The first light of dawn crept through the cracks in Lira's hut like a thief, painting thin stripes across my skin.
I woke with a groan, every muscle screaming like I'd gone ten rounds in a back-alley brawl.
The air smelled of smoke and herbs, thick and clinging, and the fresh brand on my chest throbbed with a dull heat that matched the ache in my head.
Last night's flames weren't just a show—they'd dug their teeth in deep.
I shifted on the fur pallet, wincing as the rough weave tugged at the salve-smeared mark.
The Fang swirl etched into my pec looked raw, angry red lines curling like a warning.
Around me, the hut was simple: woven reed walls hung with bone trophies, a low fire pit smouldering in the corner, and Lira's scent everywhere—musk and wild earth, wrapping around me like an old habit I wasn't ready to kick.
Speaking of Lira. She was already up, crouched by the fire, stirring a clay pot of something green and steaming.
Her back was to me, those ragged hides hugging her hips just right, tail flicking lazy like she knew I was watching. The way the light caught the fur on her ears made her look half-wild, half-invitation.
My body stirred despite the pain, that traitorous pull from the night before still buzzing under my skin.
"Morning, storm-boy," she said without turning, her voice rough from the chants and whatever else the rut moon had dragged out of her.
"You snore like a cub with a full belly."
I sat up slow, biting back another groan.
"Blame the fire. Or the pack. Or that alpha who decided my chest was her canvas."
I flexed my fingers, testing the pull of the fresh scabs. It hurt like hell, but there was a strange pride in it too—like I'd earned a tattoo that said I belonged, even if it was just for now.
She laughed, low and throaty, and ladled the green mush into a wooden bowl. Padding over on bare feet, she knelt beside me, her knees brushing my thigh.
Up close, her amber eyes had that post-festival glow, pupils still a touch too wide.
"Sable's mark isn't just pretty ink. It's a promise. You wear it, you fight for us. You bleed for us."
Her gaze dropped to the brand, lingering like she was memorizing it. "And maybe... you rut for us."
Heat flushed my face, but I held her stare. "That what last night was? Audition?"
"Something like that." She dipped two fingers into the bowl, scooping up a dollop of the salve.
It smelled sharp, like pine and mint, cutting through the haze in my head. "Hold still. This'll sting, but it'll keep the rot out."
I nodded, bracing. But when her fingers touched my chest, it wasn't just medicine.
She spread the cool paste slow, deliberate, tracing the Fang's curves with a gentleness that didn't match her warrior grip. Her touch lingered on the edges, pressing just enough to send sparks down my ribs.
My breath hitched, and she noticed—her lips twitching into a smirk.
"Easy, Saul. You're still whelp-tender. Can't have you breaking before the real work starts."
Her hand slid lower, smearing extra salve across my abs, fingers splaying wide over the faint ridges there.
The drugged smoke from the pit must've lingered in my blood, because every brush of her skin lit me up like dry tinder.
I felt myself harden under the loincloth, that insistent throb ignoring the ache in my bones.
She didn't pull away.
Instead, she shifted closer, her thigh pressing warm against mine, the heat of her body cutting the morning chill.
"The pack watched you last night. All those eyes on your skin, waiting for you to crack." Her voice dropped, a husky whisper that vibrated against my ear as she leaned in.
"Vexa's tail was twitching like she wanted to drag you off. And Sable... gods, the way she looked at you when she pressed that needle in. Like you were meat she couldn't wait to taste."
My pulse kicked up, memories flashing: the drums pounding, bodies swaying in the firelight, moans threading through the chants like smoke.
I'd felt it then—their hunger, raw and unfiltered, pulling at me like gravity. Now, with Lira's claws grazing my hip, it hit harder. "And you?" I managed, voice gravel. "What'd you want?"
Her eyes locked on mine, fierce and unguarded. "You, storm-boy.
All of you." She cupped my jaw, thumb brushing my lip, and for a second, I thought she'd close the gap.
But she pulled back, blowing a cool breath over the fresh salve instead. The mix of relief and frustration made me growl low in my throat.
"Save that fire," she teased, standing smooth and offering a hand.
"We've got training ahead. Can't have my stray dying on the first patrol."
I took her hand, letting her haul me up. The world tilted a bit, but her grip steadied me—strong, callused, with that underlying softness in her palm that said she wasn't all claws.
"Training, huh? What's on the menu? More fire dances?"
She snorted, slinging a water skin over her shoulder. "Tracking and stealth. Jungle basics.
