Page 17 of The Hunter's Mate

Wings flutter.

The water laps at the edge of the boat.

And there…a low, threatening hiss.

That’s not normal.

I spin around just as something launches itself out of the water, claws bared, feline jaws open. The zimya has to know I’m after it, neon feathers splayed wide around its head.

I lay back in the boat and shoot with the crossbow as the zimya flies over me, then I turn to watch it slice back into the water. I get into a crouch on the boat and balance, and my stomach twists when I feel a large form scrape against the bottom of the boat.

A feathered tail slaps out of the water and curls around my boat, catching me in the shoulder. The metal is bending and collapsing under the pressure a second later, and I’m forced to dive and swim for it. I keep the crossbow connected to my wrist, and I turn around and crouch again when I get to land, aiming straight at the boat.

I fire another bolt.

The zimya screams.

It clenches tighter and I watch as the boat goes under, cursing to myself. If Nyrik decides he doesn’t want to take me with him, it’s going to be a long, wet walk back to the cabin. I get another shot on the creature’s tail, but I’m pretty sure that just pisses it off.

…and that was my last bolt before it needs to be recharged.

Sixty seconds.

Shit.

The water crests in a V-shape that I assume has to be the zimya, and I scramble back. “Come on,” I growl at the crossbow—but it’s still charging.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

The zimya bursts from the water in a spray of crystalline droplets, lit by the moon. Its eyes glow yellow and its feathers shake, creating a strange sound like rain falling. Short, clawed legs slash at me, cutting me across the cheek just as I turn…and plunge my knife into the open wound I left with one of my bolts.

I’m soaked in blue-black blood as the zimya falls behind me, catching me one last time with its injured tail. It lets out a choked roar, but it’s done for, and we both know it. Still, I kneel over it and grab the tufted feathers on its head, then I end the whole thing with one last slash of my hunting knife.

The creature goes limp.

And I hear that bassy, rumbling resonance Nyrik makes with his chest.

I shudder and ignore the presence behind me despite how turned on I am, knowing it’s wrong that I’m getting aroused while crouched over a corpse. I hear his footsteps in the marshy grass, the sweep of his tail in the reeds, as I get to work cutting off the zimya’s head.

I’m taking this goddamn trophy.

Nyrik’s clawed hands fall to my shoulders as I cut through flesh, feathers, sinew and muscle. He gets closer, his tongue darting out over my ear, and I curve my neck to give him better access. Then I feel his teeth—sharp, entirely inhuman.

The head comes free.

I take it in my hands and hold it up like a talisman.

“You were magnificent,” he drones into my ear, his voice so deep that it rattles in my throat. “I can barely resist you, covered in the blood of our prey.”

I close my eyes and reach back for Nyrik’s head, running my fingers over the frill at the back of his skull. He’s so beautiful, the frill fine like strands of hair, and he groans with that deep rumble that makes me so wet…

“Then don’t,” I tell him. “Don’t resist.”

He stills, one clawed hand biting into my waist.

“To take you like this, in the moonlight, just after a kill…I will not let you go,” he says. “If you give yourself to me, we are bound.”

“I’m not your pet,” I snap.