Urkot glanced back to find her hunched down as she walked, with her hands over her head and her nose scrunched. He couldn’t help but recall how she’d reacted when a bug had landed on her hair in the swamp several moon cycles ago.
That had been the first time he’d stroked her hair. That had been when he’d forced her to say his name, to acknowledge him. To see him.
Something warmed inside him at the memory.
He chittered, as much in amusement as to push aside the stirrings deep within himself. “They cannot hurt you, Callie. But they are…sticky.”
“Blech. I’ll take your sticky, but I’m not touching those things. They’re all squirmy and…ugh!” She shuddered.
“They taste good.”
She gagged.
Urkot chittered again; he’d known what her reaction would be. The humans had been offered grubs to eat before they’d left their crashed ship behind, and only three had been brave enough to try them—Will, Lacey, and Cole. None had seemed to enjoy the experience.
Apparently, that satisfyingpopof biting down on a grub was not quite so satisfying to humans, and neither was the flavor. Or the texture. Or the wriggling.
Not any part of it, really.
He extended an arm, holding his hand over her head to shelter her. “Do not worry, female. I will shield you. If any touch you, they will become a snack.”
Callie gagged again.
Urkot’s mandibles rose as he looked upon the female beside him. She was such an endearing creature.
Mine. She will be mine.
Finally, they reached the opening, and all other thoughts fell away from Urkot’s mind. He and Callie abruptly stopped, their attention seized by the sight in front of them.
The tunnel opened on a huge cavern. The light of the countless glowstones and glowworms on the walls and ceilings reflected off the water of a clear lake, filling the space with shimmering luminescence. Plants and mushrooms, many of which gave off their own light in pinks, purples, and reds, grew near the water. Faintly glowing fish swam in the lake, their forms obscured by the rippling surface.
But it was the objects rising from the water that drew Urkot’s gaze. He tilted his head as he studied them. They were made of stone, covered in algae and moss and worn by untold age, but he knew their shapes—four male vrix, four females.
They were statues of the Eight, partially submerged in this lake deep, deep below ground.
“Wow,” Callie softly exclaimed.
Urkot stepped closer to the edge of the rocky drop-off that led down to the water. He crossed his arms in the symbol of the Eight, reminded again of his missing arm.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“A temple. Once.”
“How can you tell?”
“That one”—he gestured to the closest statue, a male—“holds a spear. He is the Hunter. The Protector holds her shield, the Broodmother an egg. And that one, the Weaver…”
Callie cocked her head. “That one’s not holding anything.”
Lifting his upper hands, Urkot spread his fingers in an imitation of the statue. “He held thread between his fingers, but the thread is gone.”
“And that one?” She pointed to a male statue at the far end of the pool, which bore a crude pick in one hand and a large, glowing crystal in the other. “Is that the Delver?”
He smiled at her. “Yes.”
She hummed, glancing between Urkot and the statue before her eyes settled upon him. She grinned and slowly trailed a finger down his chest and abdomen.
Urkot’s mouth parted with a soft, shaky exhalation.
