Page 21 of Alokar
Something was stalking us.
I hadn’t been able to see the beast through the dense foliage yet, but I’d caught its scent miles back near last night’s campsite—musky, feline, and hungry. I’d been careful to dispose of the scraps from our meal far from the campsite, burying the remnants where the aroma wouldn’t draw predators. Some things never change, no matter the planet. Yet somehow this creature had caught our scent and not let it go.
Behind me, Bertha plodded along, with no change in her demeanor other than the familiar cantankerousness. Jubal seemed equally calm, his ears flicking occasionally at distant sounds. The feline stalking us apparently wasn’t close enough yet for the equines to pick up on the danger.
I sniffed again, parsing the complex bouquet of the wilderness. Wolves running along a distant mountain range carried on the wind, and the faintly putrid scent of an injured grizzly a few miles away—neither close enough to present immediate danger. Honestly, I didn’t worry about any of the predators prowling about. I knew that of the lot, grizzlies were supposed to be the apex, but I doubted the lumbering beast would give me any more trouble than afarkax—a tiny, razor-clawed creature from my homeworld. Still, I didn’t like the idea of a predator anywhere near Hannah.
Her voice cut through my musings, sharp with curiosity. “Is it Yaard?”
I turned to find her watching me, those keen gray eyes tracking my every movement as I tested the air currents. She’d grown accustomed to what she teasingly called mybloodhound routine—the way I’d pause mid-stride, nostrils flaring as I sorted through the invisible threads of scent that painted the air.
“No,” I said, the word carrying more aggravation than I intended. We’d covered almost twenty miles today yet still had countless more to traverse before reaching the area where I hoped—prayed—I might finally catch the telltale stench of Yaard’s demise. “A large feline has been shadowing us.”
Hannah’s shoulders relaxed in a casual shrug, completely unfazed by the news. “Mountain lion, then.” Her lips quirked upward in that half-smile that never failed to stir something warm in my chest. “They might give a lone hiker some grief, but they’re usually smart enough not to tangle with groups—especially when there’s something bigger than them in the mix.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as they traveled up my considerable frame. “With you stomping around out here, I bet even the grizzlies are giving us a wide berth.”
The sound of my own laughter surprised me. Hannah seemed to have forgiven me and was back to her old self. At least on the surface. Despite her easy banter and quick wit, I couldn’t ignore what felt like an invisible barrier still existing between us. She kept a careful distance now, shying away from the casualintimacy we’d once shared. The absence of her touch was a constant ache I tried not to dwell on.
The cuddwisg device remained buried in my pocket, unused since the moment I’d revealed my true form to Hannah. The relentless itching was gone, replaced by a different kind of torment—a deep, gnawing ache that settled in my bones. That single kiss we’d shared haunted me, the memory both a treasure and a curse. The taste of her lips, the soft warmth of her breath mingling with mine had been everything I’d dreamed of and more. Now, the knowledge that I might never experience that sweetness again carved a hollow space in my gut that seemed to grow wider with each passing hour.
Before I’d revealed myself to Hannah, I allowed myself a fleeting fantasy that Hannah might be my mate. The mating rituals of my kind were brutal compared to those of other species. While Aljani males experienced an itching in their horns when they found their mate, and Vaktaire, like my father, endured the stopping and restarting of their hearts, most of the time Kerzak males faced something far more animalistic. Upon suffering puberty, a violent mating frenzy consumed us, and whichever female survived our savage attention became our chosen mate.
George had mercifully spared me from that barbaric tradition, but he hadn’t saved me from the constant, throbbing arousal that plagued me whenever I looked at Hannah. Each stolen glance at the graceful curve of her neck, the way her hair caught the sunlight, the determined set of her jaw—it all sent blood rushing south until walking became an exercise in barely controlled agony.
My knowledge of human intimacy came from George’s research. He’d claimed wanting to understand human anatomy and physiology in case our mother fell ill, but I suspected his motivations ran other than medical preparation. The Vaktaire warriors and their human mates certainly hadn’t been subtle about their displays of affection. Despite Hannah’s firm declaration that there would be no more kissing between us, I found myself yearning for her kiss—and so much more.
We followed the trail down the mountainside, staying within hearing distance of the river, stopping occasionally to refill our canteens and let the horses drink. While the mornings and nights still held onto the sharp chill of early spring, the days grew hot, even in the shade of the dense forest.
“I need to pee,” Hannah announced, her blunt honesty tickling me as always. Humans needed to rid their bodies of waste much more often than Kerzak, no doubt because they were so small and fragile.
She pointed to a secluded spot near where the river branched off into a babbling stream, which I knew meant Hannah would like to wash the day’s sweat and dirt from her skin as well.
“This looks like a good campsite,” I suggested, glancing up at the thick canopy overhead. It was late afternoon. We would get no more than another hour of hiking before nightfall. There was a small clearing amid a perfect circle of slender birch trees where Hannah could set up her tent. Plus, I scented rabbits and other small game nearby, and we had passed a promising patch of wild berries that would make a satisfying dinner.
Hannah shrugged her acceptance and headed off toward the stream while I tethered Jubal and Bertha to a sturdy pine, then moved back down the trail to where I’d seen the berries.
I found the small crimson fruit—Hannah called them wild strawberries—in sun-kissed patches of deep green leaves and delicate white flowers. Though tiny, the berries burst with intense flavor, the perfect mixture of sweetness and mouth-puckering tartness. I filled my pockets, chuckling as I caught the sharp‘brrr’sound Hannah made while washing up in the icy mountain stream.
Bertha brayed incessantly, nothing unusual for the cantankerous beast, but when Jubal joined in with a low, troubled snort, a cold fissure of worry traveled up my spine. There was an edge to the horse’s whinny that wasn’t natural—an undercurrent of fear that made my skin crawl. Then the forest fell silent.
Too silent.
I froze, straining my ears for any sound, but there was nothing except Hannah’s soft, contented humming drifting through the trees. Drawing in a deep breath, I caught it—the musky, predatory scent of the feline moving fast.
Too close.
I turned and sprinted toward Hannah, my boots crushing the small crimson berries underfoot, their juice staining the earth like drops of blood. It didn’t take me long to spot her—her shirt draped carelessly over her thighs, stripped down to her bra while she splashed the cool creek water over her chest and neck, droplets catching the light like jewels on her skin. I would have liked to linger just to drink in the sight of her, but a flash oftawny gold moving with deadly grace through the trees arrested my gaze.
“Hannah!” I bellowed, my voice echoing as I ran for her.
She jumped at the sound, startled, the confused frown creasing her face, telling me she hadn’t realized the danger stalking her. She swiveled toward me, completely oblivious to the massive cat now crouched atop the moss-covered boulder on the opposite side of the creek, its muscles coiled like steel springs.
She made to stand, but I got to her just in time to push her flat against the rocky ground, intercepting the mountain lion’s powerful leap mid-pounce.
The feline’s claws raked across my shoulders as we crashed into the creek, sending up an explosion of water and dirt. The mountain cat’s weight—easily a hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle and fury—drove my face under the surface momentarily. I came up gasping, my hands instinctively finding the cat’s throat as it snapped its jaws toward my face, yellowed fangs dripping with saliva.
“Get back!” I roared at Hannah, who had scrambled to her feet.
The mountain lion writhed in my grip, its hind claws tearing through my shirt as they scrambled for purchase on my ribs. White-hot pain blazed across the more vulnerable skin of my torso, but I refused to let go, my fingers buried deep in the thick fur around its neck. We tumbled together through the shallow water—a violent knot of desperation and fury.
