KOL
The dark tunnel is freezing, but my blood is boiling.
I stagger until I am out of visual range of the cavern. My right side seizes again and I drop hard to one knee, driving my left fist into the solid rock wall to keep myself upright.
My chest heaves. Jagged, ragged gasps tear through the silence.
I can still taste her.
Like sweet water and desert wind. The phantom heat of her narrow hips arches against my mind. My body is a raw, screaming instinct. I do not even possess the required anatomy yet, but everything within me is demanding that I turn around, stalk back to the mapping stone, and claim my female until the frantic, driving need in my blood is satisfied.
I cannot do it.
I look down at my right arm. The dense muscle is rigid, locked in a harsh spasm. Underneath the bronze skin, broad patches of deep black are spreading like a creeping shadow overAin-lit rock. Deep within the blackness, scattered pinpoints of bright fractured light pulse in erratic rhythms.
Starfield skin.
I clench my fist. My claws extend and scrape against the stone floor. The starlight beneath the dark patches responds to the physical strain, sliding directly under the tissue in waves.
The reshaping is no longer a dull ache. It is a constant, grinding agony spanning across my chest, burning down my back, and tracing hot pathways along every single carving on my torso. My own body has turned the ritual scars of my leadership into deep ravines of pain.
I drag a harsh breath through my teeth and reach for the bundle of rough hide strips secured at my belt.
I bind my right forearm first, pulling the dark leather tight across the starfield skin. The rough edge of the hide drags over skin that feels like it is tearing itself apart.
A sharp hiss rips past my locked jaw.
“You cannot continue to fight this, dra-dam.” Rok’s frequency presses into our private mindspace.
My left hand pauses over the hide strip. I stare blankly at the dark tunnel wall.
“I will continue as long as the clan requires,” I force the mental projection back through the tight haze of pain.
“Your body will not wait,” Rok counters ruthlessly. “It will tear you apart. I know, because it happened to me. You just fled the central stone. The entire clan felt the surge of your heat, and then the blinding agony that forced you away from her.”
“Let them feel it.”
The private frequency is silent for a long, waiting beat.
“Your transformation will be the strongest in this clan,” Rok finally projects. “When you shatter, it will not be quiet. It will tear this cavern apart.”
A third consciousness seamlessly slides into the locked frequency.
I bite down on my own tongue to kill the low growl rumbling deep in my chest. “Stay out of my mindspace.”
The broader clan network buzzing beneath my skull hums with the suppressed awareness of warriors who know I am listening.
I sever the mental link.
I snatch the second rough hide strip and rapidly bind my left forearm, jerking the knot tight to obscure the mutating skin.
I am the shield of this clan. I cannot fall while we are under siege.
I will hide the mutation. I will endure the agony.
I force myself to stand, my knees locking as another wave of brutal restructuring pain explodes behind my chest. I lean my weight against the cold stone of the tunnel, close my eyes, and wait for the spasm to pass.
I lock my jaw so tight my teeth groan.
