The warmth of the wood was unsettling. It pulsed faintly, like a sleeping heart. Elara jerked her hand back as if burned. She scrambled to the center of the moss-filled room, putting distance between herself and the living walls.
Her mind, trained for analysis, fought against the tide of panic. She cataloged her prison. The space was circular, perhaps fifteen feet across. The only light filtered through intricate gaps in the woven ceiling, dappling the floor. The air smelled of sap and dried herbs.
There was no visible door. Just the fibrous curtain Kaelen had passed through. It looked flimsy.
"Okay. Assess," she whispered, her voice the only human sound in the primordial quiet. "Structural weakness likely at the entry point."
A low chitter sounded outside, startling her. She froze, listening. Claws scraped against bark nearby. Something was circling her tree.
"Pretty thing," a sly, whispering voice hissed from beyond the wall. It was not Kaelen. "Can you sing, little spark? Sing for us."
Elara pressed her lips together, heart hammering. She would not perform.
A snarl cut through the whispers. "Get lost, Rivus." It was Kaelen's voice, edged with clear threat. "She's not a toy for your amusement."
"Just looking, Alpha," the voice—Rivus—replied, slinking away. "No harm in looking."
Silence returned, heavier than before. Elara's legs gave out. She sank into the moss, the adrenaline crash leaving her trembling. The twin-sun light through the ceiling began to soften, shifting from bright gold to a deep, fiery orange.
Evening was coming. She was alone, unarmed, and utterly vulnerable.
The curtain rustled. Kaelen ducked inside, his frame filling the space. He carried a woven platter. On it lay strips of raw, red meat and a handful of strange, purple fruits.
He placed it on the ground before her, then stepped back, leaning against the wall. He watched her, his golden eyes unblinking.
"Eat," he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
Elara stared at the meat. Blood pooled beneath it on the leaf-platter. Her stomach turned. "I can't eat that."
"You'll starve."
"I need it cooked," she insisted, the archaeologist in her clinging to a basic standard of civilization.
Kaelen let out a short, derisive sound. It wasn't quite a laugh. "Fire is for ceremony and war. Not for coddling weak stomachs." He nudged the platter closer with his foot. "Eat. Or don't. Your strength means nothing to me, but your scent will fade if you die. That would be a waste."
His casual disregard was a slap. He saw her as a fragrant flower in a vase. Her health was only important for preserving his prize.
Anger, sharp and clean, cut through her fear. She met his gaze. "I am not a thing to be wasted."
One of his dark eyebrows lifted. A flicker of something—interest?—crossed his face. "You have a voice, then. Good. It would be boring if you were just a pretty smell."
He studied her for a long moment. "You are in the territory of the Claw-Stalkers. I am Kaelen, heir to the Black Tiger lineage. You are my guest."
"This is not what 'guest' means."
"It is here," he said simply. He pointed to the meat. "Last chance. The forest provides, but it does not repeat itself."
Revulsion warred with survival. Her body was frail; she needed calories. With a shuddering breath, she picked up one of the purple fruits. It was cool and firm. She took a cautious bite.
The flavor exploded—tart, sweet, and effervescent, like berries and lightning. It was the most alive thing she had ever tasted. She couldn't help but devour it.
Kaelen watched, a satisfied smirk on his lips. "See? Not all is savage."
She ignored him, reaching for another fruit. She pointedly avoided the meat.
"Suit yourself," he shrugged. He moved to leave, then paused. "Your name. What is it?"
The question felt more invasive than his physical handling. Giving him her name made this real. It created a thread between them.
"Elara," she said finally, the word feeling small.
"Elara," he repeated, testing the sound. It rolled differently in his rough accent. He gave a single, slow nod. "Rest, Elara. The night is loud here. Try not to scream."
He disappeared through the curtain. The forest's chorus swelled as true dusk fell. The sounds were monstrous. Roars that shook the trees, shrieks from above, and a constant, sinister rustling in the darkness below.
Elara wrapped her arms around her knees. She was a scientist from a silent world. This was a symphony of nightmares.
A new sound joined the cacophony. A rhythmic, deep thumping from somewhere below her cage. It vibrated up through the tree. Boom. Boom. Boom.
It was followed by a chorus of low, chanting growls. A ritual? A celebration? A hunt?
Something heavy slammed against the outside of her tree-house. The entire structure shuddered. Elara bit back a cry, scrambling backward.
Claws, long and dark, hooked over the edge of the opening in the ceiling. A bestial face, leonine and curious, peered down at her. Its lips pulled back in a grin full of needles.
"Hello, spark," it purred, its voice garbled.
Panic erased thought. Elara's hand closed around the only weapon she had—the empty woven platter. She hurled it with all her meager strength.
It bounced harmlessly off the creature's muzzle. It laughed, a wet, choking sound.
"Feisty! I like it."
The creature began to haul itself up, its shoulders squeezing through the gap. Splinters rained down. It was coming inside.
Elara was trapped. The curtain was the only exit, but to reach it she'd have to go under the beast. Her eyes darted wildly, searching for anything.
The curtain whipped aside. Kaelen stood there, a silhouette of pure fury. He didn't speak. He moved.
In a blur, he crossed the room. He didn't shift. He simply grabbed the intruding Beastkin by the scruff of its neck and yanked. There was a sickening pop of joints. A yowl of pain and surprise.
Kaelen hauled the massive, struggling form back through the ceiling gap. Snarls, tearing sounds, and a single, cut-off whimper echoed from the roof.
Then silence.
Kaelen dropped back into the room. His knuckles were smeared with dark blood. His chest heaved once, a controlled breath. His eyes found Elara in the dim light. They glowed with a feral heat.
"Rivus always did push his luck," he said, his voice dangerously calm. He wiped his hand on his leg. "He won't be bothering you again."
Elara could only stare, trembling. He had just possibly killed one of his own for touching his possession.
He walked toward her, each step deliberate. He crouched down, bringing them eye-to-eye. The scent of iron and wildness clung to him.
"Let this be your first lesson," he said, his voice low and intense. "This world is not soft. It is tooth and claw and territory. You are in my territory. That makes you mine to protect, and mine to keep. Anyone who forgets that…" He glanced toward the roof. "They learn. The hard way."
He stood up, his imposing frame blocking out the dying light. "Sleep, Elara. The lesson is over."
He left. The curtain fell back into place. The night sounds continued, but nothing else tried to enter.
Elara sat in the dark, the taste of the fruit now ash in her mouth. She wasn't just a treasure. She was a spark in a tinderbox. And her keeper was the most dangerous flame of all.