Page 13 of Hunted By Khor (Alien Mate Hunt #1)

T he howling stopped an hour ago. That's worse than the sound itself. At least when they howled, we knew where they were. Now there's just darkness and the weight of Khor moving through the den, gathering supplies with sharp economy.

“Pack these.” He drops a bundle of dried meat at my feet. The stuff tastes like leather soaked in sulfur, but it keeps you alive. “Water pouches go in the outer pockets. Need quick access.”

His movements are different this morning. Not the casual dominance I'm used to. This is preparation for battle. Every item he packs has purpose. Rope made from something's sinew. Blades carved from volcanic glass. Vials empty and waiting for whatever we're hunting.

“The howling...”

“Skarrathi. Pack hunters. Usually stay in the northern wastes.” He pauses, listening to something I can't hear. “Coming south because water sources are failing there too.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“Everything here is dangerous. Question is whether they're stupid enough to challenge my claim.” His tail whips once, agitation he's trying to hide. “We leave before sun fully rises. Better to travel in half-light.”

I finish packing while he marks the den entrance with fresh scent. The smell is overwhelming, testosterone and pheromones and that sulfur tang that makes my body clench with recognition. Even knowing I'm bought property, my transformed flesh responds to him like he's salvation itself.

“Stop watching me like prey about to run.”

I hadn't realized I was staring. “I'm not running.”

“Body says otherwise. Can smell the flight hormones mixing with arousal. Interesting combination.” He shoulders the pack, then does something unexpected. Hands me a blade, handle first. “For the journey. Not for me.”

The volcanic glass is sharp enough to slice air. The weight feels good in my hand. Real. Something I control in all this biological manipulation.

We leave through the back entrance, a passage I didn't know existed until now. The pre-dawn air bites with cold that will become blistering heat in two hours. Pyraxis has no middle ground. Everything is extreme.

“Stay close. Step where I step.” His voice drops to barely audible. “Vek has been circling all night. Others too. Young hunters thinking to take advantage.”

“Others?”

“Three at least. Maybe four. Can smell their eagerness. Their inexperience.” He starts walking, and I follow exactly in his footprints. “They think numbers matter. Will learn otherwise if they try.”

The landscape looks different in the grey light. Shadows could be rocks or predators. Every wind shift might carry enemy scent. My three hearts beat in rapid succession, flood of adrenaline making everything sharp.

We've been walking maybe twenty minutes when Khor stops. His hand comes up, and I freeze. There, ahead, something green against red stone. Vek, trying to look casual as he examines what appears to be nothing.

“Morning hunt going well?” Khor's voice carries across the distance.

“Just appreciating the sunrise.” Vek doesn't move from his position, blocking the obvious path through the rocks. “Traveling somewhere?”

“Crater fields. Harvest duty.”

“Dangerous journey for a mated pair. Especially with the female not bonded.” Vek's scales shift, creating patterns that probably mean something in their language of display. “Could offer protection. For a price.”

Khor laughs. The sound is like rocks grinding. “Young hunter wants to protect? Cannot even protect yourself from female throwing stones.”

The reference to my rock-throwing makes Vek's scales flare. Good. Angry means stupid.

“She seems less violent this morning. Tired maybe? All that breeding must be exhausting.” He finally moves, just enough to technically not block our path while still being in the way. “Or maybe she's realizing she has options.”

“Move or be moved.”

“Is that a challenge? Here? Now?” Vek's throat swells slightly. Some kind of threat display. “The female would go to whoever wins. Ancient law.”

“Ancient law requires formal challenge in neutral territory. This is still mine. You stand here by my tolerance, nothing more.”

They stare at each other. Alien posturing I don't fully understand but feel in my bones. The blade in my hand warms from my grip.

Then, from the rocks to our left, another male appears. Yellow-scaled, smaller than both Khor and Vek. Then another to the right, this one brown with gold markings. They're surrounding us. Or trying to.

“Brought friends?” Khor sounds amused rather than concerned.

“Witnesses,” Vek corrects. “To make sure everything follows law when I claim her.”

The yellow male speaks up. “Female looks fertile. Worth the risk.”

“Can smell her from here,” adds the brown one. “Ripe. Ready.”

My skin crawls at being discussed like fruit at a market. The tonic makes sure I'm always “ripe,” always “ready” for any male's use. But my mind stays mine, and right now it's calculating angles, distances, which one to cut first if this goes bad.

