An Unauthorized Field Guide to the Hunt (6 page)

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 could 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.”

Made sense.

Besides, the blond was right. Shane and his cat both needed information, and Shane hadn’t met his goal of reaching another landing pad. He’d yet to find an ally. Judging by the size of the feast the wardens had gifted him, they’d chosen Fallon to partner him. “Hungry?” Shane asked.

Fallon beamed, bunched shoulders relaxing. “Starved.” Keeping his palms up, he walked to the opposite side of the fire. He lowered to the ground. Alarm zipped through Shane when Fallon didn’t use his arms to brace himself. The muscle control in the guy’s legs must be phenomenal. In Shane’s current condition, Fallon was stronger. “Damn, that feels good,” Fallon said, shrugging off his backpack. He rubbed his neck with a tired groan. “I hiked all day and night. You?”

Shane shook his head. “The cat caught me when I stopped for shelter at dusk.”

“I stomped through the arena to lure one, and you managed it by playing hard to get.” Tossing his head back, Fallon laughed.

One corner of Shane’s mouth curved. “I wasn’t playing.”

Snickering, Fallon nodded to the haunch of meat over the crackling fire. “That meal looks ready.”

“Go ahead. I’m vegetarian.”

The blond blinked at him and then snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”

Gloating satisfaction swelled Shane’s chest. “Nope.”

“You realize if you win, you’ll be mated to an obligate carnivore?”

“My handler at the screening center assured me the cats are accustomed to adapting to the nutrition requirements of offworld mates. Few are non-meat-eaters, but I wouldn’t be the first.” That his diet would make him less appealing and therefore less likely to become a victor was just a happy bonus. “Their bodies reject fruits, vegetables, grains, and manufactured proteins. They can’t help it. They can’t eat anything else, but I’ve never minded others eating meat.” He waved at the campfire. “Dig in.”

Arching an eyebrow sardonically, Fallon retrieved his mess kit fork from his pack. He leaned to spear a chunk of meat, prying it free. More oils and juices spattered to the fire.

“So. Tell me what’s been happening,” Shane said.

While he ate, Fallon regaled Shane about the rush of wardens and med techs after he’d gutted the Nambian at the landing pad. The ship’s third human had indeed been struck by a viper during the race through the brush. Fallon hadn’t extracted the venom, so the unlucky bastard had been medevaced. The Nambian had been evaced as well. Wardens had argued about disqualifying Fallon for using the forbidden weapon, but they’d ultimately agreed he shouldn’t be punished because the Nambian had broken the rules. “I had no way of predicting when wardens might arrive to disarm the Nambian, and after showing the dagger he knew his time to use it was short. If I hadn’t stuck the Nambian, he would’ve stabbed me.”

Probably true.

Pity Fallon hadn’t been bounced from the arena. He wasn’t as fit or as pretty as the cats generally liked, but the blond had proved himself a formidable opponent.

Around bites of food, he also told Shane about the dull night he’d spent, livened briefly by a small Nambian group hunting territory to the east. “The rest are still at the landing pad, and judging by the growls and screams, a lot of cats too. That orgy will last a while. Do you mind if I take more?” He pointed his fork at the roasted meat.

“Help yourself.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” He cut another chunk free and groaned at the juices that spilled into the fire. “Aren’t you worried about angering wardens by rejecting their gift?”

So Fallon wasn’t too stupid to notice the metal spit either. Shane’s estimation of the guy climbed another notch. “The meat was to lure the cat. Not for me.”

“There’s a lot.” Fallon licked his oily fingers. “Sure it wasn’t to attract an ally?”

“That too.” Shane sighed. “But the feast still wasn’t for me.”

“
Everything
is for you. The cats crave an early victor, always have, and from what I’ve seen you’re their best chance in Arena 4.”

“Not if I starve to death.” Shane returned to rifling through his stuff. “My flatscreen is gone,” he grumbled. “How am I supposed to know what’s safe to eat without my screen?”

“Oh,” Fallon said on a long drawl.

Shane lifted his chin. “What?”

Fallon wiped his greasy fingers on a bunch of leaves. “Your odds were so good in pre-Hunt betting. I thought you’d realize.”

“Realize what?” Shane asked, irritation growing.

“Your cat wants you dependent on him.”

Shane frowned. “Hunt rules forbid any action by a cat that directly and intentionally impedes a player’s ability to compete.”

“He’ll provide for you and if need be return your screen should your mating fail.” Fallon smirked. “Until then he’s courting you. Remember: they need to lure us to them too.”

Shane shivered, recalling in embarrassing detail how exquisitely the cat had lured him last night. “I’m here, aren’t I? I wouldn’t have made it through the battery of screening tests if I didn’t grasp that mating a cat is my sole purpose inside the arena,” he said, schooling his features so wardens wouldn’t read the lie on his face.

“Me too. Sole purpose: kitty bait. Got it.” Fallon winked. “I’m here for a fast track into the diplomatic corps. You?”

Smothering a grin, Shane gave his brothers a mental
fuck you
. “Fleeing homicidal relatives.”

