An Unauthorized Field Guide to the Hunt (11 page)

~ Shane West

Midseason blackout

Shane wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the Hunt began, but he’d been in the canopy long enough to resist the reflexive flinch at being draped over Lore’s back. The blur of green leaves no longer dizzied him. He’d learned to keep his body loose to absorb the jar of each landing as they soared from limb to limb. His fingers were familiar with where best to cling to warm fur to hang on to Lore as they jumped. One day he’d grow more confident moving in the upper reaches of the canopy with zip lines, rope bridges, and the other systems the cats had devised for the safety of offworld mates deep inside Mariket, but falling didn’t scare him anymore.

His heart still galloped, though.

Because this time Lore was descending. To the forest floor.

If Shane shut his eyes, he could feel soft earth under his feet and remember the squish of mud between his toes. The memory of ground that didn’t shake or sway taunted him. He would be able to run again, trusting that the earth wouldn’t betray him with a sudden and unexpected lurch. He’d never jump as gracefully as his cat, but eventually he wouldn’t need to concentrate so hard to maintain his balance in the treetops. After he’d mastered that skill, when his hair was gray and his body withered, when he’d forgotten the smell of rotting mulch and the gurgle of fresh water bubbling from a spring, maybe then he wouldn’t crave the solid comfort of dirt under the soles of his feet. Right now, he still desired the ground, though, and in a few moments he’d have it.

Shane was a realist. As the earth zipped by beneath them so close he spied occasional flashes of animals scurrying, he recognized the visit with Fallon for what it was—his surrender.

Lore’s too.

Regardless of Lore’s friendship with Maero, Fallon’s disintegrating mental stability was the least of Lore’s worries, and his cat trusted the Hunt’s wardens as much as Shane did, which was not at all. Lore cared only for Shane. The ground represented danger to cats even in security-shielded arenas where Mariket’s most lethal predators had been cleared. A lifetime of danger had programmed Lore to view the earth as a place of dread. Besides, if one rogue beast could penetrate an arena’s defenses, another predator could be loosed just as easily. Nothing would convince Lore to gamble his mate’s life on such perilous ground.

Except love.

Lore had agreed to this visit to please Shane. To seduce him. To love him, not just with the push of his body into Shane’s or with the nuts, greens, and berries Lore foraged. The cat had learned physical intimacy wasn’t enough. A dry recitation of Shane’s favorite color or a stilted discussion about his doomed career goals wouldn’t turn the trick either. Instead the wily cat had pinpointed the one act that would melt Shane’s heart.

He craved the earth.

One last time.

He hadn’t declared Lore his mate yet. Shane hadn’t been removed from the arena or ensconced with the felid tribe where Lore had made his home. Lore must understand that would happen, though. Soon. Shane had held out as long as he could, but his will crumbled whenever Lore held him, every time the cat stared at him. He gave in to Lore, sharing pieces of himself, filling the cold and empty void inside him. No matter how fiercely Shane struggled between his desire to stay forever with his cat and the life he’d fought so hard for, choosing Lore was a foregone conclusion. Surrender was just a matter of when.

He
was
Lore’s victor. Most of the time Shane was happy about that. He craved Lore too—more than anything. More than the earth.

Once Shane was outside the arena, walking on the ground again would be impossible. The cat’s biological advantages and inherent predatory skill hadn’t surpassed the native animals of Mariket that had claimed the forest floor as theirs alone—the cats lived in the tree canopy. They descended to the ground to hunt game to trade offworld and only with the greatest caution. Offworld mates permitted on the forest floor? Never.

After Shane mated he wouldn’t see the earth again.

Lore would walk with him, smell the dirt, see tracks of the animals. Shane had managed to wheedle a promise that Lore would hunt him after Shane had reassured Fallon. Lore would chase Shane. Fuck him. And after, they’d bathe together in the pond, splashing among the lilies without blood spoiling the water. He wanted Lore to make love to him there with the moss that had packed his wounds as his cushion, with no one to bother them or intrude. Just them. Only him and Lore. Shane wanted to replace the terror and pain of his last time on the ground with something good, sweet, and right. Those were the final memories he wanted of the earth, what would make him smile during the forever he’d spend with his cat high in the trees—happy and loved.

Lore was giving that to him, the only present that meant anything, that meant…everything.

