Page 46 of The Huntmaster

"You speak of things that do not concern you, scavenger," I snarled, leaning in until my glowing eyes were the only thing it could see. "And you will find that the 'light' you seek carries a heavy price."

The creature whimpered, its spindly body shaking. It was injured, a deep gash from an arrow weeping black fluid down its side. The wound was uneven, likely from a frantic skirmish with a scout. Despite the silver blood on its skin and the malice in its eyes, it looked small. Discarded. Like a scrap of shadow the forest had tried to swallow.

I looked at it with a cold, detached scrutiny. Whether it worked for a Master or was merely the most desperate member of a lifeless clan, it was a threat I could not ignore.

"You will tell me everything," I growled, my voice dropping to a dangerous, low pitch. "The location of your nest, the number of your kin... I will get my answers one way or another, little shadow."

The Vakra bared its needle-teeth in a weak, terrified hiss, but before it could utter another sound, I brought the hilt of my dagger down hard against the temple of its skull. The creature slumped instantly, its weight a pathetic, light burden in my grasp.

I stared at its unconscious form for a long heartbeat, the lunar fever clawing at my insides. They were bold. They were watching her. My mind flashed to the dream—the heat, the silk of her skin, the way she had looked at the door. Had she sensed them? Had the Vakras been the shadow that broke our resonance?

I slung the creature over my shoulder. It felt cold—a dead, hollow weight that sat heavy against my burning skin. I needed to get back. I needed to see for myself that the Nest still stood—and that the woman who had haunted my every step in the Barrens was still breathing.

I turned toward the nest, my pace a blur of focused, lethal intent.

The closer I pushed toward the heart of the Nest, the more my internal compass spun in frantic, erratic circles. I had expected to smell the copper tang of a massacre and hear the panicked shrieks of a Tribe under siege. I had expected the charred scent of Vakra fire and the hollow silence of a home violated. Instead, as I bounded across the final suspension bridge, the air was... still.

The heavy, electric thrum of the Alignment was there, vibrating in the very marrow of the trees, but the edges of terror I’d sensed earlier had smoothed into a focused, industrious hum. It was the sound of a hive that had been poked, but not broken.

I didn't slow my pace. I landed on the transition platform with a bone-jarring thud that vibrated through the woven wood. The unconscious Vakra slumped like a sack of grey, cooling rot over my shoulder, its spindly limbs dangling uselessly against my back.

I let out a sharp, resonant click-shrill—the high-frequency command for a secondary lead. It echoed through the hollows of the Alu’un, a jagged, demanding sound that cut through the night and brooked no delay.

Toren appeared almost instantly, dropping from a higher branch with a fluid grace that spoke of a hunt recently concluded. He skidded to a halt, his chest heaving, his eyes immediately locking onto the grey, translucent creature hanging from my back. His blue markings were flashing with a restless, overstimulated rhythm, and his skin was covered in the black, oily stains of a skirmish—the foul ichor of the Severed.

"You brought one back," Toren rasped, his voice tight with a mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline. "A fledgling. They are getting bold, Kaelen. Too bold."

"I found him spying at the southern border," I growled, my own gold markings pulsing a deep, warning crimson that bled into the surrounding shadows. "What happened here? Is the Nest secure? Are the healers... is everyone safe?"

Toren’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening as uncharacteristic agitation flickered across his face. He stepped closer, his Pulse vibrating with a frustration that matched the heat in my own blood.

"The Nest is secure, Huntmaster. But you were gone too long," he said, the words carrying a sharp, biting edge. "The Severed... they are many things, but they are not fools. They sensed the void where your presence should have been. They felt the lack of a Master’s scent on the wind. They used your 'audit' as an open door, and they walked right through it. They lured our young into the mist-valleys. It was a mess."

The accusation stung—a sharp reminder of the cowardice that had driven me into the Barrens to escape a human woman’s eyes. I didn't answer him. I couldn't. Instead, I signalled to two younger hunters standing watch at the edge of the bridge.

"Take this filth to the root-cages below," I commanded, sliding the Vakra off my shoulder. The creature hit the wood with a dull, wet thud. "Double the guard. I will peel the truth from its hide once the moons have dipped. No one touches it, no one speaks to it until I return. Understood?"

As the hunters dragged the grey shape away, their faces twisted in disgust, my focus shifted. The safety of the Tribe was my duty but there was a specific, burning void in my chest that duty couldn't fill. I began to move toward the central platforms, my steps quickening into a predatory lope that ate the distance between the branches. My worry wasn't just for the clan anymore; it was for the star-woman who had occupied every fevered, sweating dream of my exile.

But as I rounded the massive, ancient curve of the Home Tree’s primary trunk, I skidded to a halt, my claws digging into the bark to arrest my momentum.

I didn't see a terrified human. I didn't see a woman cowering in the dark of my hut, waiting for the end.

Lyra was standing near the entrance of the Healers' Hut, her silhouette bathed in the pale, ethereal glow of the silver moss. She was conversing with three of our senior females, her hands moving with fluid, expressive energy as she gestured toward a collection of bowls. She was smiling—a soft, weary expression of triumph—as she handed a cooling compress to a wounded hunter who, only two days ago, would have snarled at her shadow. She looked like a part of the natural order, a streak of starlight woven into the dark, ancient wood of our world.

"She saved them," Toren said, stepping up beside me. I hadn't noticed him follow, but the proud, bright flare of his blue markings was impossible to miss. It was a vibrant, shimmering display of respect. "She didn't just hide, Kaelen. She didn't stay in the hut like a good little captive. She used her strange star-magic and our own mosses to heal the blinded. The Tribe... they said their Ma-una."

A hot, sharp spike of jealousy pierced through my lunar fever, more painful than any Vakra blade. The way Toren looked at her—the way his Pulse resonated with a sudden, protective pride—made the growl in my throat nearly impossible to suppress. He was looking at my prize, my problem, as if she were a miracle he had helped discover.

"I was gone for a little over a day," I muttered, more to myself than him, my hand tightening on the hilt of my blade until the leather wrap creaked. "A single day, and the world has turned upside down. She is meant to be under guard, Toren. Not leading the healers."

"She led because we needed a leader," Toren countered, his eyes still fixed on her. "The Elders were in the trance. You were... elsewhere. She filled the silence."

I watched her move, the way the light caught the delicate curve of her neck—the very spot I had devoured in my dream. My arousal, already strained to the breaking point by the Moon-Fever, flared into a violent, throbbing heat. I could feel the dampness of my own desire against my skin, a maddening reminder of the night I’d just spent.

She was smarter than I had calculated. Stronger. She hadn't just survived the night; she had conquered it. She truly was the Vra-ka shei—the bloom that defied the frost of my own people’s judgment. And seeing her now, surrounded by my kin, being honoured by the very hunters who had wanted her dead, made the possessive urge to snatch her away and hide her in the dark nearly overwhelming. I took a step toward her before I could stop myself.

Chapter 32