The Royal Hunt

Edrian’s POV

The announcement of the royal hunt came with the clash of bronze horns. Their echo rolled across the courtyard like thunder. The gathered warriors straightened in unison, eyes bright, spines stiff, as the herald unfurled the crimson scroll of decree.

“The Royal Hunt will commence under the blessing of the Crown. By tradition, chosen warriors will enter the northern forest at dawn. The quarry—stag, boar, or whatever the fates send, will determine the worth of our pack.”

The crowd murmured, eager, pride swelling in their throats. The royal hunt wasn’t just about game; it was about survival and proving loyalty. Men came back with kills, bloodied and triumphant, or they came back in shame. To be selected was an honor. Refusal was unheard of.

I was opposite the courtyard, partly in the shade of the stone pillars. 

“Edrian.”

My body froze, this was something only warriors did, i was no warrior, I had been whipped, mortified, beaten to pieces on more occasions than I could remember, but my name was called.

The syllables were whip-cracks. My wolf stirred uneasily. All heads turned and looked at me. I cleared the lump in my throat and came forward.

“Alpha Xander.”

His name followed mine.

I did not need to look at him to know the change in the air. His presence was dark and imperious, pressing down on the crowd. He passed away without even glancing at me, his mouth drawn in a line, his gait a masterpiece.

He hadn’t looked at me in weeks.

Not once. Not even when I had stolen looks, starving and desperate, waiting for his glance to meet my eyes.

I initially believed it to be hatred or rejection too mean to speak. The more he shunned me the more I was convinced he kept himself apart because he would burst if he approach. He might want me.

And gods, that thought burnt me up.

The hunt commenced in clear weather. As the gold ran in the trees and the mist curled low, as the ghosts, the horizon parted. At first we were all together, the selected warriors stealing into the deep wood to the north. The pine and wet ground smelled sharp, we could hear the twittering of the birds as they flew past us at a distance.

It was to be a game hunt, a royal show, but with me it was a battle with myself all the time. With each step of the Xander, as he grew nearer and nearer, with each stretch of the muscle beneath his shirt, I felt another knife stabbing my stomach.

He still didn't looked or spoke to me.

Never even brushed against me by accident. He kept a steady distance, his silence colder than the steel sword at his hip. I told myself it was proof...proof he was fighting the same storm I was.

By midday, clouds gathered and by evening, the skies split open.

The storm came sudden and savage. It came down in torrents and soaked us to the very bone, drowned the torches, and scattered the hunting party into shadows. Wolves cried out somewhere away, but the forest silenced their cries.

I lost sight of the others.

And then it was just him.

The figure of Xander broke through the rain, his shoulders wide and wet, his hair damp on his forehead. He saw me through the haze, and without uttering a word we dropped into step. Not as friends, just two men who did not want to be swallowed by the storm all by themselves.

The lightning flashed through the sky, showing the shape of a deserted hunting lodge half-choked with vines and rottenness. He pushed the door open, without saying anything.

I smelled of mildew and ash. The fire was out, the wood walls curved with moisture. Still, it was shelter. He flung his wet cloak over the floorboards, his chest going up and down as if he had been running. I stood against the other wall, chilling, wet.

The silence was unbearable.

I rubbed my arms, in an attempt to generate warmth in my frozen flesh. My teeth chattered, not only because it was cold but because it was him. His scent was heavy in the air, his wolf was pushing against mine, and needed attention.

At last his voice broke the silence. Low and rough.

“Strip out of those clothes,” he commanded.

“I—I’m fine,” I lied.

“You’ll freeze to death if you stay like that like an idiot.” He took a step closer and i raised my eyes to meet his.

“Don’t look at me like that.” he roared.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.” He turned his head, eyes sharp even in the dim. “You always are.”

Heat flushed my face. Shame. Fury. Desire. 

“And you? You can’t even stand to look at me. You think I don’t notice?”

“You don’t know what I think.” His jaw clenched. 

“I know enough,” I snapped, my voice cracked, raw. “You avoid me because you crave me." 

The words were hanging in the damp air, ragged, careless. His nostrils were flaring, his chest was heaving as if I had struck him.

Then he moved.

One, two...then he was in front of me, with the wall at my back, and his body in the way of all escape. His eyes were storm-dark and his breath was harsh.

“Say it again,” he growled. “Say I crave you.”

I had a dry, violent pulse. Still, 

“You crave me.”  I whispered,

Something in him broke.

He raised his hand, gripping my wet shirt and pulled me to him. His lips smashed against my mouth...not tender, not kind. It was punishment and confession combined. His lips were bruised, his teeth cut, his tongue pushed open. I uttered a gasp, and he swallowed it down, and ate like a starving man.

I attempted to push him away, but my hands failed me. Instead of pushing him, they grabbed his shoulders, and pressed him closer to me. His flavor, rain, smoke, salt, everything made my head spin.

As he ripped his mouth out of mine I was gagging. His forehead was against mine and he broke his voice.

“Fuck, Edrian. You undo me.”

And then he was everywhere. His fingers slickening down, catching me by the hips, rubbing me against his hard cock roughly. Again my body failed me, and curved, whimpering.

"Please..." I did not even know what I pleaded for.

“Please what?” My throat, my jaw, his teeth scraped it. “Say it.”

“Fuck me.”

That was enough.

He pushed me against the wall with his thigh between mine, and it opened me. The rugged wood pierced my back, the storm outside beat time with my heart. His hand tore my trousers and set me free, and I screamed as his palm caught my own hard cock, wet and hot.

"Mine," he snarled against my mouth. “No one else touches you.”

His claim burned through me. Need was mingled with shame, and my wolf howled in surrender.

It was savage, abrupt when he thrust into me. I felt the pang of pain and screamed, my nails dug in his shoulders. Growling, with his teeth set, his voice trembled.

“Breathe. Take me.”

It was intolerable, fire and tearing but under it heat came. My body shuddered in agony and something horrendously sweet.

“Xander...” My voice cracked. “Gods...”

He moaned, hips thrust in, inexorable, like he was to cut himself into me. Each plunge took out the breath of my lungs, but also gave nourishment to the flame ripping through my veins. I screamed, inarticulate sounds I could not swallow, all of them drawing him nearer, nearer, more rugged.

“You feel...” His voice was strangled, lost. “Fuck, Edrian. You feel too good.”

The words shattered me. 

My release tore through me without warning, my body arching and my cry filling the lodge. 

Shame burned my cheeks, but ecstasy drowned it, my wolf keening in wild surrender.

Xander’s rhythm broke, he shuddered, groaning low, sinking his teeth into my shoulder, spilling hot inside me. Not a mark, but enough to claim.

There was only the ragged breathing, and the storm raging outside, as if it had been summoned to be seen.

By the time he drew away, his eyes were closed, his face unreadable.

"This makes no difference," he said, cold and cutting.

I huddled up against the wall, shuddering, the sound of him still smouldering within me. My body hurt, my lips swelled, my skin was spotted. 

Everything in me cried out that it had been something.

But he had called it nothing.

And I hated him for it.

I hated myself more for already wanting him again.