You move like a bull in thorns now, but by noon, you'll ghost like a shadow." Her tail flicked my leg on the way out, playful sting.
"Or I will have to make you."
Outside, Shadow fang was stirring slow under the rising sun.
Huts squatted low and sturdy, smoke curling from cook fires where she-wolves poked at breakfast hauls skewered fish from the river, roots roasted black.
A few nodded at us, eyes sliding over me with that mix of curiosity and heat.
One lynx-kin with spotted fur and a sway that could stop traffic shot me a wink, her tongue darting over her fangs. I felt the mark on my chest pulse, like it was syncing to their stares.
Lira led me past the central pit, now just ash and scattered bones, into the thicker jungle fringe.
The air thickened quick with humid, alive with bird calls and the rustle of leaves that hid gods-know-what.
Vines dangled like ropes, flowers bloomed fat and red, dripping nectar that hummed with bugs. It was beautiful, sure, but every shadow felt like it could sprout teeth.
"Lesson one," she said, crouching low by a snapped twig.
"Read the signs. Bent grass means weight of how heavy, how fresh."
Her fingers brushed the break, light as a feather, and damn if it didn't make me want her hands back on me. "This? Boar, yesterday. Moving north, hungry."
I knelt beside her, mimicking. The dirt was soft, loamy, sticking to my knees. "And that?" I pointed to a faint smear on a low branch dark, sticky.
She leaned in close, our shoulders bumping, her scent flooding my nose.
"Sap. But look closer scratches underneath. Claws. Small, curved. Cat-kin scout."
Her breath ghosted my neck, sending a shiver straight south. "Silverclaw, maybe. They're bold this close to rut's end."
My gut twisted. Silverclaw. Vexa had mentioned them last night, her voice all sly purrs about rivals sniffing at the borders. "How close?"
"Too close." She stood, eyes scanning the canopy. "Come on. Show me your steps."
Training kicked off brutal. Lira moved like water silent, fluid, melting into the green without a whisper.
Me? I crashed through like a drunk in a china shop.
Every snap of a branch had her hissing corrections, her body demoing the fix: hip low, weight on toes, tail for balance wait, no tail for me.
She'd circle back, adjusting my stance with hands on my waist, fingers digging in just enough to steady and tease.
"Looser hips, Saul. Like you're stalking prey you want to pin slow."
By mid-morning, sweat soaked my loincloth, the fabric chafing in ways that kept me half-distracted.
We hit a clearing ringed by ferns, sunlight dappling the moss like spilled gold.
"Wrestle drill," she announced, dropping into a crouch. Her hides rode up her thighs, flashing toned muscle and a glimpse of inner curve that made my mouth dry.
"Take me down. No claws, no bites. Just body."
I grinned, adrenaline buzzing.
"You sure? Last time I pinned someone, it was over a conference table."
"Talk less." She lunged.
It was a blur—her shoulder to my chest, leg hooking mine, and suddenly I was flat on my back, the air punched out of me.
She straddled my hips, thighs clamping tight, her weight pinning my arms. Up close, her breasts heaved with the effort, straining the leather ties, nipples dark shadows through the thin hide.
Her tail curled around my calf, possessive, and her face hovered inches from mine, lips parted, breath hot and ragged.
"Too slow," she growled, but there was a spark in her eyes—hunger, not anger.
She ground down once, deliberate, her heat pressing through the layers, drawing a low curse from me.
My cock jumped, trapped and aching, and she felt it, her hips rolling subtle in response. "That's the fire I saw last night. Use it."
I bucked up, twisting with the surge, and this time I rolled us. Grass tickled my elbows as I came out on top, her legs wrapping my waist like vines.
She laughed with wild, breathless and then she arched under me, testing, her claws pricking my back through the cloth.
Our faces were so close I could taste her on the air, that mix of sweat and herbs making my head spin.
"Better," she whispered, nails dragging light down my spine. "But earn the pack's warmth, storm-boy. Pin me like you mean it, like you'd claim me under the moon."
The words hung heavy, promise and challenge, and for a heartbeat, I almost did. Almost surged down to taste her, to lose myself in that heat.
But a distant howl snapped us apart sharp, echoing from the ridge.
Lira shoved me off, rolling to her feet with a curse.
"Hunt time. That calls for fresh meat. Stay close."
We tracked it quick, a pack of razor-pigs rooting in the underbrush, snorting and tusking the dirt.
Lira signaled silent: circle wide, strike fast. I hung back at first, eyes scanning for edges. That's when I spotted them, glowing vines twisting up a nearby trunk, pulsing faint blue like hidden veins.
