Page 58 of The Huntmaster

Sora shook her head and led me toward the door-flap of our hut. "I told you, Lyra. All will be revealed when the suns rise. We have much to do. Mara will even be arriving early to lend a hand with your preparations."

I stopped in my tracks, one eyebrow shooting up in genuine shock. "Mara? The one who looked like she wanted to push me off a branch and watch me hit every limb on the way down? I thought she couldn't stand the sight of me."

Sora paused, her expression softening into something genuinely warm and sisterly. "Mara is stubborn, Lyra. She is fierce, and she is protective of our ways because she loves this tribe. She is... in many ways, very much like you. But she is warming to your presence, just as the rest of the Oru-ka are. You saved our hunters. You spoke for the enemy. You are no longer the ghost from the stars to us. You are the woman who speaks for the broken."

I stood there for a second, the silver leaf tucked behind my ear rustling in the breeze. I didn't have the words to tell her how much that meant—to be seen not as an intruder, but as someone who belonged.

"Get some rest," Sora said, pushing me gently toward my sleeping furs. "Tomorrow, the moons align. And tomorrow, you truly become one of us."

Chapter 39

Kaelen-Thul

Idid not go back to the hut.

I spent the hours pacing the high, winding bridges of the upper canopy, moving through the silver-blue shadows like a restless predator. I wouldn’t have known what to say to her. I wouldn't have known how to look at her without the gold in my markings flaring into a shameful, blazing heat that would betray every dark thought I’d nursed since I descended from that branch the other night.

The Alignment was too close. The moons were nearing their peak, and the Great Pulse of Alu’un thrummed a heavy beat through the very soles of my feet. It made every nerve ending scream for a release I was forbidden to take.

If I went to her now, I would not be the Huntmaster of the Oru-ka. I would be a beast driven by the lunar tide.

Instead of seeking my own bed, I occupied my mind with the logistics of mercy. I stayed in the mid-canopy, watching from the darkness as a detachment of my hunters hauled the iron-wood cage containing the Vakra fledgling up from the damp misery of the roots. It took six of them to navigate the narrow spiral walkways, their skin slick with sweat that shimmered in the moonlight. They grunted with the effort, the cage creaking as they levelled it onto the main platform.

I had ordered him to position himself in the shadows near the Great Hall. From there, he could see the centre of our world—the fires, the dancing, the unity—but he would remain under the constant, unblinking eyes of the guard.

As the hunters retreated, I approached the bars. I hated his kind. I hated their oily smell of and the way they scavenged the bones of our world like parasites. But as I looked down at the boy—Sky, as Lyra had called him—I didn't sense the typical malice of a Vakra warrior. I sensed a hollow, aching vulnerability. Yet, beneath that fragility, something else flickered. A secret tucked behind those milky eyes, shielded even from the ambient Pulse of the forest.

"Listen well, fledgling," I rasped, my voice vibrating with the low, gravelly power of the coming moons. "The Alignment begins when the suns rise. You are permitted to remain here in the heart of our home only by the grace of the star-woman. Do not do anything foolish. Do not click, do not hiss, and do not test the patience of my guards. Their spears are thirsty."

The boy looked up, his large, pale eyes reflecting the bioluminescence of the Home Tree. He looked small against the heavy iron-wood bars.

"You are lucky," I added, my grip tightening on my blade’s hilt until the bone-carved handle bit into my palm. "To bear witness to the soul of the Oru-ka during the Alignment is a privilege no crawler has ever known. If you stain it with treachery, I will personally ensure you never see the darkness of your tunnels again."

I turned to leave before he could offer one of his maddening riddles. But a heavy table piled high sat nearby, with the early offerings for the festival—bowls of fermented berries and heavy, purple Dura-fruits. I stopped, my jaw working in a tight, frustrated line as I thought of Lyra’s face when she spoke of him.

With a sharp, reluctant movement, I snatched up a piece of fruit and tossed it through the bars. It landed in the straw near his bound, bandaged leg.

"Ma-una...," the boy whispered in a rasping sound that usually set my teeth on edge, but here, it sounded like a plea. I gave a gruff, dismissive nod and vanished back into the shadows before the feeling could settle in my chest.

Despite my best intentions, the forest always seemed to narrow down to a single point. No matter how many perimeters I checked or how many scouts I questioned, my feet eventually led me back to the one place I was trying to avoid. I found myself standing outside the door-flap of my own hut, my breath hitching as the scent of her—jasmine and woodsmoke and woman—drifted out to meet me.

I stepped inside, my movements silent and practised.

The hut was bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of the moon. Lyra was there, a splash of gold against the dark furs, her breathing slow and rhythmic.

The ache in my chest was immediate and agonising. My mind flashed back to the other night—to the slick, wet heat of her mouth, the desperate, broken hitch in her throat, and the way her silk-soft hair had felt tangled between my fingers. I wanted it again. I wanted it with a ferocity that made my claws unsheathe instinctively. I wanted to feel her lips around me until I forgot my name, my duty, and the very ground beneath us. I wanted to tear the furs away, to pin her beneath me and claim her so thoroughly that every inch of her skin bore the mark of my possession.

I drew closer, my shadow falling over her sleeping form. I was hardened to the point of physical pain, the fever in my blood roaring like a forest fire out of control.

Carefully—with a gentleness that felt like a betrayal of my own predatory nature—I reached down and lowered the furs that covered her shoulder and the curve of her hip. I stood there for a long time, simply admiring the pale, delicate landscape of her body. She was so small. So frighteningly fragile. In the grip of the Alignment, with my strength tripled by the moons, I could break her without even meaning to.

I let one clawed finger drift over the skin of her arm, barely touching her, tracing the line of her muscle with the lightest of strokes. The contact sent a jolt of white-hot electricity straight to my gut, making my vision swim.

I let out a pained, muffled sound and jerked my hand back as if burned. I couldn't do this. I pulled the furs back over her, tucking them around her chin with trembling hands, my heart hammering like a trapped bird.

"Sleep, little star," I breathed, so quiet the words barely disturbed the air between us.

She stirred.