Hunted by khor, p.11
Hunted by Khor, page 11
But I survived four hunters alone.
That has to count for something.
Even if my body is trying to kill me with need.
Even if morning feels like forever away.
I survived.
That's what matters.
That's what Khor will care about when he returns.
If he returns.
No. When. When he returns.
Because the alternative is too empty to consider.
Eleven days to decide.
But really, hasn't the choice already been made? My body chose. The tonic ensured that. The only question is whether my mind will accept what my flesh already knows.
That I belong here. With him.
Even if here means fighting for my life.
Even if him means an alien who makes me scream.
The night is long and empty and full of need.
But I survived the attack.
I'll survive this too.
Because that's what I do now.
Survive.
KHOR
DAY 19 - EVENING
The blood scent hits me two miles from the den. Multiple sources. Different males. And underneath it all, her scent. Mara. Alive but distressed.
I run harder.
My claws dig deeper into the volcanic glass with each stride, leaving gouges. The payment delivery took less time than expected. The Consortium checkpoint was nearly empty, their collector eager to process and leave. Bad season for everyone, apparently. Dead zones spreading. Water failing. Even the Consortium limiting their exposure to Pyraxis now.
But that's not my concern. My concern is the female I left defended only by her wits and whatever weapons she'd hidden.
The scene at the den stops me momentarily.
Green blood everywhere. Pooled, splattered, smeared in drag marks. The metallic smell so thick I can taste it. A blue-green male unconscious outside the entrance, breathing but damaged. His left side hangs wrong, paralyzed. And inside...
Inside, Vek lies curled on himself, the stench of mating frenzy and trauma thick in the air. The smell makes my spines extend fully, threat response to another male's arousal in my territory. Beyond him, pressed against the far wall with obsidian blade in hand, sits my female. Blood-splattered. Exhausted. Magnificent.
Alive.
I step over the threshold, glass crunching under my weight. “You survived.”
She looks up at me with eyes that have seen too much today. Her grip on the blade doesn't loosen. “Four came.” Her voice is hoarse, probably from screaming. “One fled immediately.” She shifts against the wall, and I see the bruises forming on her wrists. “One ran after the sulfur.” A gesture toward the destruction. “These two...”
I enter the den, careful of the blood. The secretion scent still lingers, making my secondary hearts race. I crouch beside Vek to assess damage, keeping distance from the residue. The scent tells the story. Secretion exposure. Forced mating between males. Internal destruction from anatomical incompatibility. He's dying, slowly and badly.
I stand, turn to look at my female properly. “You used the harvest vial.”
Her fingers drum against the blade handle, nervous energy. “My own vial.” She shifts, and something in her pocket clinks. More weapons. “Saved it.”
Clever female. Thinking ahead while I was focused only on the harvest itself. She learned more than I taught. My tail coils with satisfaction.
Vek's eyes open at my voice. Can barely focus. The frenzy has burned through his system, leaving only pain. His breathing is wet, labored.
“Old hunter.” The words bubble through blood in his throat. He tries to turn his head toward me but can't manage it. “Your female... she...”
I move closer, my shadow falling over him. “She survived.” My claws extend, then retract. “You failed.”
His body shudders with what might be laughter or pain. “More than survived.” He coughs, blood speckling his lips, mixing with tears running from his eyes. “She destroyed us.” His hand twitches toward his ruined lower body. “Turned us into... animals.”
I look back at Mara, still pressed against the wall. “You were always animals.” My tail sweeps the ground, dismissive. “She just reminded you.”
I stand, look at my female. She hasn't moved, still holding the blade like she might need it. Dried blood under her fingernails. Bruises on her wrists from someone's grip. But intact. Unbroken.
I gesture toward the entrance where the blue-green lies. “The blue-green?”
She follows my gaze, then looks back at me. “Unconscious.” Her voice is flat, exhausted. “Might survive.” She rolls her shoulders, testing for damage. “Vek took the worst of it.”
I return to Vek. In ancient times, before the Consortium and their rules, we would leave him to die slowly. Let the desert take him piece by piece. But we're civilized now. We show mercy to the defeated.
I crouch beside him again, close enough that he can see me clearly. “You came for what was mine.”
His throat works, trying to swallow blood. “I know.” His voice is just breath shaped into words. Each one costs him. “Was stupid.” A pause while he gathers strength. “Young.” His eyes close, then open again with effort. “Desperate.”
My claws extend fully. “Yes.”
His eyes track the movement of my claws. “Will you...” He can't finish. Doesn't need to. His hand moves slightly, trying to expose his throat better.
I extend my claws. Quick strike across the throat, severing everything important. His eyes show relief before they empty. The suffering ends. His body relaxes for the first time since the frenzy hit.
Mara watches from her position against the wall. “Was that necessary?”
I stand, blood dripping from my claws. “Was mercy.” I wipe my claws clean on Vek's already ruined scales. “Could have let him rot for days.”
She finally lowers the blade, lets it rest against her thigh. “He would have taken me against my will.”
