Chapter 3

The peace was a warm, liquid weight in my belly, a sweet ache between my legs. I lay against him, my back to his solid warmth, watching the stars blur through unshed tears of pure, overwhelmed sensation. His scent—wild magic and musk and me—wrapped around us like a blanket. A new sound pricked the silence.

Not the wind. Not the insects. A low, rhythmic chanting, guttural and ancient, carried on a breeze that suddenly smelled of damp earth and blooming night-flowers. The unicorn tensed beneath me, his head lifting. His ears swiveled forward, not with alarm, but with a deep, knowing focus. From the tall grass they emerged.

Not as a herd, but as deliberate, silent shapes drawn to the epicenter of our spent passion. My breath caught. They were like nothing I had ever seen, yet somehow familiar, as if dreamed long ago. There were three.

The first was a creature of starlight and shadow, a sleek, panther-like form with fur the color of a moonless sky. Its eyes glowed with a soft, silver luminescence. It moved with a predator’s grace, muscles coiling and releasing in a silent stalk. But its intelligence was unmistakable, a sharp, assessing gaze that fixed on mine, then dropped to the glistening evidence of the unicorn’s claim drying on my thighs.

The second was taller, almost antelope-like, with spiraling horns of polished bone and a coat of dappled russet and cream. Its legs were long and slender, ending in delicate cloven hooves. It carried an air of serene curiosity, its large, dark eyes blinking slowly as it took in the scene, nostrils flaring at the potent scent in the air.

The third was ... different. Stockier, lower to the ground, with the powerful shoulders of a bear and a thick, shaggy pelt of deep brown. Its face was broad, wise, with a wet, black nose that sniffed the air eagerly. Its eyes held a playful, earthy warmth.

They formed a loose circle around us, their strange chanting harmonizing into a single, thrumming vibration that seeped into the ground and up through my bones. It wasn’t threatening. It was inviting. A primal call.

The unicorn shifted beneath me, a deliberate movement. He nudged me with his head, a firm pressure on my lower back. The message was clear. Stand.

My legs trembled as I slid from his back, my bare feet sinking into the cool grass. The unicorn took a step back, merging with the deeper shadows, but his presence was a palpable force at my back, watching, permitting. Guiding.

The star-panther was the first to approach. It circled me once, its silver gaze leaving trails of light in my vision. Then it pressed its cool, damp nose against the inside of my knee. A shiver raced up my thigh. Its tongue emerged, rough as sandstone, and swiped a slow, deliberate path up my leg, cleaning a streak of the unicorn’s drying seed. The intimacy of the act stole my breath. This was no animal’s lick; it was a ritual tasting, an acknowledgment.