Shane had seen night fall on his final day as a competitor. When darkness crept over the sky, settling on the arena as a blanket, Shane wouldn’t be there. He would be draped over Lore’s back and shoulders, carried as his cat jumped from treetop to treetop. Traveling to the home Shane had longed for but had never known.

That night he would be Lore’s victor, which was only fair. Lore was already his.

They dropped to another branch, so low Shane could make the leap to the ground with no trouble if he wriggled free. He didn’t squirm, though, no matter how tempting the thick bed of pine needles seemed or how the crisp scent maddened him. Lore knew Mariket better, and Shane would be a fool to fail to trust his judgment. The cat would set him loose when he was confident the ground was safe, and not one moment before.

“You didn’t jump.” Sliding Shane from his back to cradle him in front, the cat chuffed. “You are very reasonable when you get your way.”

Shane looped his arms in a circle around Lore’s silky chest, returning the embrace. “Yes. I am.” He tipped his jaw to offer his mouth. “Affectionate too.”

Lore nipped at Shane’s bottom lip, then lapped at the small injury. “Your backpack is below us, and the other human is due east. There’s no need for bribery, Precious.”

Annoyance prickled. “Kiss me.”

“I’ll kiss my victor.” Eyes twinkling, Lore brushed chaste lips on Shane’s chin. “Later.”

Damn cat. Shane scowled.

“Drop down. Dress. Go. Meet the other human.”

“You’ll watch from the trees?”

“Maero and I both.”

Shane climbed down, and indeed his Hunt backpack lay next to the tree trunk. Glancing up at Lore, he fumbled with the pack’s zipper. Though he knew he couldn’t have been with Lore long, wearing clothes again felt weird. The uniform pants issued to competitors were confining, and when he pulled his extra shirt over his head, the slick moisture-wicking fabric couldn’t compare to the silk of Lore’s fur. The material was coarse. Itchy. Especially at the crook of his neck and shoulder where Lore’s mating bite still healed. Maybe mating instincts had sensitized his skin. He was more inclined to believe that covering up the bite just made him nervous.

Either way he didn’t like it.

Nonetheless he pulled on his spare set of Hunt clothes and the moccasins the wardens must have retrieved after the attack by the feral cat. Otherwise, his backpack was empty. Lore had added the personal kit containing Shane’s toothbrush and shaving gel to their den, so those items were in the canopy now. Med techs checked on him daily, bringing the medicines Lore administered to repair Shane’s ruined wrists. His vanished first-aid kit hadn’t included splints or syringes of customized drug cocktails to mend shattered bone, so Shane didn’t miss that. Nor did he care about the camping supplies provided to each competitor—canteen, sleeping bag, rope, flint, mess kit, and cooking pot. Why, when wardens outfitted the dens of mating cats so handsomely?

He still yearned for his flatscreen, though.

Shane was willing to bet his personal items, including his flatscreen, already awaited him at Lore’s home outside the arena. At least he’d recover his things soon.

Rather than slinging the backpack over his shoulder, which ached sometimes from the bite despite his medicines, Shane left the bag. If he wanted it later, his new tribe would see to that. Instead he crouched to study rocks jutting up from the bed of pine needles underfoot. The side moss grew thickest on determined which way was east. Inhaling a deep lungful of pine-scented air, he stood. He headed to the right at a slow but steady clip.

While he walked, a smile curved his lips even as anxiety coiled in his stomach. The ground didn’t give beneath his weight. He squared his shoulders and braced to counter the dip with every step. Just couldn’t stop himself, but that slight bend never happened. Disconcerting. Could he run without swaying drunkenly when his footing didn’t shake anymore?

He could hear better too. When he’d sprinted into the arena, he couldn’t have picked up the quiet rub of twigs in bushes that indicated wildlife far ahead of him, but now, the soft noises were as good as an alarm. Lore had climbed higher in the trees, out of sight, but Shane heard the discreet but comforting clack of his claws on branches. He knew exactly where his cat was—a luxury Shane hadn’t enjoyed when Lore had first chased him.

Shane had changed. And would change further still.

The syringes Lore emptied into him at the direction of the med techs weren’t simply nanobots to repair bone and torn muscle, painkillers, and antibiotics.