I move toward her slowly, watching for signs she's not ready for contact. “Yes.” I stop just out of her reach. “But he didn't.” My head tilts, studying her. “Because you're more predator than he expected.”
I drag Vek's body outside, then the blue-green who still breathes but won't wake for hours. The weight of them nothing to me, but I feel Mara watching every movement. If he survives, he'll spread the story. The human female who destroyed four hunters. Good. Let them know she's not easy prey.
When I return, she's standing. The blade drops from fingers that shake with delayed reaction. It clatters on the stone, the sound sharp in the sudden quiet.
She takes a step toward me, then stops. “I didn't know if you'd come back in time.”
I cross the distance between us in two strides. “I ran.” My hands hover near her shoulders, not touching yet. “Left immediately after delivery.” I scan her for injuries, cataloging each mark. “Knew they would move once I left.”
Her body sways toward mine, then away, like she can't decide what she needs. “They weren't subtle about it.”
I risk touching her arm, gentle. She doesn't pull away. “Young hunters never are.”
I'm close enough to touch her now but don't. Not yet. Need to be sure she's ready for contact after such violence. Her eyes are dilated, but I can't tell if it's adrenaline or arousal or shock.
She looks down at her hands, turns them over to examine the blood caked under her nails. “Show me.”
I don't understand at first. Then she starts walking, leading me through the den. “Show me what?”
She walks me through the fight. Points out the paralytic spine, still embedded in the floor where it fell from the blue-green's shoulder. Her foot nudges it. Shows me the sulfur crystal residue, yellow dust ground into the stone. Her fingers ghost over the pattern. The obsidian's bloody edge lies where she dropped it. And finally, the shattered remains of the secretion vial, crystal fragments catching light.
She crouches beside the shattered vial, careful not to touch the residue. “Wasted on them.”
I crouch beside her, tail curling around her ankle in support. “Not wasted.” My claw traces the impact pattern in the dust. “Used perfectly.” I look at her profile, see the exhaustion settling in. “Turned their strength against them.”
She turns to face me, still crouching. “I learned from watching you.” Her hand moves unconsciously to her throat, to the unmarked skin there. “How you think.” Her fingers trace where a bond bite would go. “How you plan.”
I catch her hand, still it against her throat. “You learned to be yourself.” My thumb traces her pulse, rapid and strong. “I just gave you permission.”
Something breaks in her expression. The control she's been holding since the attack. She crashes into me, hands gripping my scales hard enough to hurt. Not embrace. Need. Desperate, violent need. Her body shakes against mine, adrenaline finally releasing.
Her words come out muffled against my chest. “I killed him.” Her fingers dig deeper. “Maybe not directly, but I killed him.”
My arms wrap around her, careful of her bruises. “He killed himself the moment he entered our den.”
She pulls back just enough to look up at me. “I don't feel guilty.” Her eyes search mine. “Should I feel guilty?”
I brush dried blood from her cheek. “Feel what you feel.” My forehead touches hers. “Guilt is for those who had choices.” My tail wraps around her waist. “He made his.”
She pulls back enough to look at me. Her eyes are wild, pupils dilated from adrenaline and arousal mixing. Her whole body vibrates with need. “I need you.” Her hands move to my chest, clawing. “Now.” She's already pulling at her torn clothes. “The tonic... fighting made it worse.” Her breathing is ragged. “I'm burning.”
I can smell it on her. The desperate need that's been building since I left. Made worse by violence, by dominance display, by survival. The scent makes my breeding cock emerge immediately.
But not here. Not in blood and death stench.
I lift her, her legs wrapping around me instinctively. Her mouth finds my neck, biting, not gentle. I carry her to the back chamber, the one she retreated to during the frenzy. It's clean here, just our scents and the furs I laid out seasons ago. She's clawing at me before I set her down, desperate for contact, leaving marks on my scales.
Her words are barely coherent. “Please.” She's pulling me down onto the furs. “Please.” Her hands are everywhere at once. “Been empty too long.”
The breeding that follows is violent necessity. She needs to be filled, claimed, reminded that she survived. I need to mark her, inside and out, erase every trace of their presence with my own. When I enter her, she screams. Relief, not pain. Her body clamps down immediately, trying to keep me inside. Her nails rake my back, adding new marks to old scars.
I thrust deep, setting a punishing pace. “Never leaving you alone again.” The words come out between heavy breaths, my control shattered by her desperation.
Her legs lock around me, heels digging into my back. “Can't keep that promise.”
I bite her shoulder, not breaking skin but marking. “Watch me.”
The knot forms faster than usual, my body responding to her desperation with its own. When it locks, she comes immediately, the orgasm ripping through her with enough force to arch her spine completely off the furs. I follow, flooding her with seed her body has been craving.
We stay locked longer than normal. Neither willing to separate. She tells me details while we're joined. How the brown one was so young his scales still had soft edges. How the yellow one cursed in dialect she didn't recognize. How Vek looked when the frenzy hit, surprised and terrified and aroused all at once.
