Page 34 of The Huntmaster

It took a long time for the world to return.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the rapid, ragged sound of our breathing. Lyra laid back against the moss, her eyes closed, her chest heaving, glistening with a mixture of sweat and my own arousal.

I pulled back, sitting on my haunches. My jaw ached. My body was still trembling, the primal hunger only slightly abated, replaced by a terrifying, heavy realisation.

With a strange, unfamiliar gentleness, I reached down and pulled the charcoal-colored underwear back over her sensitive, flushed S'va. Then, I tugged the leather wrap-skirt back into place, covering her legs. The act felt intimate, a claim of protection that went against everything the Council had taught me about separating oneself from the 'lesser' creatures.

I stood up, shaking, and held out a hand to her. She looked up at me, dazed, her eyes unfocused, and took it. Her hand felt small and fragile in mine, a stark reminder of the fragile peace I had just shattered.

"We..." we both began at the same time, our voices cracking in the thick, humid air.

A heavy silence followed, thick with awkwardness. Lyra’s face was a map of conflicting emotions—the lingering pleasure of the venom, the shock of what had just happened, and a sharp, sudden awareness of the vulnerability of her position. She looked away, brushing moss from her leather skirt with frantic, jerky motions.

"We should... go back," she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes," I rasped, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "The Tribe will be expecting us."

She tried to stand, but her legs were shaky, weakened by the venom and the intensity of the climax. She stumbled forward, her hand instinctively gripping onto my forearm for support. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through me, and for a terrifying second, I wanted to pull her back down into the moss.

She realised the contact too, her eyes widening as she quickly retracted her hand as if burned, clutching her own elbows instead. The flush on her face deepened, turning her skin a vibrant shade of pink that was painfully human.

The walk back to the communal fork was silent.

The heavy, humid air seemed to press down on us, carrying the scent of our union like a beacon. I walked ahead, my tail twitching nervously, feeling her gaze on my back. The forest, usually a symphony of sound, felt muted, as if it were observing our transgression.

What have I done? The question echoed in the silent corridors of my mind.

I had tasted the prey. I had let the beast out of the cage. And as I looked at the shimmering light of the village in the distance, I knew with absolute certainty that I would gladly do it all over again.

Chapter 22

Lyra

The village's glow flickered through the dense foliage ahead, a beacon of "civilisation" that felt jarringly bright after the violet intimacy of the forest floor. Every step I took was a struggle; my legs felt like lead, my muscles humming with a post-climax lethality that made the world feel tilted. I felt heavy, grounded, and utterly raw.

My mind was a chaotic mess of scientific logic and terrifying, primal sensation. I kept trying to tell myself it was just the neurotoxin—that the Sun-Stinger had simply bypassed my frontal lobe and turned me into a desperate animal. I tried to run the numbers on the chemical cocktail currently flooding my system, but the equations kept failing. No amount of venom could explain the way my body was still reaching for him, or the way the humid air felt like a weight against my skin.

Kaelen was a silent, brooding shadow. The air between us was no longer just charged; it was thick with a secret that felt like a target painted on my back.

As we reached the edge of the communal clearing, where the scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat began to mask the damp earth, Kaelen stopped so abruptly I nearly collided with his back. He turned toward me, his nostrils flaring as he drew in a deep, sharp breath. He wasn't just breathing; he was scenting the air around us with an intensity that made my heart hammer against my ribs.

His expression didn't soften; it hardened into something harsh and panicked.

"I can still smell it," he rasped, his voice a low vibration of warning that sent a chill down my spine despite the heat of my skin. "The S’va. The scent of your release... and my own mark on you. If I can smell it, the others will too."

I froze. I hadn't even considered the biological reality of where I was. I was thinking in human terms—shame, secrets, whispers. I forgot that I was in a village of apex predators whose primary sense was an olfactory map of the world. Walking into that camp now wouldn't be just an awkward scandal; it would be a tribal upheaval. A Huntmaster with a human? It would raise far too many questions and likely cause an uproar among his tribe. Some might even question his focus, his discipline, or his very ability to lead the Hunt.

Before I could even open my mouth to ask what we should do, his massive hand planted firmly against my shoulder. With a sudden, violent shove, he sent me sprawling backwards.

"Hey!" I shrieked, my boots slipping on the slick, wet moss.

I went down hard, landing squarely in a deep, stagnant puddle of thick, grey mud at the edge of the trail. The cold, viscous sludge splashed up in a disgusting arc, coating my legs and arms; soaking into the charcoal leather of my clothes. I sat there for a second, stunned, the filth seeping into my skin.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snapped, scrambling to sit up while dripping with muck. I wiped a glob of grey sludge from my cheek, glaring at him through my hair. "Are you fucking serious? You arrogant, switchy⁠—"

"Quiet," he hissed, the word a lethal rasp that cut through my indignation like a blade.

He threw his head back and let out a sharp, piercing trill—a high-frequency whistle that echoed through the canopy like a bird of prey calling its own. A moment later, the brush parted, and Sora appeared. She stopped dead, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of me sitting in the mud like a discarded doll. Her nose twitched—a quick, involuntary movement. Her eyes flicked from my mud-stained form to Kaelen’s rigid back, suspicion clouding her features.

"Master?" Sora asked softly.