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"Please," I whispered to the empty air, before the fever finally pulled me under.

Chapter 7

Kaelen-Thul

Ihad waited long enough. I paced the circumference of my lower platform until my soles ached. I told myself I was waiting for the village to settle, for the blue fires to dim and the prying eyes of my brothers to turn toward their own nests. But the truth was a jagged thing: I was waiting for the silence from the High Deck to feel less like a grave.

When the wind shifted, carrying a sharp, metallic tang of rising heat rather than the ozone scent of her skin, I knew. The star-woman wasn't resting. She was burning.

I vaulted upward, my movements a blur of shadow. When I cleared the edge of the High Deck, I found her exactly where I had feared—collapsed against the trunk, her skin mottled a violent, bruised red. Her breathing was a shallow, desperate whistle. She was rejecting Xylos-Vra, and the planet was beginning to digest her in return.

"Not yet," I growled.

I didn't hesitate. I leapt from the platform, dropping three levels down to the Healer’s Terrace. I didn't wait for the elders' permission; I didn't have time for the healer's slow, melodic bureaucracy. I raided the moss-covered jars kept in the cooling shadows of the trunk, snatching a small, porous container filled with Vra-shae—glow-grubs.

By the time I returned to her side, her breathing had turned into a damp, rattling sound.

"Stay with the light, woman," I muttered, scooping her up.

She was terrifyingly light, like a bundle of hollow bird-bones. I didn't leave her on the exposed deck. I leapt again, cradling her against my chest as I descended through the mid-levels toward my own dwelling. Her heat soaked into my skin, a frantic, pulsing warmth that made my markings flare a warning amber.

I moved with the heavy, thudding grace of a leader. Faces appeared in the leaf-woven windows of the huts. Warriors paused on the bridges, their amber eyes widening as they saw me carrying the intruder.

"He brings the sickness into his own nest," a female hissed.

"Look at her skin," Toren called out from a nearby branch, his voice hovering between concern and disgust. "It is the colour of a festering wound, Kaelen. Let her go."

I ignored them all until a shadow stepped out onto the main suspension bridge, blocking my path. Vahn. He looked at the woman’s limp form, his gaze lingering on the way her suit had torn, exposing the pale, flushed curves of her body.

"A fine prize, Huntmaster," Vahn sneered, his tail flicking. "Though she looks half-rotten already. If you’re done playing healer, throw her down to the lower platforms. The younger males would like to see if that gold hair stays bright while we peel the skin from those soft thighs. I bet she screams in a very melodic key."

My jaw clenched as I walked right into his personal space and let out an aggressive, vibrating click that rattled the very wood of the bridge—a sound of pure territorial violence. Vahn flinched, his markings flickering a stuttering yellow. I stormed past, making my way to my secluded hut.

I kicked aside the hanging vine curtain and stepped inside. I crossed to the raised dais covered in thick Krev-cat furs and laid her down.

I sat on the edge of the furs, watching her. I was the Huntmaster of the Oru-Ka. My life was defined by the kill, by the protection of the clan, by the cold logic of the forest. And yet, this star-woman had entrapped my thoughts like a snare. I hated the way my eyes tracked the rise and fall of her chest. I hated the way I wanted to touch that impossible hair again. She was a variable that didn't fit.

"You are a plague," I whispered, opening the jar of Vra-shae.

My hands, thick and clawed, reached for the front of her shimmering suit. I hooked my fingers into the tear and pulled, the fabric groaning as I ripped it open further to reveal her stomach and the full swell of her chest. Her skin was a map of fevered heat—so smooth it lacked the fine, protective ridges of an Oru-Ka female, her pale flesh fragile enough that a single misplaced flex of my talons would tear her skin.

Part of my mind—the part that belonged purely to the curiosity of a hunter facing an unknown species—wanted to trace the line of her collarbone, to test the softness of her waist against my calloused palm, to inspect every inch of her alien anatomy until I understood why her presence felt like a poison in my blood. But the fever rolling off her skin snapped my focus back. Curiosity was a luxury for those who were not dying. My hands moved with forced precision, burying the instinct to touch beneath the urgent necessity to preserve her life.

I tipped the glow-grubs onto her. The violet light of the insects illuminated the hut, casting dancing shadows as they latched on, their bodies turning grey as they siphoned the toxins from her blood. I stayed there for a long time, guarding her even as I cursed myself for the curiosity.

Slowly, the violent red faded. Her breathing smoothed.

Hours later, her eyes flickered open. They were cloudy, darting around the dark, organic walls of my hut with frantic disorientation.

"Where..." she wheezed, her voice a dry rasp. "Where am I? What... what is this?"

She tried to bolt upright, her instincts screaming danger, but the moment she shifted, her left shoulder buckled. A sharp, agonised hiss left her lips as she collapsed back into the furs.

"My arm," she panted, her forehead beaded with fresh sweat. She looked at the dislocated joint, her face contorting with a stubborn, frantic frustration. She grabbed her own wrist with her good hand, trying to brace herself against the edge of the dais. "I have to... I can do it. I just need to... ugh!"

She let out a strained grunt as she tried to wrench the bone back into place. Her face went white. She tried again, her breath hitching in a sob of pure, stubborn irritation. She was failing.

"Stop," I said, leaning over her.