An Unauthorized Field Guide to the Hunt Page 4

  Bewildered and—unbelievably—getting hard again, Shane mewled plaintively. He stabbed his fingers into the cool moss at the pleasure-pain of the cat sucking his dick. He tensed at the light scrape of one claw over his balls and then shuddered when that threat vanished, the furred caress of fingers with claws retracted taking its place. The cat fondled Shane’s balls, rolling them in his palm, and Shane knew he’d never felt anything more stupefying. The sensations so enthralled him that he didn’t murmur in protest when the cat’s grip released and his magical fingers skimmed Shane’s taint, slipping toward his hole.

  His aching balls throbbed, trying to fill.

  He writhed and panted. Clutched fists full of dirt as though that might anchor him to the rock ledge, but when the cat’s fingertip ringed Shane’s ass, he threw his head back on a guttural moan that proved he’d spiraled into a universe of rapacious lust. The cat lapped at Shane’s needy cock. Shane pumped his hips, thrusting into the cat’s throat, and trembled as the cat dipped a finger inside Shane’s ass, his hole still slick from the mating oils that had leaked from the cat’s dick the last time they’d fucked.

  The cat played Shane’s body. Beautifully. Masterfully.

  Shane came hard, his shout of completion tinged with the dull hurt of coming too often and too soon, but the intense supernova of pleasure streaking up his hot, wet dick overwhelmed the ache. Purring in triumph, the cat siphoned what spurted from Shane’s cock. Couldn’t have been much. Regardless of the shots he’d received at the screening center to stimulate semen production, Shane hadn’t had enough rest or his body adequate recovery time between orgasms to keep up.

  Exhausted, Shane collapsed against the rock, his breathless moans whispering around them as the cat licked him clean. Then the cat slid away from his depleted body.

  Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.

  Thank gods Shane didn’t have the sense or air in his lungs to say it.

  The cat again faded into the pitch-black.

  “No,” Shane sobbed, too late.

  Devastated, he sprawled on the rock as the cat had left him, spent and quaking from the orgasm the cat had given him. A chilly breeze swept over the layer of sweat on his skin. Far, far in the distance, a cat—another cat, not Shane’s—yowled. His heartbeat began to level.

  He needed to get up.

  He needed to go, but his jellied legs wouldn’t move. He could still feel the phantom shape of the cat’s finger in his ass. It wasn’t enough. He needed more.

  Snorting a bitter laugh, Shane released his grip on the soil. He inhaled a deep breath, the now familiar scent of his cum and the cat’s musk mixing with the verdant forest fragrances like the finest perfume. Nothing would ever smell as good, sweet, and right to him. The cat had done that. His season, the supercharged pheromones that poured from his body to draw mates, had performed exactly as the cat’s specialized species’ adaptations intended. Shane wanted him more than…anything. His skin crawled with how badly he needed the cat spilling inside him, filling him with his semen and that addicting aroma. Not any cat. Only one cat would do.

  Shane rolled off the rock ledge, and his body thudded to the forest floor. He slumped in the detritus of leaves, hurting, itching with how much he needed the cat to fuck him. Moaning out his exhaustion and lust, Shane wondered if the cat watched him, how close he was. The animal’s musk was all over him now, his scent marking Shane with sweat and mating fluids from head to toe. Gods knew Shane couldn’t see or hear him moving. Was he near? If Shane reached out and into the pervasiveness darkness, could he pull the cat atop him?

  Weak, Shane crawled. Didn’t try to stand up. No point when his legs wouldn’t support him for more than a few steps and his body hurt too much to take the tumbles to the dirt. The ring of his asshole, stretched and oily from the cat’s fucking, was sore but didn’t hurt as badly as the scratches etched into his back and thigh. His chest ached. He felt like he’d been beaten instead of slammed against a tree, tackled to the ground, and fucked within a breath of his sanity.

  The blowjob had smashed that sanity to smithereens.

  His mouth watered.

  Hungry. So damn hungry.

  He longed for the cat’s kiss, to taste him. For the delicious flavor of the cat’s cum.

