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Toren barked a laugh and held out a hand. "The music is calling, and I am the best dancer in the Nest. Let’s go, Lyra. Show me how they move on the stars."

"I really shouldn't⁠—"

"Fuck 'shouldn’t'!" Toren laughed. "Enjoy yourself! The moons demand it!"

I looked at Sky, then back at Toren’s outstretched hand. Fuck it, I thought. Why not?

I took his hand. Before I could blink, Toren swept me up, his strength effortless even in his drunken state, and leapt from the platform back down to the clearing. We hit the moss and immediately dissolved into the dance. Toren was a wild partner, spinning me until the violet flames and the tribe’s red skin blurred into a single, magical tapestry. The world spun, the drums thundered in my chest, and for a moment, I let go of the fear, the scientist, and the ghost.

I laughed, my head thrown back, my hand in Toren’s as we moved through the heat of the fire.

Chapter 43

Kaelen-Thul

The taste of the beast’s blood was still thick on my tongue, but it was nothing compared to the scent of her. When I had stood over that carcass in the arena, my markings hadn't just been flaring from the adrenaline of the kill—they were screaming in a frequency I couldn't control. I had smelled her heat, a sweet, heady musk of jasmine and rising arousal that cut through the metallic tang of the gore and the dust of the pit.

I had been seconds away from pouncing on her right there. I hadn't cared about the Elders, the sacred traditions of the Trial, or the hundreds of eyes watching their leader. I had wanted to pin her to the blood-stained wood, to sink my teeth into the junction of her neck, and show the entire tribe who she belonged to before the moons could even begin their dance.

I had retreated to the shadows of the upper canopy to find my sanity, but even the cool, thin air of the heights offered no peace. The Alignment was a physical pressure now, a magnetic pull that tugged at my marrow.

I watched from the darkness, a ghost in the leaves, as she arrived at the forest floor. She looked... right. It was infuriating. The silver-fox fur shimmered against her pale skin like frost on a moonlit petal, and the living vines pulsed in rhythm with the Home Tree, as if the forest itself was accepting her. She looked more at home among my people than I did in my own mind. I watched her sneak away to the cage, her one tiny human heart proving to be bigger than she ever let on as she offered comfort to the Vakra fledgling.

But then, the world turned red.

I watched Toren approach. I watched his hand find hers. I watched him sweep her up—his body pressing against hers, his teal silks clashing with her silver fur—and carry her back to the fire. And then they danced. He spun her, his hand resting on the small of her back, his laughter echoing up into my hiding place.

Someone was touching what was mine.

The possessiveness hit me like a strike to my sternum, a raw, territorial instinct that bypassed my logic entirely. My body reacted before my mind could find the brakes. I didn't climb down the ladders; I plummeted through the branches, a shadow falling from the stars.

I hit the mossy ground with a heavy, bone-shaking thud that silenced the nearby drums. I didn't stop to apologise. I stormed through the dancing crowd, a path of terrified bodies clearing before me. I saw the faces of my kin blur past—eyes wide with shock, markings flickering into a startled, submissive white as I shoulder-checked a group of hunters aside. I heard the matrons gasps and the Elders take a sudden, sharp intake of breath as their stoic Huntmaster became a force of pure, unchecked aggression.

I reached the centre of the circle in three strides and shoved Toren aside with a growl that rattled my own ribs.

Toren didn't fight back. He stumbled, but as he regained his balance, he simply chuckled, wiping a stray hair from his face. He caught my eye and gave Lyra a blatant, knowing wink. "Good luck, Star-Woman," he chirped, his voice dripping with amusement. "I think the big cat finally ran out of patience. Try not to let him bite too hard."

He had planned this. The realisation flashed through my mind—Toren had pushed me to the edge on purpose, knowing exactly what it would take to make me break my stoic vigil.

I didn't care. I turned on Lyra, my hand snapping out to grip her waist with barely contained strength. I pulled her flush against my heat, her soft front crashing into the hard, blood-smeared planes of my chest. Around us, the music faltered as the dancers pulled back to form a wide, hushed ring of spectators. The air was thick with the scent of my rage and her desire, a cocktail that made the crowd's markings pulse in a frantic, sympathetic orange.

"No one dances with you," I growled, my voice vibrating deep in her chest. "Only me."

"You don't get to decide that, Kaelen," she snapped. Her voice was defiant, her chin tilted up, but she was fighting a losing battle against her own biology. I could sense the frantic rush of her blood; I could see the way her cheeks flushed a brilliant, beautiful red under my gaze. Her skin was humming against mine, her body vibrating in harmony with the lunar pulse.

I was lost. Her eyes were wide, swirling pools of blue, and seeing her in this outfit—the high slit of her skirt revealing the pale curve of her thigh—was more than my sanity could endure. I spun her around, pulling her back against my front so she could feel exactly how much her presence affected me. I leaned down until my lips were brushing the sensitive, heated skin of her neck.

My hand slid to the back of her head and found her braid, the leather tie knotted in an intricate pattern. Every loop of it was a message to any male here: Unmated. Unclaimed. Up for the taking.

It made my blood boil.

My claws pricked the cord as I gripped it. One savage wrench, and it snapped. Her hair spilled over my knuckles in a heavy golden fall. I drove my fingers into it, fisted it, and hauled her head back against my chest until I could see the pulse hammering in her throat.

"You are forbidden to braid your hair like this again," I whispered, the words a low, possessive threat against her ear. "You are not 'unmated'. You are not available."

Lyra’s breath hitched, a soft, broken sound that sent a jolt of pure fire straight to my gut. Instinctively, her back arched into me, her head falling back onto my chest as her hair tumbled down in a golden curtain over my dark, gore-stained arm. In that moment, the world narrowed down to the two of us. The music, the fire, the tribe—it all faded into a blur of meaningless noise.

"Technically," she whispered, her voice trembling but still sharp with that stubborn human defiance, "I am still unmated, as your people would say. No one has caught me yet, Huntmaster."