Tharon

THARON

O utside the tent, my blood roared through my veins. The need to run, to hunt, to kill thrummed beneath my skin. Every step away from Niam pulled at me until an ache grew deep in my very bones.

Two days. Two impossible days with her, and already the thought of leaving her side burned.

“Prince .” Bavak’s call cut through my thoughts. He stood with three other hunters, bows strapped to their backs. “Join us?”

I inclined my head. Perhaps the physical activity would clear my mind. “Of course.”

“Your...” Bavak paused. “Your companion will be safe here.”

The reference to Niam made my hands clench. With effort, I relaxed them. These were Mahra's people. They meant no harm.

“Here.” An older hunter handed me his spare bow. “Unless you prefer more... direct methods?”

The implication was clear. They all knew what I was.

I tested the draw. The weapon balanced well enough. “This will do.”

We moved into the forest, spreading out in a standard hunting pattern. The physical activity helped, but thoughts of Niam invaded with every breath. The curve of her neck. The steel in her spine. The fierce determination in her face when she spoke of her plans.

A rustle in the undergrowth snapped my attention back to the present. Bavak signaled - large prey, moving east. Perfect.

The hunt began in earnest now. We tracked the beast through the deepening shadows, following broken twigs and disturbed leaves. My enhanced senses picked up its musk on the wind.

There - a flash of tawny fur through the trees. A belevashka, larger than most. A worthy prize.

Four arrows flew. Three missed.

Mine struck true, but only wounded. The beast spun, snarling, yellow fangs bared.

This. This was what I needed.

The belevashka's blood trail led deeper into the ancient forest. My muscles burned with the thrill of pursuit as we crashed through the undergrowth.

“Split up,” I ordered. “Circle around. Drive it toward the clearing.”

The hunters fanned out through the trees. Twigs snapped under their boots, leaves rustled. But I moved in silence, my Valti nature letting me track the cat’s ragged breathing.

Blood pulsed through my veins, each heartbeat a drumbeat of hunt-chase-kill. Without my suppressants, the beast inside me reveled in the pursuit.

A flash of movement - there. The creature struggled up a rocky slope, my arrow still protruding from its flank. Its muscles bunched as it prepared to spring.

I nocked another arrow, but it launched itself at Bavak instead. The hunter raised his bow too late.

The Valti took over. I dropped the bow and intercepted it mid-leap, catching its bulk with my shoulder. We tumbled down the slope together, a snarling mass of fur and fangs and claws.

Pain lanced through my arm as fangs pierced flesh. The scent of my own blood only fueled the fire in my veins. I grabbed the belevashka’s throat with one hand, squeezing. My other hand found purchase in its fur as we wrestled.

It thrashed and clawed, but I held firm. Its struggles grew weaker as my grip tightened. With a final wrench, I snapped its neck.

The sound of breaking bone echoed through the trees. I stood over my kill, chest heaving, blood dripping from my wounds.

“By the ancestors,” the young hunter breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

Bavak approached cautiously. “Are you injured, my prince?”

The title snapped me back to myself. I forced the Valti down, though it fought me every step. “Nothing serious. The meat will feed the camp well tonight.”

But even as we field-dressed the carcass, my thoughts returned to Niam. The hunt had done nothing to quiet my need for her. If anything, the beast’s victory only made it stronger.

I needed to get back to her. Now.

“You two, carry the meat back to camp,” I ordered. “Bavak, with me. We’ll scout ahead for any other predators in the area.”

The stream ran cold over my wounds, washing away blood and dirt. Better Niam not see the evidence of the fight. She had worries enough without seeing how close the belevashka had come to taking my throat.

Bavak kept watch while I cleaned up, though his constant glances in my direction grated on my nerves.

“Speak your mind,” I ordered.

“The Frostling. She’s different from the stories.”

I splashed water over my face to hide my reaction. “Different how?”

“The old tales say they’re monsters. But she’s...” He stopped, searching for words.

“Choose your next words with care.” The beast stirred inside me, protective and possessive.

“She carries herself like a queen, my prince. Not a monster at all.”

Smart man. I nodded my approval as I pulled my tunic back on.

A splash of purple caught my attention as we walked back through the forest. Wild mountain flowers grew in a small patch between the trees.

My mother’s voice drifted through memory: “Really, . Flowers? Such a common gesture. A prince should give jewels, not weeds.”

The memory stung, but I knelt anyway, gathering the purple blooms. Let them think what they wanted. Niam would understand.

Voices drifted through the trees as we approached camp.

“Did you see her skin? White as snow...”

“They say Frostlings steal children in the night...”

“The prince brought her. Must be important...”

“But what is she?”

My pride soared for my mate. Let them wonder. Let them whisper. Niam would walk among them with her head high, never flinching from their stares. She’d survived horrors they couldn’t imagine, fought battles they’d never understand.

And she was mine.

Soon, I’d make her see that too.

I caught sight of her through the trees, speaking with Mahra. Her close-cropped red hair caught the sunlight like flames. My steps quickened of their own accord.

The flowers felt foolish in my hand now, but I wouldn’t discard them. She deserved every scrap of beauty I could give her.

Mahra had dressed Niam in traditional Shakai clothing - fitted leather pants and a flowing tunic that caught the light. Copper threads woven through the fabric sparkled with each movement, tiny gems studded the belt at her waist. The sight of her in our clothes made my breath catch.

A group of children circled her feet, pestering her with questions. Their high-pitched voices carried across the camp.

“Do Frostlings really eat snow?”

“Can you freeze people with a touch?”

“Why is your hair red like fire?”

Niam’s laugh rang out, clear and bright. “No, we don’t eat snow. And I’ve never frozen anyone.” She knelt down to their level. “But I do know stories about brave warriors who fought ice dragons.”

“Tell us! Tell us!”

I gripped the flowers behind my back, suddenly unsure of my approach. The beast inside me wanted to charge forward, claim her attention. But watching her surrounded by curious children, her face lit with joy, made me pause.

“Well,” she started, “there was once a warrior princess who lived in a castle made of ice...”

The children leaned in, entranced. Even from here, I saw the spark in her eyes as she wove her tale. This wasn’t the haunted woman from the Temple. This was Niam as she should be - fierce and free.

I took a step forward. A twig snapped under my boot.

The children’s heads whipped around. One small girl squeaked at the sight of me, then they scattered like startled birds, giggling as they ran.

Niam stood, brushing dust from her knees. “You have quite the effect on them.”

“I...” Words failed me. I thrust the flowers forward. “These are for you.”

She stared at the purple blooms, then at me. A smile tugged at her lips. “The fearsome hunter brings me flowers?”

“If you don’t want them-”

“I didn’t say that.” She took them from my hand, her fingers brushing mine. The contact sent sparks along my skin, and I barely managed to shove down a growl. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”