  Groaning, he crawled across the ground. The power in the Hunt had shifted as it always did in the arena. He hadn’t wished to lure a cat so soon. He wasn’t ready. Once he’d piqued this one’s curiosity, he’d run, and of course the cat had given chase. The cat’s nature was to chase, to hunt, to pounce, and to claim.

  Just as Shane’s nature was to flee.

  Shane wasn’t running anymore. He needed to be found. He needed to be fucked, and he cried out inarticulate grief as he searched for his mate in the endless black of night. Because the Hunt wasn’t just about sex. The cat coaxed Shane to him with as much merciless calculation as Shane had streaked through the forest to beguile the cat into mating him.

  The cat wouldn’t make Shane’s capitulation easy.

  Blind in the dark, Shane rose and stumbled through the woods to search desperately for his cat until his exhaustion ground him to dust. He finally dropped to the ground again, rolled onto his back, and stayed. Lying still, panting softly, he couldn’t see the cat, but the pleased chuff at Shane’s collapse rang in his ears. Shane just wanted the agony, the fear, and the unbearable emptiness inside him to be over.

  “Please,” he murmured, voice quavering. He lifted his knees and folded them to his chest, exposing his ass to the night. The cat emerged from the darkness of the surrounding woodlands. He crawled atop Shane and between his spread legs. He gathered Shane close, tucking Shane against the hot silk of his furred body. He thrust, returning his hard dick to Shane’s ass. He comforted and soothed Shane as he fucked him, like their sex the first time, slow and tender and sweet. The cat’s purr vibrated Shane’s chest. His scent mesmerized Shane. The cat gnawed on Shane’s ear, teeth sharp enough to sting, but Shane tilted his head to the side, offering more. Shane’s head spun faster and faster with every thrust, with the scrape of the cat’s teeth down the column of his throat. He ached everywhere, bruises and scratches from the blind sprint through the forest screaming in protest. The long scratches down his back throbbed in time with the cat’s thrusts, and the punctures on his hips from the cat’s claws hurt like a motherfucker. His skin felt too tight, tingly. The pleasure of the cat rocking inside him stole his breath. Shane wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his dick, sandwiched between their rubbing abdomens, hardened again.

  The cat didn’t restrain Shane. He didn’t need to because Shane clung to him, legs wrapping around the relentlessly pumping hips. Shane twined his arms around the cat’s shoulders. The cat’s fur was soft against Shane’s fingers. Luxurious. And so damn warm, Shane burned. The cat lit him up from the inside and out. Just holding on demanded all the strength Shane could muster. When the cat lurched one last time into him, when the bite pierced the meat of his shoulder, Shane shuddered. He spilled between their writhing bodies, smearing sticky cum into the cat’s fur. The cat’s semen flooded into him, so much hotter than Shane had anticipated. The cat held Shane down, the bite of razor teeth deepening. Wet trickled in streams down Shane’s pec. His fingers splayed, then clenched the cat’s ruff, thicker around his neck and his head. Shane inhaled the earthy, pungent smell of their sex. The cat licked the wound at Shane’s shoulder, lapping Shane’s blood. Woozy, Shane whimpered in pain.

  “Precious,” the cat whispered.

  The cat held him tighter, so close Shane couldn’t smell the copper of his blood anymore, just him. Just the cat and the heady musk of their joining.

  Mercifully, Shane fainted.

  Chapter Three

  “Strategic alliances and becoming a favorite are essentials in the arena. Without both, your path to cherished fuck toy will be rockier.”

  ~ Shane West

  Day 2

  The forest floor

  Shane’s own groaning woke
him.

  Thick fur cocooned him as soft as a lover’s caress against the bruises and scrapes from his race through the dark. Exhausted, he kept his eyes shut and cataloged the aches. His body throbbed. The bite on his shoulder pounded hideously. His ass was so sore that sex would be too painful today. He curled his fingers, resisting the urge to rub the scratches that itched like crazy. He’d wanted the temporary protection of a cat’s mating sigil shallowly etched into his body, but if the marks scarred, the cat would earn them. Shane wouldn’t aid that task.

  He was a fucked-out mess, but nothing was broken. Nothing required a med tech or a catastrophically early evac. Fueled by hormones and instinct, the cat who had stalked him last night had mated strongly to him, but the last few attacks from Shane’s brothers had done considerably more harm. He’d survived worse.

