Page 3 of Hunted By Khor (Alien Mate Hunt #1)

T he female's scent cuts through the sulfur stench like a blade through silk.

Sharp. Immediate. Wrong for this world, yet somehow more right than anything I've encountered in forty years of breathing Pyraxian air.

Human. Female. And beneath the fear-musk, that sweet chemical signature of preparation tonic working through her system. Making her body ready for claiming. Making her compatible with males like me.

But there's something else beneath those familiar scents. Something that makes me freeze against the cooling rocks, every nerve ending suddenly alive.

Her.

The recognition isn't conscious thought—it's deeper. Cellular. Every part of my biology screaming that this female, this specific female, carries the chemical markers that match mine. Perfect compatibility. The kind that happens once in a species' lifetime, if at all.

True mate recognition.

The pleasure cock emerges first—it never responds to anything but perfect genetic compatibility. In all my years of waiting for the Council's permission to hunt, it's never stirred for any of the demonstration females. The breeding cock follows, both organs swelling in response to her scent alone.

My body knows what my mind is just beginning to process. She's mine. Has been mine since before she stepped through that portal. The universe decided it when it gave her that exact chemical signature, those perfect pheromone markers that sing to every receptor I possess.

I track her from the portal site, staying downwind.

Watching her struggle through sand that would challenge even a Pyraxian.

She's smaller than the usual volunteers—they normally send the large, hardy ones.

This one barely reaches my chest, built for agility rather than brute strength.

Yet she persists where others might collapse.

She finds the path I prepared, the compressed route that leads exactly where I need her to go. Smart enough to recognize the convenience but desperate enough to use it anyway. That's good. Intelligence makes the hunt more satisfying. Makes the eventual claiming more meaningful.

The rocks she climbs hold my scent from years of preparation.

Every handhold worn smooth by my claws. Every approach mapped and planned for exactly this scenario.

She doesn't know she's following a route I've walked a thousand times, but her body responds to the territorial markers.

Her breathing changes. Her scent shifts.

The tonic is working faster than anticipated. Most females take a full day to show chemical changes. Her transformation began the moment she arrived.

I watch her settle into the shelter I prepared. The overhang that protects but doesn't hide. Where she can see but can also be seen. She's clever enough to position herself defensively, but she doesn't understand Pyraxian hunting protocols yet.

This isn't about capture. It's about pursuit. About the dance between predator and prey that leads to willing surrender.

When full dark falls, I make my approach. Let her hear me coming—the scrape of claws, the measured breathing. She needs to know she's being hunted, needs to feel the weight of my attention. But I don't take her. Not yet. Fear must season properly before it converts to anticipation.

I could climb onto that ledge and claim her now. Pin her down, work her body until she surrenders to what the tonic has already begun. But that would be taking, not hunting. She deserves better for our first encounter.

Besides, the other scent on the wind tells me I'm not the only one interested in this female. Young Vek has been testing my territorial boundaries for days, growing bold in his desperation. Let him catch her scent. Let him understand what he can never have.

This female is mine by right of recognition. Mine by biological imperative. Mine by the ancient laws that govern our kind.

But first, she has to run.

“ Kethra nala vei, small female. ” The words carry easily in the still air.

She freezes above me. Good instincts. But her scent spikes with more than just fear—arousal mixed in, the tonic converting terror to desire even against her conscious will. Her body already knows what her mind refuses to accept.

“ Vei tanu ketra. Vei tanu slavek nu ketra. ”

Let her sleep on that promise. Let her wake knowing that the hunt has truly begun.

I drop from the rocks, landing silent in the sand. My feet find the packed trails I've created over seasons of preparation. Water sources to mark. Territory boundaries to reinforce. A younger male to discourage from my claiming grounds.

The season's first hunt is always the most important. Set the pattern right, and everything else follows.

By dawn, she'll understand the game. By sunset, she'll be ready for the next phase.

And somewhere between fear and desire, she'll begin the transformation that will make her perfect for this world. Perfect for me.

The thought makes both cocks pulse with fresh arousal, but I hold my control. Patience has brought me this far. Patience will see me through to claiming.

Soon, little female. Run well.