An Unauthorized Field Guide to the Hunt by Kari Gregg Page A

gulped. “Thanks.”
    “See ya.” Shane hoped.
    Shane anchored the fur on his shoulders and padded into the woods, grateful the cat didn’t pounce right away. Claws scratched tree limbs, and leaves rustled overhead. Rather than ambushing Fallon, the cat followed Shane. Which was good. Shane needed an ally and didn’t stand a chance of gaining one if his cat defended his territory—Shane—too aggressively.
    As Shane walked through the woods, butterflies took flight in his stomach at the idea of finally seeing his cat. In the dark of night he’d only been able to go by feel and by scent. Doped on pheromones and sex, most of what he remembered was how good the cat’s cock had felt dancing inside him. Some Mariket tribes were composed of enormous cats almost twice as tall as Shane, though he was pretty sure his cat couldn’t be so large. Anyone that big would’ve torn Shane when they’d fucked. Besides, when the cat had mounted him, blanketing Shane with his body, Shane had felt overpowered and wonderfully helpless, but he hadn’t felt dwarfed. That narrowed the field of possible species. Probably from one of the panther tribes. They were most common on Mariket, but felid tribes weren’t as rare anymore, especially puma who were reportedly solitary hunters that stalked prey most often at dawn and dusk.
    Shane had been taken by a lone hunter soon after dark.
    Could he have lured a puma? Shane trembled as he picked a path over rocky ground, brambles catching on the pelts draping him. His heartbeat skipped. The cat had stalked him all night, hunting and fucking his prey until Shane’s resistance had withered away. Tigers and jaguars lacked the patience of a prolonged chase. Even the largesse of the wardens’ gift made sense. Lone cats were as vulnerable as Shane to species that moved in groups. They both needed allies.
    A puma.
    Had to be a puma. And if his cat was a puma, Shane could count on—
    He turned his head at a quiet chuff, and his breath lodged in his throat.
    He had indeed mated a puma.
    Short golden fur covered lean lines and sleek muscle from the tips of the ears perked on the crown of the cat’s head to the pads of his bare toes. Four toes, though Shane counted five fingers. Those fingers had gripped Shane’s hips, retractable claws scoring Shane’s back and thighs. Those hands had pulled him close and held Shane when he’d surrendered.
    He shivered, tearing his gaze higher.
    Gold fur darkened at the cat’s neck, deepening to a rich russet on his head. Tufts of black hair accented ears that Shane itched to touch. The cat wore only a black cloth twisted around his hips to cover his dick, but even across the miserly distance separating them, Shane spotted the oily smear that proved the cat was in season and primed for sex. Shane’s body responded in kind with instant tingling want.
    Trailing behind him, the cat’s tail—a third the height of his body—jerked from side to side, revealing the cat’s agitation and how dearly resisting the urge to pounce cost. The puma was courting rather than forcing him.
    Maybe Fallon was right about his odds of becoming a victor.
    Gods, Shane hoped not. He tried to read the cat’s expression, to confirm any indication of the puma’s interest beyond another coupling, but the cat’s face was so alien, so foreign to him that Shane couldn’t. Yellow eyes slanted with oblong pupils that sharpened to points. His nose was blunted, whiskers framing a generous, sexy mouth.
    The same mouth that had sucked Shane’s dick.
    Temporary or otherwise, his mate was a puma, and Shane had never seen any creature as exotic or alluring. Most likely the abrupt thickening of Shane’s cock was provoked by muscle memory—during the Hunt, cats trained competitors to submit and that conditioning began early with the very first chase.
    Perhaps the rich musk of the cat’s pheromones called to Shane across the gulf of the forest floor between them. The tang of the cat’s sweat stirred