The air shifts, the cold damp of the deep tunnels giving way to the warmer, smoke-tinged scent of the central fire.
Sarven slows, his chest heaving against my side, and finally skids to a halt just before the last bend.
“Put me down,” I whisper, tapping his shoulder.
He tightens his grip instantly. I feel the possessive reluctance radiating off him in a stubborn, silentNo.
“I can’t be carried in like a sack of grain if we want them to listen to the science. I need to stand.”
He grumbles, a low vibration against my ribs, but he listens, easing me carefully to the stone.
My shoes hit the floor. I brace myself, expecting my legs to wobble the way they did before, but they don’t. They hold firm.
“Okay,” I say, straightening my spine and smoothing my tunic. “I’m standing. Solid.”
We hit the familiar slope that leads into the main cavern. Faint voices echo off rock, low murmurs, the harsh clip of English here and there.
Home.
Sarven steps a little closer as we round the last bend, close enough that the heat of him presses along my right side. In the mindspace, I feel him wrap tighter too, like he’s unconsciously throwing a cloak around me.
“Ready?” he asks again.
“Nope,” I mutter. “Let’s do it anyway.”
We step out into the main cavern.
Firestones glow in the central fire, ringed by stone pots, bone bowls, and worried human faces. Drakav linger on the outer rim of the shared space, worry seeping from them too.
Every head turns.
A ripple passes through the crowd. Conversations stutter and stop.
I freeze for half a second under the weight of it.
We move together toward the central fire, through a narrowing lane of staring Drakav.
I’m acutely aware of…everything.
The torn edge of my scale-tunic, the way my braids are half unraveled, the faint ache between my thighs that makes my gait just a little different. How I smell like sex and cave dust.
And Sarven?—
Sarvenisbigger.
He was always big. But here, in familiar space, you can see the change. Or maybe that’s just the new confidence in his stride, the way he’s moving like someone who found the thing he didn’t dare hope for and is now prepared to fight gods for it.
Also: loincloth.
My extremely on-board idea to preserve his modesty (and my sanity) may not have accounted for the visual of him striding into the main cavern with most of his thighs and a scandalous amount of hip on display.
The clan notices.
Conversations die. Tools clatter to the floor. The ambient hum of the cave is replaced by the sound of forty massive, golden-skinned warriors inhaling sharply at the same time.
They stare at Sarven, at his new, broader shoulders, at the settled bulge behind the loincloth, the way he looks like he just conquered a kingdom.
Then they look at me.