Fallon studied Shane, assessing his injuries up and down. “Volunteering to be tossed to a bunch of horny cats has worked out so much better for you. Safer.”

“Shut up.” Shane chuckled, for the first time genuinely regretting he’d met Fallon in the arena. Why couldn’t they have bumped into each other afterward? Running from Narone had saved Shane’s life, but he’d also left everyone he’d known behind. He hadn’t even contacted his grandmother once he’d arrived at the screening center for fear his murderous brothers would target her for retribution because she’d helped Shane escape. He needed a friend, but that wasn’t going to happen, not now. The closest thing he could have to that in the arena was… “Ally?”

“Allies.” Fallon stuffed a last morsel of meat into his mouth. “That bite’s seeping. A little scarring is part of the Hunt, but infection could net you a medical evac—unwanted this early, at least,” he said. “Want antibiotics from my first-aid kit?”

Shane wasn’t sure if a scar from last night would be a positive sign or a horrible mistake—damn cat, lousy hormones, cursed mating lust—but he definitely didn’t want to get sick. “Sure.”

When Fallon reached around the campfire to pass the tube of ointment, snarls erupted from the tree canopy directly above them.

Fallon yanked his hand back, the color draining from his face.

Stomach jittering, Shane forced a stiff smile. The cat had mated
very
strongly to him. Shoving down fresh fear and unwelcome anticipation, he slipped the mocs from his backpack and over his feet. “Move out of range while I draw him away,” he told Fallon. “I’ll find you later. Don’t look for me. Unless he wants information, the cat will drive you off.”

“Later. Got it.” Fallon gulped. “Thanks.”

“See ya.” Shane hoped.

Shane anchored the fur on his shoulders and padded into the woods, grateful the cat didn’t pounce right away. Claws scratched tree limbs, and leaves rustled overhead. Rather than ambushing Fallon, the cat followed Shane. Which was good. Shane needed an ally and didn’t stand a chance of gaining one if his cat defended his territory—Shane—too aggressively.

As Shane walked through the woods, butterflies took flight in his stomach at the idea of finally seeing his cat. In the dark of night he’d only been able to go by feel and by scent. Doped on pheromones and sex, most of what he remembered was how good the cat’s cock had felt dancing inside him. Some Mariket tribes were composed of enormous cats almost twice as tall as Shane, though he was pretty sure his cat couldn’t be so large. Anyone that big would’ve torn Shane when they’d fucked. Besides, when the cat had mounted him, blanketing Shane with his body, Shane had felt overpowered and wonderfully helpless, but he hadn’t felt dwarfed. That narrowed the field of possible species. Probably from one of the panther tribes. They were most common on Mariket, but felid tribes weren’t as rare anymore, especially puma who were reportedly solitary hunters that stalked prey most often at dawn and dusk.

Shane had been taken by a lone hunter soon after dark.

Could he have lured a puma? Shane trembled as he picked a path over rocky ground, brambles catching on the pelts draping him. His heartbeat skipped. The cat had stalked him all night, hunting and fucking his prey until Shane’s resistance had withered away. Tigers and jaguars lacked the patience of a prolonged chase. Even the largesse of the wardens’ gift made sense. Lone cats were as vulnerable as Shane to species that moved in groups. They
both
needed allies.

A puma.

Had to be a puma. And if his cat was a puma, Shane could count on—

He turned his head at a quiet chuff, and his breath lodged in his throat.

He had indeed mated a puma.

Short golden fur covered lean lines and sleek muscle from the tips of the ears perked on the crown of the cat’s head to the pads of his bare toes. Four toes, though Shane counted five fingers. Those fingers had gripped Shane’s hips, retractable claws scoring Shane’s back and thighs. Those hands had pulled him close and held Shane when he’d surrendered.

He shivered, tearing his gaze higher.

Gold fur darkened at the cat’s neck, deepening to a rich russet on his head. Tufts of black hair accented ears that Shane itched to touch. The cat wore only a black cloth twisted around his hips to cover his dick, but even across the miserly distance separating them, Shane spotted the oily smear that proved the cat was in season and primed for sex. Shane’s body responded in kind with instant tingling want.

Trailing behind him, the cat’s tail—a third the height of his body—jerked from side to side, revealing the cat’s agitation and how dearly resisting the urge to pounce cost. The puma was courting rather than forcing him.

Maybe Fallon was right about his odds of becoming a victor.

Gods, Shane hoped not. He tried to read the cat’s expression, to confirm any indication of the puma’s interest beyond another coupling, but the cat’s face was so alien, so foreign to him that Shane couldn’t. Yellow eyes slanted with oblong pupils that sharpened to points. His nose was blunted, whiskers framing a generous, sexy mouth.

The same mouth that had sucked Shane’s dick.

Temporary or otherwise, his mate was a puma, and Shane had never seen any creature as exotic or alluring. Most likely the abrupt thickening of Shane’s cock was provoked by muscle memory—during the Hunt, cats trained competitors to submit and that conditioning began early with the very first chase.