  Assured the damage wouldn’t remove him from the arena, Shane focused his bleary senses for clues to where he was and what the day might bring.

  The scent of wood smoke and succulent meat tickled his nose, permeating the forest smells of plants and the earthy rot of mulch. The sporadic hiss of fat dripping into a fire interrupted morning birdsong.

  No strong musk of cat lingered, though, just wispy traces of his cat’s scent.

  Wary, he slitted his eyes, and then, stomach twisting, he opened them wide at the dense leaves of the thicket he’d foolishly selected as last night’s shelter. He lay in a pile of pelts, watertight skins facing outward to repel the damp morning while the fur within absorbed and reflected his body heat. A campfire flickered oranges and yellows next to him, a spit with a haunch of meat hugging the flames. The meat closest to the fire was already blackened.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. Without his customary adrenaline blast of morning caff-tea to jolt his brain into gear, Shane struggled to process what the collection of clues and signs meant.

  His cat had returned him to last night’s ill-advised campsite, which was a horrible sign. Disastrous. But the cat had also seen to Shane’s comfort by wrapping him in furs. He might have lit the fire to warm Shane—no telling for sure—but the spit the meat roasted on gleamed, the silvery metal a luxury in arenas where excesses were few. No cat would have such extravagances so soon in this cycle’s Hunt.

  When he inhaled a deep breath, Shane’s nostrils flared at spices that seasoned the meat. Herbs grew plentifully if competitors knew how to identify them, but even cats courting prey rarely bothered since foraging herbs involved leaving mates unguarded. The chunk of meat was also more than a single competitor could reasonably consume. Two wouldn’t finish it. This feast was meant to be shared.

  Blinking sleep away, Shane tried to fit the puzzle pieces together. The gift of food hadn’t come from his cat. And if the cat hadn’t provided for him…

  Last night’s chase must have wowed the wardens.

  However irritating, the scratches were minor. The shots he’d received at the screening center guaranteed such injuries would fade fast in the arena in order to be supplanted by another cat’s, should a mating fail to progress beyond a single coupling. Unlike the scratches, the painful bite at his shoulder was no temporary marking, but a measure of the cat’s avid interest. That wouldn’t heal quickly. The cat had vanished, but he wasn’t throwing Shane back into the Hunt to sample other competitors, not with that bite.

  Didn’t mean the cat wasn’t leery, though. Justifiably.

  Wardens must have voted to help Shane tempt the cat’s return.

  Moaning with equal measures discomfort and grim satisfaction, he pushed off the ground to sit up. Huddling in the furs, he prepared to wait until the cat accepted or rejected the bribe. Staring at the wardens’ largesse, he wondered how dearly the betting had swung in his favor. He must rank near the top of this cycle’s competitors to merit this generosity. The odds for him had been prejudicially high at the start by virtue of him being human, but he’d also earned superior ratings for his diligence in mastering survival craft at the screening center. Were his brothers and his father pleased? Playing well guaranteed his family greater standing and influence at home. With any luck, his performance in the Hunt might sway them to stop trying to kill him. Wouldn’t that be nice.

  The gift of meat boded well for his chances once he left the arena—if he didn’t foul his strategy to number among the strongest losers by permanently mating the cat. Since wardens had scrambled to coax the cat back to him, Shane needn’t be too concerned about becoming a victor yet. If he were in serious trouble, he would’ve woken in the treetops with the cat plastered to his spine, wrapped in the arms that had pinned him down in the darkness. After Shane had passed out, his cat must have been incredibly cautious. So careful the wardens had gifted Shane with enough meat to draw not only the cat, but also a third, maybe a fourth.

  Good.

  Despite the aches, Shane smiled and entertained himself by imagining the cat’s fur bristling at the possibility of losing his prey to others drawn by abundant food and the juicy morsel of a lone, abandoned human.

  Shane’s cat wouldn’t be far, though. Shane was willing to bet he was watching. The cat—and wardens—would want to assess Shane’s reaction to mating so quickly.

