Page 68 of The Huntmaster

"That's it," he urged, his movements picking up a frantic, coordinated speed. His fingers worked in tandem, a wicked piston in my pussy, a demanding presence in my ass. "Sing for me, star-woman. Let the forest hear how you belong to the Huntmaster. Let the moons see your shame."

I was swearing, sobbing, lost. Sensation became a kaleidoscope—the scrape of his claws on my hips, the crush of his body against my back, the dual points of fiery, stretching fullness. He curled his fingers, and there—he hit something so deep inside me it made my entire lower body go numb and electric all at once. A bolt of pure, undiluted pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

I gave a choked, high-pitched scream as my body partly gave in. I squirted, the heat of it slicking his hand and the moss beneath us, my muscles pulsing around his fingers.

Kaelen let out a deep, affirmative growl of approval that vibrated through my entire frame. He dipped his head, his tongue lapping at the moisture, his markings glowing so bright they illuminated the dark shrubs around us in a golden haze.

The pressure built again, like a tidal wave gathering in the base of my spine. I could feel it coming, a climax that felt like it would shatter my bones, rewrite my DNA. My moans choked into desperate whimpers. My hips bucked against his hand, trying to force him deeper, to chase that impossible peak.

I was so close, my breath coming in shattered, sobbing gasps, my body about to shatter into a thousand pieces—and then, with a suddenness that made my head spin, he stopped.

He pulled out. Abruptly. Completely.

The cold emptiness was a shock. A violation. I was a sobbing, unfinished mess on the forest floor, my body screaming for completion, aching with a hollow need more acute than before he ever touched me.

He stood up. I felt the loss of his heat immediately. I looked up, vision swimming, to see him looming over me. His chest was still heaving, his predatory eyes blown black with desire. His hand glistened, wet with me.

"Run."

The command was a harsh, serrated edge cutting through the humid air.

My body trembled so hard I could barely think. But I knew—with a certainty that pierced the fog of pleasure—that if I didn't find the strength to move in the next three seconds, he wouldn't let me run again. The beast would win. He would finish what he started, and I wouldn't survive its sheer, raw intensity.

With a ragged gasp, I scrambled to my feet. My legs were weak and trembling, the muscles jelly. I didn't look back. I turned and vanished, stumbling, into the deep, waiting shadows of the trees, the echo of his growl clinging to me like a promise… or a threat.

Chapter 45

Kaelen-Thul

The forest was a symphony of sensory overload, and she was the only note that mattered.

I stood in the clearing for a heartbeat after she fled, my bare feet anchored in the cool, damp moss she had just occupied. I felt the earth’s minute vibrations through the pads of my toes—the scurry of insects, the swaying of distant trunks, and the frantic, heavy footfalls of a woman who thought she could escape the inevitable.

My hand was still wet with her. I raised my fingers to my face, my pupils blooming until the world was nothing but shadow and intent. I parted my lips to suck them clean, one by one, tasting the salt of her skin and the thick, honeyed sweetness of her core. It was the most intoxicating thing I had ever tasted—a drug that bypassed my reason and fed the beast lurking in my marrow.

I let out a low, shuddering breath as I pulled my fingers from my mouth. I wasn't a male anymore. The Master of the Nest, the strategist, the diplomat—those versions of Kaelen had been incinerated the moment I tasted her desire. The moment she admitted she wanted this. Wanted me. I was a predator of peak capability, and the Alignment had turned my blood into a boiling river of intent. My vision had shifted into the monochromatic sharp-focus of the Hunt, where every leaf was a jagged edge and every shadow was a potential killing field.

But she couldn't hide. Not from me. Not tonight.

I could hear her. Her heart was a frantic and erratic echo through the wood, a staccato rhythm that told me exactly how much I had shattered her composure. I could hear the brush of her silver-fox fur against the ferns and the hitch of her breath as she struggled to find her footing.

I didn't need to run. Not yet.

I began to move, my pace a slow, deliberate prowl. My bare feet made no sound as I navigated the treacherous roots, my weight distributed with a grace only centuries of forest-life could perfect. Every instinct I possessed was screaming for me to sprint, to tackle her into the dirt and finish what I had started. My claws were fully extended, digging into the bark of the trees as I brushed past, leaving deep, serrated furrows in the wood.

My length was a heavy, aching weight, thumping against my thigh with every step. It throbbed with a painful intensity, demanding the release I had cruelly denied us both. I felt its heat, a literal pulse of fire between my legs that matched the hunger in my gut. I didn't just want to take her; I wanted to break that fiery, stubborn willpower of hers. I wanted to push her until there was nothing left of the star-woman, until she was nothing but a quivering mass of need, begging for me to claim her.

Two chances left.

I let out a low, vibrating purr that rumbled through the canopy, a sound meant to trigger the primal flight response in any living thing. I wanted her to hear me. I wanted her to know the distance between us was an illusion I was allowing her to maintain for my own amusement.

"You cannot outrun the moon, Ly-ra," I called out, my voice a serrated edge of hunger. "And you cannot outrun what is in your blood. Each step you take only makes the catching sweeter."

I followed the trail of the Lumia-ferns she had touched again. She was leading me, leaving a trail of violet breadcrumbs for the monster in her wake. It was a beautiful, desperate invitation. She wanted to be caught again; she wanted the second mark.

I watched as she scrambled toward a massive silver-bark tree, her small hands catching on the rough surface as she began to climb. It was a brave effort, but futile. I stood at the base of the trunk, watching the play of muscles in her legs as she hauled herself onto a low-hanging branch. Because I had shredded her undercloth in the first catching, I saw everything.

As she climbed higher, her silver-fox skirt hitched up, exposing the pale, vulnerable curve of her backside and her wet, glistening centre. The sight nearly broke the last thread of my restraint. I wished I could just say screw it, leap up behind her while she was still mid-climb, and pin her to the bark. I wanted to bury my face between those trembling thighs and stick my tongue deep inside her while she struggled to keep her grip. I would have loved to see her try to keep climbing while I tasted how much she was weeping for me.