Khor shifts his weight slightly. Such a small movement, but all three younger males step back. “We are going to the crater fields. You will move. Now.”

“And if we don't?” Vek tries to sound confident.

“Then the female gets to practice her violence on someone besides me.”

That makes them all look at me. Really look. Not at my body or my breeding potential, but at the blade in my hand and the way I hold it like I know which end cuts.

“You wouldn't let her...”

“Let?” Khor's tail sweeps the ground, sending up dust. “I do not 'let' her do anything. She chooses her violence. I simply enjoy watching.”

The brown male leaves first, apparently deciding I'm not worth the risk. The yellow one follows soon after. But Vek stays, still blocking the path with his body language if not his actual position.

“This is not finished.”

“No,” Khor agrees. “But it is delayed. Move.”

Vek moves. Barely. We have to pass close enough that I smell his citrus-and-ozone scent, feel the heat radiating off his scales. His eyes track me the entire time, and there's something in them that makes my stomach twist. Not just want. Planning.

Once we're past, Khor sets a harder pace. The sun starts its rise, painting everything in shades of orange and red. The beauty would be breathtaking if I wasn't focused on not tripping over rocks that all look the same in this light.

“Here.” He stops at an outcrop of what looks like ordinary stone. But when he breaks a piece off, it reveals crystalline structures inside. “Pyraxian salt. Necessary for what comes next.”

“What comes next?”

“Education.” He points to a cluster of plants ahead. Low to the ground, almost like cacti but wrong somehow. The spines are too regular, too long. “Paralytic cactus. Touch one spine, lose feeling in that limb for hours. Touch three, stop breathing.”

“Cheerful.”

“Useful. If prepared correctly.” He pulls out cloth, wraps his hands carefully, then breaks off several spines with precise movements. “Mix with water, becomes paste. Diluted enough, numbs pain. Concentrated, kills. The difference is knowledge.”

While he works, I pretend to watch. But really I'm collecting my own spines, using torn fabric from my ruined suit to wrap them. They're light, almost weightless. Easy to hide.

“You are not subtle.”

I freeze.

“But you are thinking. Good. Stupid prey is boring prey.” He finishes with the spines, packs them carefully. “Take what you want. But remember, everything here has cost. The cactus will know you stole from it. The desert remembers all debts.”

We continue walking as the heat builds. The landscape changes from rocky to sandy, then to something between. The ground here glitters oddly, almost like glass particles mixed with regular sand.

“Blood sand,” Khor says before I ask. “Reacts to iron in blood. Creates heat, then fire. Step carefully.”

“How does sand burn?”

“Chemistry you would not understand. Result you would. Watch.” He pulls out the dried meat, cuts his thumb slightly, lets a drop of blood fall on the sand. Where it hits, the ground hisses and sparks, a tiny flame that burns bright blue before dying.

“One drop does that?”

“One drop starts it. More blood, bigger fire. Entire battles have been decided by blood sand. Winners burn with their enemies.”

I kneel carefully, scoop some of the sand into an empty water pouch. Khor watches but doesn't comment. He's letting me arm myself. Why?

The answer comes three hours later when we stop at what should be an oasis. The metallic plants are there, but the water is gone. Just a depression in the ground with mineral residue showing where life used to gather.

“Seventh dry source since yesterday.” His voice is flat, controlled. “Pattern suggests systematic failure.”

“Systematic how?”

“Not natural. Something is draining them. Or someone.” He scans the horizon, those alien eyes seeing things mine can't. “We make camp here anyway. Need rest before crater approach.”

Camp is generous. It's a depression in the rocks that provides minimal shade. But Khor works efficiently, setting up barriers, checking sight lines. Military precision from someone who's never been military. Just survivor.

“Eat.” He hands me the awful dried meat and a water pouch. “Need strength for tonight.”

“Tonight's the harvest?”

“Tomorrow. Tonight is preparation. And breeding.” Always breeding. Even here, surrounded by danger and dying water sources, his focus never shifts. “Your body needs reinforcement. More of my seed before we face the creatures.”

“Everything is about breeding with you.”

“Everything is about breeding with everyone. Some simply pretend otherwise.” He settles against the rocks, watching me eat.

“Your Earth, they sent you here knowing exactly what would happen. Your sister, she lives because you breed. The Consortium profits because we breed. Even the planet continues because breeding continues. All existence serves reproduction.”

“That's depressing.”

“That is truth. Depression is interpretation.”