At the swamp's edge, I find tracks. Six-legged, based on the pattern. Large, with webbed feet. Something that hunts both land and water. The tracks cross into his territory but don't go deep. Professional courtesy between predators or actual boundary?
I'm studying the tracks when the wave hits. Stronger than before. My knees buckle and I fall forward, catching myself on hands and knees. My back arches, hips grinding against air, seeking something to fill the emptiness that's become agony.The sounds I make aren't human. Desperate whines and moans that echo across the swamp.
When it passes, I smell him stronger than ever. Close. Maybe twenty meters. Watching me on all fours like an animal in heat.
Which is what the tonic has made me.
I force myself to stand, turn slowly. Scanning the jungle but seeing only green shadows.
“I know you're there.” My voice cracks, throat dry despite the humidity.
No response, but the air shifts. He's moving, circling maybe. I catch a glimpse of something dark against the green. Purple-black that doesn't belong in this palette. But when I focus, it's gone.
The southern boundary draws me back. Those bone arrangements mean something. The spirals are too deliberate, too precise. I study them from different angles, trying to parse the pattern.
Shadow cat kills. Has to be. The claw spacing matches what the briefing described. But shadow cats don't arrange bones. This is something else. Message or warning or marker.
I'm so focused on the bones that I almost miss the new gift.
Three scales, purple-black, each the size of my thumb. His scales. The edges are sharp enough to cut, and they smell like him. That musk and ozone that makes my pussy clench so hard I gasp.
I run my finger along one scale and nearly orgasm just from the scent intensifying. My body recognizes this as part of what it needs. Part of him.
Why give me pieces of himself?
The sun climbs higher, heat becoming oppressive. My skin is slick constantly now, sweat and arousal creating a sheen that catches light. I find the cave again, the one he marked with advice. It's cooler inside, and I decide to modify it. Make it mine.
I work through the afternoon, setting up defensive positions, creating sight lines, establishing early warning systems with vines and the few supplies I have. Every twenty minutes I have to stop, dropping to the cave floor to writhe through another wave.
During one, I find myself with my hand between my legs, grinding against my palm while my other hand squeezes my breast. The pressure helps but doesn't satisfy. My body knows this isn't what it needs. It wants something specific. Something thick and hard and not human. Something that's been watching me for two days.
“Please,” I whisper to the empty cave. “Please, I need...”
But I can't finish. Can't admit what my body is screaming for.
By evening of Day Two, I've established my new position. The cave is mine now, modified with my improvements. I have water, defensive positions, sight lines. Everything tactical training says I need.
Except relief from the torture burning through every nerve.
I strip completely as darkness falls. Clothing is pointless agony against oversensitive skin. The night air makes my nipples tighten further, if that's possible. They're dark now, swollen like the rest of me. Changed by the tonic into something hypersensitive.
Between my legs is worse. In the phosphorescent light, I can see how swollen my pussy has become. The lips are puffy, dark with blood, spread open from the constant swelling. My clit is visible, enlarged, throbbing with my heartbeat. Wetness leaks constantly, stringing between my thighs when I move.
Another wave builds. I know the pattern now, feel it starting in my core and spreading outward. This time I don't fight it. I lie back on the cave floor, legs spread, and let it take me. My hips buck against nothing. My inner muscles seized in a desperate, empty rhythm. The emptiness is agony, cramping muscles seeking something to hold.
The wave peaks and I scream. Not from pain but from frustrated need that won't be satisfied.
When it passes, he's at the cave entrance.
I can't see him clearly, just a massive shadow blocking the phosphorescent light. But I can smell him. That musk and ozone that made my thighs instantly slick, preparing for what it craves.
“Two days,” his voice is nothing like human speech. The translator converts rumbles and clicks into words, but meaning bleeds through beyond language. “Most females beg by now.”
I force myself to sitting, not bothering to close my legs. He can see everything anyway. How swollen I am. How wet. How desperate.
“I'm not most females.”
“No.” The shadow shifts, and I catch a glimpse of eyes that reflect gold-green. “You map territory. Set traps. Plan escape routes.”