He’d known. Rather, he’d guessed. Offworld mates didn’t stand a chance in the canopy without genetic modifications, no matter how carefully the cats helped them adapt to the environment. To survive he needed better balance. He also needed a sharper sense of hearing to detect enemies and potential threats. Mariket was too dangerous for humans, too lethal. The cats couldn’t reverse engineer Shane or any other species competing in the Hunt. Shane was human. He would always be human.

But he could be forced to evolve.

Shane had never resisted the shots. He’d never even questioned them. As long as Lore was the one who pushed the needle through his skin. If only his cat touched him, Shane would tolerate almost anything.

He’d been a victor all along.

Curiously, that didn’t worry him anymore.

Furrowed scratches sticky with sap marred trees, signaling Maero’s territory as Shane neared Fallon’s camp, but he would’ve known it by the sounds and smells. Not only the gamy tang of roasting meat hung in the air, but also the yeasty scent of bread.
Bread!
Shane’s mouth watered as he hurried on, not bothering to smother his hungry sigh. Humming whispered on the breeze, a distinctly human sound interspersed with random words of a half-forgotten song Shane vaguely recognized as an old folk ballad back home on Narone. The regular
thwack
of an axe striking wood joined the melody, but he pushed through the thick brush anyway. Limited to the forest floor, Fallon was brutally vulnerable, and that couldn’t be understated. If wardens had gifted Fallon with a tool, so what? Hadn’t wardens gifted Shane with the metal spit for roasting over campfires? That could’ve been used as a weapon too.

He was safe. He and Fallon both were.

He wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he slipped through the hedge of shrubs concealing Fallon’s campsite. He froze, heart thumping.

Fallon hadn’t been wounded. He’d been mauled.

The blond who jerked to face him looked nothing like the competitor Shane had shared a feast with what felt like a lifetime ago. Bandages padded the left side of Fallon’s head. Gauze frayed around tufts of yellow hair stained with blood at the roots, bandages hugging his scalp and covering one eye. Medical tape holding the dressing in place skirted the proud line of his nose before angling sharply to just below his ear. Like Shane, Fallon had draped pelts over his shoulders, but the furs didn’t conceal the gleam of white tape and compresses plastered on his chest and abdomen. Despite the sling cradling an arm and a rigid cast that immobilized his leg—the rogue beast’s attack must have devastated Fallon’s entire left side—Fallon crouched on top of his bedroll near the banked fire, axe raised and poised to strike. Which was ridiculous. Any attack by the man was doomed to fail as injured as he was. The tool wardens had allowed Fallon was just a short, blunted hand axe, the blade so dull that harsh language probably would have broken kindling faster.

Fallon stared at him, his unbandaged brown eye glittering with such cold calculation that the memory of the Nambian whom Fallon had gutted at the landing pad teased Shane’s mind.

Belatedly remembering wounded animals could be vicious when cornered, Shane shivered.

“Are you a g-ghost?” Fallon finally stammered.

Shane gulped, trying to control the shaking nerves that hummed through him like that almost forgotten folk ballad. “No, man. I’m alive.”

The fingers clasping the axe handle tightened, knuckles shining as incongruously white as the dressing covering the man’s injuries. Fallon licked his lips. “Shane?” he asked, voice quavering and raspy.

Shane nodded, but nothing could convince him to walk a single step toward the man he’d hoped would become his friend. He’d wanted to help Fallon, and that desire had been sincere. So much Shane had pushed for the visit that—Lore was correct—probably wasn’t wise. The man before him was dangerous. Weak and damaged, yes. But also potentially lethal.

Not a friend.

As though reading his mind, Fallon lowered the axe by slow, cautious degrees until he placed it on the stack of young branches he’d been cutting to feed his fire. He stared at Shane, hardly blinking. “You aren’t dead.”

The sense of wrongness Shane had struggled to dislodge since the attack of the feral cat, since the beast had torn into Fallon at Shane’s old temporary camp, flared bright. “No.”

“You aren’t hurt.”

“Just this.” Shane lifted his wrists, which weren’t strapped together anymore but still sported splints. “And a few cuts on my hip.”

Fallon studied Shane from the crown of his head to the toes of his mocs. “I thought— I heard—”

“A cat went feral.” Shane tried to ignore the trepidation that skittered up his spine. “Lore killed him.”