Page 35 of The Huntmaster

"She fell," Kaelen lied, his voice sounding like grinding stones. "The venom made her clumsy. She is covered in the scent of the peat and the sun-stinger. Take her. Scrub her in the mineral pools until the forest no longer clings to her."

I looked at him, the sarcasm already bubbling at the back of my throat. Oh, I fell? I just tripped and backflipped into a bog? Right after you⁠—

But the words died in my throat. I looked at him—really looked at him. He didn't look back. He kept his gaze fixed on the village lights, his body vibrating with a tension that looked painful. It was then, seeing the rigid, defensive line of his shoulders and the way his jaw was set like iron, that it clicked.

He wasn't just being a dick for the sake of it. He was covering me. He was drowning out the scent of what we’d done—the smell of our intimacy—with the stench of stagnant peat and rot. He was protecting us. Or at least, protecting his position and my life.

I caught the look in his eyes just as I was about to protest. For a split second, the Huntmaster’s mask slipped. There was a desperate, silent plea in his gaze—a flicker of genuine worry that I would say the wrong thing and ruin everything. His eyes softened, just for a heartbeat, looking at me with an intensity that made my anger evaporate.

"Yeah," I muttered, looking down at my mud-covered hands and forcing myself to "admit" it. "I... I fell. Stupid human feet. Can’t handle the terrain, I guess."

I saw Kaelen’s shoulders drop a fraction of an inch—a sigh of relief he didn't dare let out.

Sora moved forward and offered me a hand. I took it, my face hot with a flush that the mud couldn't hide. "Go, Ly-ra," Kaelen commanded, his voice regaining its sharp, distant edge.

I let Sora lead me away toward the steam of the pools, the mud squelching in my boots. I couldn't help but look back one last time. He was still standing there in the shadows, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides. As he watched me go, his tongue flickered out, slowly licking his lips as if he were still tasting...me.

I wanted to believe he was struggling to let me go. I wanted to think he wanted to pull me back into the mud and finish what we’d started. But as the distance grew, a cold, sinking feeling settled in my gut. Maybe I was just being a delusional human, hoping for a connection that wasn't there. For all I knew, he wasn't mourning the moment—he was regretting it. Regretting the weakness, the loss of control, and most of all, regretting me.

Chapter 23

Kaelen-Thul

The lanterns of the village felt like needles against my eyes. I moved across the high-altitude canopy with a predatory haste, my tail held stiff and low, my gaze fixed forward. Every bridge of woven vine and every moss-covered platform felt too narrow, too exposed. I felt as though the very air was a witness to my crime. I could still feel the phantom heat of Lyra’s skin against my lips.

I was a walking confession.

I tried to slow my Pulse, focusing on the rhythmic breathing of the Great Tree to force the gold markings on my arms to dim from their agitated, pulsing glow, but my biology refused to obey. I had broken the first rule of the Hunt: I had let the prey get beneath my skin, and now my blood was singing a song that did not belong to my people.

"Kaelen!"

The voice was an intrusion. I didn't stop, my feet thudding softly on the springy, leaf-strewn floor of the primary fork. Toren’s heavy footfalls followed, his agility on the swaying vine-bridges matching my own as he caught up with ease. He was grinning, his own markings bright with the casual, steady energy of a successful day of scouting.

"I heard the trill," Toren said, falling into step beside me as we crossed toward the residential platforms. "Sora said the star-woman took a tumble into the peat. How did the first lesson go? Did she scream at the sight of a Zha-shak, or did she try to lecture the plants until they withered with her strange tongue?"

"She learned what was necessary," I said, my voice coming out as a low, dangerous rasp that sounded more like a growl than speech. "The forest is a harsh teacher. She is with Sora now. Leave it be."

Toren stopped walking. I took three more steps before I realised the absence of his rhythm. I turned, my hand instinctively dropping to the bone hilt of my dagger. Toren was standing on the edge of the platform, his head tilted, his nostrils flared in a way that made my blood run cold.

The air on the high branch was still, the only sound the distant croaking of the Ghu-to frogs below. Toren wasn't a Hunter of my rank, but he was a Tracker of the first order. He knew the smell of the hunt. And he knew me better than any other male in the Tribe.

"Kaelen," he whispered, his grin vanishing as if wiped away by a cold wind. "Your Pulse... it’s erratic. I can see the flicker in your markings from here. And you smell... strange."

"I have had a long day, Toren. Move aside before I lose my patience."

"You smell of S’va," he pressed, stepping closer into my personal space, his voice dropping to a low, intense hiss. "But it is not the S'va of our females. It is... sharper. Sweeter. But flavoured with something I cannot name. There is a weight in the air around you, brother. A musk I haven't smelled on you since the Great Moon festivals. What happened out there in the shadows?"

I lunged forward, grabbing the front of his leather harness and hauling him toward me until our foreheads nearly touched. "Keep your tongue still," I growled into his face, my markings flaring an angry purple. "Follow me. Now."

I dragged him across the final bridge toward my hut—a private sanctuary nestled high in a secondary fork, secluded by a curtain of weeping willow vines. Once inside, I threw him toward the centre of the moss-lined room and slammed the heavy woven door shut, latching it with a hand that I couldn't stop from trembling.

Toren recovered his balance, looking around the dimly lit space. He saw the way I was breathing, the way I couldn't keep my hands still. Then, his eyes narrowed as he locked onto my face.

My fingers were resting against my lower lip. I hadn't even realised I was doing it—tracing the exact spot where her mouth had pressed against mine, trying to scrub away the lingering, feverish warmth. Toren’s gaze dropped to my hand, then to my swollen lips, his brow furrowing in deep confusion.

"Why do you keep touching your mouth?" Toren asked, stepping closer, his posture shifting from defensive to intensely curious. "Did a hex-fly sting you? Or... is there some human poison on your skin?"

I jerked my hand down to my side, my posture going rigid. "It is not poison."