“I'm not the same person who came through the portal,” she says.
“No. You're better. Sharper. True.”
“I'm violent.”
“You're surviving.”
The knot finally releases, but I don't withdraw. Stay inside her, half-hard, enough to keep her settled. Her breathing gradually slows from desperate to normal. The shaking stops.
“Ten days,” she says. “Ten days until the portal.”
“Yes.”
“I should be thinking about it more. About choosing.”
“Should you?”
“Lily needs me. Earth needs the resources. Everything logical says I should go back.”
“Logic isn't everything.”
“What would you do? If positions were reversed?”
I consider the question seriously. “Would depend on whether my mate could survive without me.”
“You survived before me.”
“Existed. Not the same as survived.”
She's quiet for a long moment. Then, “I exist on Earth. Here I survive.”
“Is that enough? Survival?”
“It's more than I had before.”
We stay joined through the night. Sometimes sleeping. Sometimes she needs movement and I provide it, slow and deep, keeping her grounded. By dawn, the desperation has faded to manageable need.
The blue-green male is gone when we emerge. Crawled away or collected by others. Doesn't matter. Vek's body needs handling, so we burn it as the sun rises. The smoke carries warning to any other young hunters with stupid ideas.
“What happens now?” Mara asks, watching the pyre.
“Now we live. Until you choose otherwise.”
“And if I choose the portal?”
“Then I'll have nine days of memories.”
“That's all?”
“That's everything.”
She takes my hand, first time she's initiated such contact. Her fingers are small against my claws but strong. There's still blood under her nails.
“Teach me more,” she says. “About survival.”
“You already know everything necessary.”
“Then teach me about living. Here. With you.”
So I do. For the next days, I show her things beyond survival. How to read weather patterns in the cloud formations. Where to find water even in dead zones. Which creatures are safe to approach, which to avoid. How to prepare for the violent storms that will come with season change.
She learns it all with the same focus she brought to violence. Like she's planning for a future. Like she might stay.
But the portal countdown continues.
Ten days become nine. Nine become eight.
And still, she doesn't speak of choosing.
Maybe that's answer enough.
Or maybe she's waiting for something I haven't given her yet.
The bond bite mark on her throat remains unmarked. Her choice. Always her choice.
Even if waiting might lose her.
Even if the portal might take her.
Her choice.
That's what separates claiming from owning.
She claimed her freedom with blood and cleverness.
Now she has to choose what to do with it.
MARA
DAY 21
The nightmares started two nights after Vek died. Not about the attack itself, but about the portal. Standing before it while my body tears itself apart, unable to go through because the tonic has made me too specific to Khor. Unable to stay because Lily needs me.
I wake gasping, sheets soaked with sweat. He's already there. Not asking questions, just pulling me against him until my breathing steadies. His tail wraps around my waist, the weight of it grounding.
I press my face into his chest, inhaling his sulfur-and-spice scent. “The portal can't actually hurt me.”
His hand strokes down my spine, claws gentle. “No.” He shifts, pulling me closer. “But leaving might.”
I push back slightly to look at him. “That's not helpful.”
His head tilts, that alien movement I've learned means he's being literal. “Not trying to be helpful.” His pupils contract in the darkness. “Being truthful.”
We don't talk about it more. Instead, he fills me until I can't think about anything except the stretch and pressure and heat. The breeding has changed since the attack. Less desperate, more deliberate. Like we're trying to memorize each other.
Day 23
I find myself organizing the den while he's out checking territory. Not survival organization. Domestic. Making spaces for things. Creating something that looks like a home instead of just shelter.
My hands move without conscious thought, arranging the water vessels by size, the dried meats by type. I'm humming something, a half-remembered Earth song, when I realize what I'm doing.
When did I start thinking of this as home?
He returns with fresh meat and finds me arranging the furs in a way that makes no survival sense but feels right. Blood from his kill still stains his claws. He stops in the entrance, watching me work.
He sets down the meat, his tail twitching with what I've learned is amusement. “Nesting.”
I throw a small stone at him, not hard. “Just organizing.”
He catches it easily, examining it like it's precious. “Nesting behavior.” He sets the stone carefully on a ledge. “Common when females are either breeding true or...” He stops. His spines half-extend then flatten.
I turn from the furs to face him properly. “Or what?”
His weight shifts, something he does when choosing words carefully. “Or deciding to stay.”
I throw a fur at him. He catches it, laughing. The sound is still strange, like rocks grinding, but I've learned to love it.
That night, the sex is playful. He lets me explore him properly for the first time. I trace every scar, learn the story of each one. The parallel marks on his ribs from his first harvest. The puncture wounds on his shoulder from a territorial fight. The burn marks on his back from acid rain before he knew to find shelter.
“You're scarred everywhere,” I tell him.
“Survival requires payment.”
He's right. My body carries its own stories now. The scars on my feet from obsidian. Marks from his claws and teeth. Changes from the tonic that go deeper than skin.
