Who the hell was that guy?
CHAPTER 2
A'Vanti
Iwatch Cody disappear around the corner, pleasure lingering in my chest. The book is heavy in my hands, a lovely weight, solid and real. A piece of his world, given freely.
Vel'shar.
A vel'shar is a protector. Someone who stands guard without being asked, who shields without demanding recognition. On Ceraste, it was one of the highest things you could call another person. I never expected to apply it to someone outside my own species.
The word rises unbidden, and I push it down before the emotion attached to it can bloom on my face. Because I am not alone in this corridor.
The approaching footsteps are heavy and deliberate. A warrior's gait. I know who it is before I even turn my head, andmy first instinct is to slip through my door and pretend I never saw him.
But D'Vorak has already spotted me. He's angling toward me with clear intent, and to retreat now would be both cowardly and rude. I was not raised to be either.
So I stay.
I pull my emotions inward, tucking them behind the mental walls I've built over years of practice. The warmth from Cody's visit, the residual vulnerability from my session with Dr. Singh, the lingering pleasure of holding this beautiful book – all of it gets packed away into a box that no one else can access.
By the time D'Vorak reaches me, my face is stone. Serene and unreadable. If he tries to scent my emotions, he'll find nothing to latch onto.
"A'Vanti." D'Vorak inclines his head in greeting. His scales are a dark bronze, and he steps close enough I have to crane my neck to keep eye contact. He towers over me by a full head, all warrior-caste muscle. The look in his eyes is that of someone who sees a prize, not a person. Unbidden, my mind flashes to Cody. Leaner, shorter, but with a kind face and a quick smile. A face that has never once looked at me like a trophy to be won.
"D'Vorak." I keep my voice neutral. "Is there something you need?"
He reaches into the small pouch at his belt and produces an item that makes my stomach drop.
A val'ari. A traditional Cerastean hair adornment, all delicate gold filigree and tiny amber stones. The kind of gift that carries weight. The kind of gift that carries meaning.
"I wish to present this to you," D'Vorak says, holding it out like an offering. "As a symbol of my intent."
I don't take it. "Your intent?"
"To court you." His eyes meet mine, steady and certain. "I am interested in pursuing a bond with you, A'Vanti. I believe we would be well-matched."
Well-matched. I nearly laugh. He's never had an actual conversation with me. Doesn't know my favorite food. He knows nothing about me. He knows only I am female and alive – apparently that's enough.
There was a time, on Ceraste, when a warrior would never have dared approach a female of the artist caste in this manner.
Our hierarchy was rigid, with clear boundaries. A warrior presenting himself so boldly would have been met with swift social censure.
But that was before. Before Queen Diamalla's poison killed our world. Before the survivors were forced to abandon the old ways to survive. The caste system has now been formally dissolved. Warriors, Scientists, Leaders, Artists – we are all simply Cerasteans, scrambling to preserve what remains of our species.
And yet.
D'Vorak's approach still feels presumptuous. Not because of his caste. I've worked to let go of those old prejudices, but because of the assumption behind it. The confidence I would welcome his overtures. That Ishouldwelcome his pursuit and be grateful for it.
"I appreciate the gesture," I say carefully, "but I am not looking to take a mate at this time."
D'Vorak's expression flickers. Surprise, followed by something harder. "You cannot mean that."
"I assure you, I do."
"A'Vanti." He says my name like I'm being foolish. Like I simply need the situation explained to me more clearly. "You are one of the last Cerastean females. Surely you understand what that means."
I feel the ice forming around my heart. "Enlighten me."