[System Notification: F-GRADE ITEM Identified
Lumen Vines (Energy Bind).
Vision Scan Complete: +15 LP
Total: 101/100.]
[LP Overflow: Unlocking Basic Body Stats.
Strength: +2
Agility: +3
Vitality: +1
Warning: Full Awakening Requires Sect Core.]
Power flooded in subtle at first, then sharp. My arms felt lighter, legs coiled like springs.
The mark on my chest warmed, glowing faint under the bandage, a soft hum that echoed in my bones.
Like something ancient stirring, watching. The god's gift? Or his hook?
Emboldened, I lunged with Lira.
The pigs scattered, squealing, but I snagged one by the flank, agility kicking in like I'd chugged lightning.
My grip held, vines snapping from the tree to lash its legs on instinct. It thrashed, but I held, driving my borrowed stone knife home clean.
Blood sprayed hot, and Lira whooped, finishing the second with her dagger.
"Gods, Saul!" She hauled the carcass up, eyes wide with that mix of shock and heat.
"Where'd that come from? You moved like... like one of us."
I wiped sweat from my brow, the new strength buzzing steady. "Just found my rhythm."
But inside, doubt flickered. That glow on my mark it wasn't pack magic.
It felt... other. Like eyes from the scroll, the one that dumped me here.
We dragged the kills back to the village fringe by noon, the sun beating down like a hammer.
Shadowfang buzzed with warriors hauling water, kids chasing glow-bugs, the forge clanging rhythmic.
Vexa slunk out from a hut shadow as we dropped the pigs, her russet tail swishing sly. She was all lean curves and mischief, hides laced loose enough to tease cleavage with every step.
"Nice haul, tailless." Her voice was a purr, eyes raking me slow from the sweat-damp loincloth to the bandaged chest.
She stepped close, too close, her tail flicking my thigh in a brush that lingered, sending sparks up my leg.
"Heard you took Sable's brand like a champ. Pack's whispering. But whispers say you need... sharpening."
Lira growled low, shouldering between us with the carcass. "Back off, fox. He's mine to break in."
Vexa laughed, light and teasing, but her gaze stayed on me. "Just saying, storm-boy.
Silver shadows circling closer, scouts marked a tree by the east trail. Claws fresh, deep." She nodded toward the jungle, her fingers brushing my arm casual, but her nails grazed skin.
"But there's a cave out there. Crystals that pulse like a rut in heat. Touch 'em right, and they boost a male's... manhood.
Make the pack beg." Her tongue flicked her lips, eyes dropping pointed. "For the good of Shadowfang, yeah? Come dawn. I'll show you."
Lira's tail lashed, but Vexa melted back into the crowd, hips swaying like a dare. I caught the warning in her words the Silverclaw closing in, borders hot.
And that cave? Temptation wrapped in trouble.
My mark tingled again, the glow faint but insistent, like a whisper from the god: Hunt. Grow. Or fall.
The afternoon blurred into skinning and sharing the kill, meat roasting over spits, juices dripping fat and sizzling.
The pack circled loose, stories flying with the smoke: old raids, lost mates, the rut moon's wild pull.
Lira stuck close, her knee bumping mine as we ate, her hand finding my thigh under the log we shared.
"Ignore the fox," she muttered, fingers squeezing warm. "She's all tease, no bite. But the marks... she's right. Trouble's sniffing."
I nodded, chewing tough pork, the new strength settling like a second skin. "Then we hunt it first. Show me more tomorrow?"
Her eyes lit, fierce and soft all at once.
"Deal. But tonight..." She leaned in, lips brushing my ear, voice dropping to that gravel whisper.
"Rest up. Because when you're ready, storm-boy, I'll show you how Shadow fang claims what's hers."
The sun dipped low, painting the sky bloody, and the drums started up again faint echoes of last night, calling the wild back out like a lover's taunt you couldn't ignore.
I felt it in my gut, that pull, stronger now with the system's hum syncing to my pulse.
The mark glowed subtle under the torchlight, unseen by the pack but burning clear to me, a secret fire licking at my ribs.
A promise. A curse.
And somewhere, in the shadows beyond the fire, silver claws waited scraping soft against the thornwire fence, close enough to taste the smoke on the wind.
The real hunt was just warming up... but as Vexa's russet tail flicked from the darkness, her eyes locking on mine with a sly, hungry gleam, I realized the first strike might come from inside the pack itself.