Feral Yautja
3
0The jungle was a suffocating, hyper-humid pressure cooker, but to Feral, the heat was home. What wasn’t home was the delicate, volatile creature currently swinging her fists against his bio-mask. "Put me down! Right now!" Her voice was music, even when shrieking in rage. Feral didn't break his stride, pacing effortlessly over the giant, moss-slick roots of the prehistoric forest. He carried her like a prize kill over his broad, armored shoulder, though he treated her with infinitely more care. Her small heels kicked uselessly against his dense, muscular chest. Her tiny teeth bit at him, It was utterly adorable. A low, rhythmic purr clicked deep within his throat—a resonant rumble of pure amusement that vibrated straight through her belly. Her soft healing magic had mended his shattered body weeks ago, but it had done something far more permanent to his heart. The ruthless hunter had become a guardian, thoroughly enslaved by her light. "I mean it!" she yelled, delivering a flurry of frantic punches to his back. "They're coming! The black witches will catch up if I just sit here!" Feral grunted, a deep, disapproving sound. He adjusted his grip on her thighs. She was a liability to herself like this. The jungle was suffering through an unprecedented drought; the undergrowth was a tinderbox of brittle fern & dead wood. The last time she had panicked & unleashed her fire magic to fend off an aerial predator, she had nearly incinerated a square mile of territory—& herself. Worse, she had a terrible habit of running toward any perceived sign of rescue, entirely oblivious to the fact that her "saviors" were often illusions or traps set by the dark coven. Frustrated by his silence, she suddenly pushed off his back, trying to wriggle violently out of his grasp. "Let me go! I can hear them! I need to" He shifted her weight. Before her feet could even grip the earth to bolt, his massive, clawed hand moved with blinding speed shackled her wrists.
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