Chapter 23 – The Bonds Between the Hunt
Dawn found the plains veiled in soft gold. The last of the night mist clung to the grass, sparkling like frost as the sun climbed higher. We had broken camp before the light fully reached us, our movements quiet, deliberate. Every sound seemed louder here—boots in the dew, the low rustle of tails, the steady rhythm of breath.
Nox moved first, checking the wind. His shoulders rolled with restrained energy, the muscles in his back shifting beneath his armor. Luka followed, joking softly about breakfast gone cold, while Ren answered with a grunt that was half amusement, half warning.
I stood apart for a moment, watching them. They were so different—Nox all focus and control, Luka easy warmth wrapped around sharp instinct, Ren a quiet, grounding presence—but together, they moved like threads in the same weave.
It stirred something deep in me. Safety. Belonging. A dangerous kind of comfort.
"Your mind's already hunting," Nox said, glancing over his shoulder.
"It never stopped," I admitted.
He gave a faint smile, the kind that barely touched his lips but lived in his eyes. "Good. That's what will keep us alive."
Luka tossed me a strip of dried meat. "Eat. You'll think better on a full stomach."
I caught it easily, amused. "You sound like an old healer."
"Then I'll take that as wisdom," he replied, flashing teeth that glimmered faintly in the light.
Ren approached next, checking the straps of my pack as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His quiet was comforting, like the heartbeat of the earth itself. "You lead," he said simply. "We'll match your pace."
That single phrase settled something inside me. The pride wasn't just following orders; they were following me. Trust freely given, and that was rarer than any crystal buried in the ground.
I nodded once, the weight of it grounding me. "Then let's move."
We started at a slow run, feet drumming softly against the earth. The rhythm came easily—our movements syncing, our breathing aligning. The trail led east, the prints growing fresher with every mile. The scent of ferals clung to the air: metallic, sharp, threaded with something that prickled against the back of my throat.
The land began to change as we approached the ridgelands. The grass gave way to rock, the air thickened, carrying the hum of hidden life. Shadows stretched long and narrow, slicing across our path.
"Hold," I said quietly, raising a hand. We stopped as one.
Ren crouched low, running his fingers over the soil. "They passed here not long ago. Maybe an hour."
Luka's tail flicked behind him, alert. "Close enough to taste us."
I knelt beside the prints. The earth was still warm from their weight. My pulse quickened, but not from fear. The chase was near, and my blood answered it with hunger.
Nox moved closer, his voice low. "When we find them, we stay tight. No splitting apart, not until we know what we're facing."
I nodded. "Agreed."
His gaze lingered on me a moment longer than it should have. "You look ready."
"I am."
The air between us tightened—quiet, heavy with something unspoken. The others drifted ahead to check the ridge, giving space without words.
Here, between the last breath of calm and the first pulse of the hunt, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Don't forget all of you are mine. We have yet mated no one is allowed to die! Stay alert and focus on making out of this battle in one piece.
A hawk's cry split the air. I looked up sharply, every instinct snapping back into focus. The call echoed once, twice, then faded into the wind.
Nox's eyes met mine. "They're moving again."
I rose, drawing a deep breath that tasted of sun and dust and the promise of a hunt. "Then so are we."
Together, we broke into motion—four shadows against the rising light, moving with one heartbeat, one purpose. The feral trail curved ahead like a challenge written into the land itself, and we answered it with every step.