Chapter 4 – The Hunt and the Heat
POV: Nyla
The moment her master gave the command, she bolted like a shadow through the underbrush.
Ears alert. Nose flared. Every sense sharpened with purpose.
Find meat. Please master.
She repeated it like a prayer. A promise. A truth.
He had praised her earlier—petted her, spoken gently. His voice was rough, low, never cruel. Not like the ones before.
He treated her like a companion. Not a tool.
She'd fight gods for that voice. For that warmth.
Tonight, she would earn more of it.
The forest pulsed with life.
Rodents scurried through roots. Birds called overhead. Insects buzzed at every pitch imaginable—some large enough to hunt.
But she was selective.
Small prey wouldn't do. Her master needed something worthy. Something that would make him smile.
Still... practice sharpened the claw.
She dipped into the shadows, tails fanned behind her for balance. Her fur dimmed, blending into the brush. A small, two-legged rodent poked its snout from beneath a log.
Too slow.
She pounced—teeth first. The crunch was clean. The blood warm.
She left it behind. Not good enough.
Two more. Then three. Quick kills. Clean kills.
They weren't for her.
Each one made her faster, sharper, deadlier. Her paws left no trail. Her breath barely stirred the air.
Then she caught it.
Something big.
Musk. Wet earth. Blood.
She crept forward, senses honed like a blade.
Atop a ridge, she spotted it—just below in a splash of moonlight. A massive, deer-like beast. Antlers thick. Muscles dense. It moved slow, unaware.
Perfect.
She crept, low and silent. Her heart beat steady.
Please master. Please master.
Closer...
The beast dipped its head to graze. Flank exposed.
She lunged.
Claws out. Fangs flashing.
She struck true.
The creature buckled beneath her. Her jaws crushed its throat. She waited until it stopped moving.
Victory.
She stepped back, breath quickened, chest lifted.
Then—the wind shifted.
Her ears twitched. The air tasted... wrong.
Heavy footsteps. Ground trembled. The stench of wet fur and sweat.
And heat.
Not warmth.
Heat.
She turned.
A beast stepped into view. Wolf-kin. As large as her, but heavier—thicker. Muscles bulged beneath patchy, matted fur. Tongue out. Eyes wild. His claws dripped... not blood. Saliva.
He wasn't looking at the deer.
He was looking at her.
She lowered her stance and growled.
He didn't stop.
Predator. Challenger. Male.
She knew his type—feral-born. Half-mad. Ruled by base instinct.
And that instinct was locked on her.
Not the carcass.
Her.
He raised his hackles. A low growl built from his chest.
She stepped protectively over the kill.
He licked his chops.
Then crouched.
She bared her fangs.
But he wasn't preparing to fight.
He was preparing to take.
He lunged.
She met him head-on.
Claw clashed against claw. His strength outmatched hers, but she was quicker—cleaner. She slashed across his eye. He yelped, staggered.
Not enough.
He surged again, swung a thick forearm toward her skull.
She ducked, rolled, raked his ribs. He howled—not in pain. In lust.
Stimulated.
This wasn't a kill.
This was possession.
Every move, every snarl, dripped with twisted desire. He didn't want to eat her.
He wanted to claim her.
Mount her. Mark her.
She wouldn't let that happen.
Couldn't.
She already belonged to someone.
And her master would never want something marked by another.
He came again.
She darted back, lured him away from the deer.
His eyes tracked her—her hips.
She growled low. Disgusted.
He barked.
A challenge. A proposition.
She answered with claws.
She slashed deep into his shoulder and twisted, using his momentum against him. He crashed into a tree.
Still not down.
Still panting. Still aroused.
She couldn't drag this out.
She had to end it.
She sprinted back toward the kill, locked her jaws around a broken antler, and yanked.
The male roared and charged.
She didn't dodge.
She met him—rammed the antler into his chest.
Bone tore through flesh.
He slashed wildly, claws catching her side—but she pushed. Harder.
The jagged point sank deep.
He dropped.
Snarled once.
Then silence.
Twitching... then still.
She stood over him, chest heaving. Blood soaked her fur.
Still alive—but fading.
His eyes dulled.
She turned from him. Not worth another look.
Instead, she returned to the deer, lifted its neck in her jaws, and began dragging it back.
Slow. Awkward. Aching.
But moving.
Please master.
She had food.
She had survived.
And she had stayed his.