The serious expression says he expects me to do whatever it takes. And the worst part? I know I will. I'll do anything if it means being filled instead of empty.
As he stands to leave, something moves in the rocks above us. A flash of green scales, quickly hidden.
Khor's spines extend fully—threat display. A low growl rumbles from his chest, felt more than heard.
“What was that?”
“Nothing important,” he says, but his posture says otherwise. “Rest. Tomorrow will be challenging.”
The green scales don't reappear, but I can smell something now. Different from Khor's sulfur-and-spice scent. Younger. Earthier. Male.
Another hunter. And he's been watching.
MARA
DAY 5 - DAWN
The stone beneath me has retained yesterday's heat, but my body shakes anyway. Not from cold. From the absence of him.
Everything hurts in specific, memorable ways. My inner thighs are chafed raw from grinding against stone while his tongue worked inside me. Bruises bloom across my hips where he held me still for the fourth—or was it fifth?—orgasm. My throat aches from screaming. Between my legs, everything throbs in time with my heartbeat. Swollen, oversensitive, desperately empty.
Seven times. He made me come seven times with just his tongue, then left me here. Alone.
I crack one eye open. Purple fruits arranged on a flat rock, just within crawling distance. Three of them. The exact number I ate yesterday when they barely dulled the edge of need. A leather pouch of water beside them, beaded with condensation.
He knew exactly where I'd collapse. Knew exactly what I'd need come morning.
My legs don't work yet. I learned that yesterday. After what his tongue did to me, walking becomes theoretical for hours. Themuscles simply refuse to coordinate, liquefied by pleasure. So I crawl.
The movement is humiliating and necessary in equal measure. My breasts drag against rough stone, nipples still sensitive enough that even this friction makes me gasp. The position makes me hyperaware of how wet I still am. How empty. Last night's desperate attempts at self-relief left evidence everywhere: nail marks in the dirt, stones scattered from my thrashing, the ground beneath where I slept still damp.
The first fruit tastes like ash and copper, familiar now. But underneath that, I detect something else. Salt. Musk. The bastard rubbed them with his sweat. The realization should disgust me. Instead, my body clenches around nothing, recognizing his scent even in this diluted form.
“Pathetic.”
I spin toward the voice, nearly dropping the fruit. Not Khor. This voice is younger, lighter, with an accent that turns the Pyraxian words almost musical. Green scales catch the morning sun where he leans against a boulder, watching me crawl and eat scraps like an animal.
Vek. Has to be. Khor mentioned him. Another hunter, younger, eager. Watching from the borders of Khor's territory.
He's smaller than Khor. Maybe six and a half feet to Khor's seven. His scales gradient from forest green to pale jade at his throat, unmarred by scars. Pretty, in an untested way. Everything about him screams easy living. Never had to fight for territory. Never had to really hunt.
“That's all he left you?” Vek steps closer, but stays carefully outside grabbing distance. Smart. Or maybe he can see the violence in my eyes. “Three bitter fruits and warm water?”
“It's enough.”
“Is it?” He crouches, still maintaining that careful distance. This close, I can smell him. Citrus and ozone, sharp where Khoris all smoke and spice. “I've been watching since yesterday. Saw what he did to you. Heard you screaming. Watched him leave you here to suffer through the night alone.”
My hand tightens on the fruit. “And?”
“And I have better offerings.” He swings his pack around, opening it to reveal supplies that make my stomach clench with real hunger. Dried meat glistening with fat. Fresh fruits that smell sweet. Bread wrapped in leaves. A full water skin that sloshes heavily. “Real food. Clean water from the northern springs.”
When did I last eat actual food? Three days ago? Four? The purple fruits dull the sexual need but do nothing for real sustenance. My body is eating itself, burning through reserves I don't have.
“There's a catch.”
“Not a catch. An exchange. You eat, drink, recover your strength. I provide shelter from the storm.” He gestures at the horizon where clouds are building, dark and strange-colored. “In return, you consider me as an option.”
“Option for what?”