  Determined to disappoint neither, Shane tugged up the furs that kept slipping down his shoulders and scooted closer to the fire. He winced at the protesting throb of overtaxed muscles as he reached for his backpack and pulled it into his nest of furs. The scent wafting from it stirred his abused dick, and before his fingers found the clasp of the bag’s zipper, he knew the cat had rooted through his things. The jumbled contents further reassured him.

  His cat had been curious. Very curious.

  The extra set of clothes supplied to all competitors was a pleasant surprise considering Shane’s cat had rapidly destroyed the shirt and pants he’d worn yesterday. Some cats hated clothing and stole the few items issued to competitors once the mating dance began in earnest. Not this one, apparently. Shane wouldn’t spend the rest of his time in the arena naked, at least. When he spotted his toothbrush stuffed in a pocket on the right now rather than the left, he snatched it. He shoved the brush into his mouth and scrubbed. His boots were missing, lost somewhere in the forest last night, but when he nudged his extra clothes aside, he spotted moccasins added to his backpack, which was another stroke of luck since the tread of regulation boots was easy to track.

  Wardens weren’t the only ones who had rewarded Shane. To be so generous the cat must have enjoyed last night’s chase enormously.

  Shane frowned around his toothbrush, pawing through his pack just to be sure. He ripped the brush from his mouth and set it aside to go through the backpack one stingy item at a time.

  His flatscreen was gone.

  The cat had confiscated Shane’s first-aid kit too.

  “You’ve been marked.”

  Heart shrieking shrill alarm, Shane jumped and scrambled backward in his furs.

  The blond who’d asked the Nambian for the contraband knife stared at him through dark, narrowed eyes from the surrounding trees. “Your shoulder,” the human said. “Congratulations.”

  Pulse skittering, muscles tensed for a speedy escape, Shane studied his competitor. A bruise colored the guy’s left temple, but he didn’t otherwise seem the worse for wear after his first night in the arena. Truthfully the man was in better condition than Shane, but that wasn’t a standard of success in the Hunt, was it? The blond hadn’t been medevaced out, though. He was still competing, which was no small achievement. Taller than Shane but doughy around the middle, the man was less fit. Soft. Shane hadn’t expected him to last despite gutting the Nambian. That Shane now recognized the ruse and knew him to be crafty instead didn’t make him any less dangerous. It made him a fiercer enemy. And a more attractive ally.

  “Thanks,” Shane said while he decided which the human would be. Since the cat had allowed the man perilously close, Shane grudgingly accepted his mate’s vote: ally. “Hurts like all hells.”

  “A bite that deep cou
ld scar even if treated immediately.” The stranger’s mouth quirked. “But the cat didn’t leave your first-aid kit in your bag.” He jerked his chin at the backpack still clutched in Shane’s hands. “Did he?”

  Belatedly following that same path of comforting logic, Shane stared. “Maybe.”

  “Then relax. You might be this cycle’s first victor.”

  Shane grimaced.

  The guy’s lips curved to a sympathetic bow. “The good news is your cat wouldn’t have let me near you if he believed I might damage his new toy.”

  The reminder clenched Shane’s gut. True, the cat was invested in the mating or he wouldn’t have marked Shane so thoroughly, but marking gave competitors only a temporary edge. Fear of reprisals discouraged most competitors from entering the territories of mating cats, and any who dared ventured carefully. Cats were fickle, their interest fleeting. The bite at his shoulder didn’t mean anything.

  Or it could mean everything.

  Too soon to tell. Regardless, Shane’s cat wouldn’t risk him unnecessarily, but the cat wasn’t gambling his own life or safety. He was betting Shane’s. The cat might have fucked Shane stupid last night, but that was no basis for relying on the cat’s judgment today. Shane scowled at the blond. “How’d you find me?”

  “I followed the smell of roasting meat. Don’t you wonder what’s happening in the rest of the arena? Your cat does. He wouldn’t allow me this close to you if he didn’t want news.” The man’s stomach growled. “I’m Fallon, by the way.”

  Bartering for information wasn’t a bad idea. “Where’s the dagger?”

  “Confiscated.” Fallon glowered. “They usually let us keep contraband since the cats like to see what we’ll sneak in, but they won’t tolerate weapons. Too many deaths would be remembered when their next mating cycle initiates another Hunt. So they took the knife away.”