wrapped in a sun-baked stone.

I opened my eyes slowly, the world coming into focus in shades of deep moss green and obsidian. I had been moved from the exposed platform to a bed of furs so soft they felt like silk-spun clouds, under a domed ceiling made of intricately woven living vines. The air was thick with the scent of dried herbs, rain, and a faint, masculine musk that I was beginning to associate with my captor.

Then it all came crashing back to me…The fire in the sky. The crash. The giant. The pop of my shoulder.

"Ugh," I groaned, trying to shift.

My shoulder was stiff and throbbed with a dull ache, but the bone was back where it belonged. I went to check my temperature, but my hand got snagged in something incredibly sticky. I winced as I reached up to touch my head. My hair, which was usually my one vanity, was a literal disaster zone. It was a matted, knotted bird’s nest, cemented together by clumps of that amber vine sap and forest debris. It felt more like a helmet of dried glue than hair.

"You are awake."

The voice was a low, floor-shaking rumble. I bolted upright—or tried to—before realising two things simultaneously: one, the giant was sitting on a low stool just three feet away, watching me with those unblinking amber eyes. And two, my flight suit had been ripped open down to my waist, the silver-white fabric hanging in useless shreds.

I let out a strangled yelp, clutching the furs to my chest, my face heating up with a blush that probably rivalled my fever. "You—you ripped my clothes! Do you have a personal vendetta against zippers? Or just human decency in general?"

The giant didn't look even remotely apologetic. He sat with his massive arms crossed over his chest, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "The grubs needed skin to work. And the fabric was already ruined by the sky-fire."

"Grubs?" I repeated, my voice climbing an octave. I looked down at my stomach, half-expecting to see holes eaten into me. "You put worms on me? While I was unconscious? Is that a standard medical procedure here, or did you just pick them up off the floor and hope for the best? What were they even doing? How did they stop the fever? Was it a chemical reaction or⁠—"

"You talk too much," he interrupted, his voice dropping into a growl. "Your mouth moves like a startled skyla bird. It is... exhausting."

"Well big guy, excuse me for being curious about the alien parasites currently inhabiting my personal space!" I snapped, clutching the furs tighter. "And where the hell am I? Is this your house? Why did you even help me? One minute you're sniffing me, then you leave me in the freezing cold! And the next you're playing Florence Nightingale with maggots. Why didn't you just leave me to the 'Great Alu’un' or whatever you called it?"

His eyes narrowed, and his ears flattened slightly against his skull. The markings on his neck flared with a sudden, intense light.

"I am not 'Big Guy,'" he rumbled. He stood up, and the sheer scale of him— seven feet of solid, scarred muscle—seemed to swallow all the light in the room. "I am the Huntmaster of the Oru-Ka. To my people, and to you, I am Kaelen-Thul."

When he spoke the second part of his name, a strange, guttural noise erupted from his chest, followed by a sharp, clicking vibration in his throat—Thul. It wasn't just a name; it was a physical sound, a resonance that made my own ribs hum.

"I will be addressed as such," he added, looming over the bed. "Now be still, Woman."

"Oh, for the love of—my name isn't 'Woman,'" I countered, my temper finally overriding my common sense. "I have a name. It’s Lyra. L-y-r-a. Since you’re so big on titles, you can use it. And I'm still waiting for an answer. Why save me?"

Kaelen-Thul tilted his head, his nose twitching as he looked down at me. "Names are for those who belong to the soil. You are an intruder. A guest of my whim." His gaze travelled from my face down to my matted, sap-caked hair, and his expression shifted to one of mild disgust. "And you stink."

I blinked, my mouth falling open. "I... I beg your pardon?"

"You smell of sour sweat and the chemicals of your sky-metal," he said flatly. "It is a disharmony in this nest. The scent is... offensive."

I let out a sharp, sarcastic bark of a laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry! I’m so sorry that my near-death experience and the literal crash-landing of my ship didn't leave me smelling like a fucking rose garden. I’ve been a little busy surviving, you giant, judgmental freak! I'm a mess, I know!"