Soren’s fallen feather was positively old news by the time the afternoon of the first class came. So much so, Soren had deluded himself into thinking that it wouldn’t truly be every single man in town going.
And then he walked around to the front of Ulmo’s half-finished pub, grabbing a rag off the railing to wipe off his muzzle.
He watched in stunned silence as every single man streamed from the village on his way down to the school. There were others, of course, and it was far too early for the class to begin, but already over a dozen potential suitors headed right for Miss Maeve.
The ruff at the back of Soren’s neck stood up, and a growl reverberated in his throat.
Keep them away, kill them, claim her—
A hearty slap smacked him on the shoulder, catching him by surprise.
He turned to see Diar’s insufferably smug face. “What’d I tell you?” He nodded at the great migration headed to the school. “They’ve all heard about her beauty, and many have been finding reasons to be near the school. If you’re not careful, you’ll be out a mateanda job.”
Catching Diar’s stupid, dumb face in his paw, Soren shoved him. “Go away.”
Straightening, Diar laughed. “They’ve all convinced themselves they have a chance, what with you so politely getting out of their way. You’ve fooled them all, brother. But have you fooled yourself?”
Diar leaned in, his smile showing off all his teeth, but Soren didn’t react. Oh, he wanted to. Wanted to swipe his claws and catch Diar’s big mouth with their sharpness. He wanted to wing down to the school and bar the door, roaring that they leave hiskigaraalone.
Rip out the throat of any who look at her!howled histuruk.
The violent thought made him queasy, and so Soren stood strong, ignoring Diar’s taunts.
Finally realizing he wouldn’t get the rise he wanted out of Soren, Diar shrugged. Waving over his shoulder, he turned in the direction of the school. “Fine, fine. But don’t bellyache to me when you have regrets.”
No, Soren would never be so foolish as to take his thoughts to Diar. His brother had trouble enough with his own.
Huffing, Soren finished wiping himself down as something to do rather than glare at all the strapping men headed out of town. Oh, he certainly did that, it just wasn’t all he did.
Still, he caught a few wary glances as they passed him on the unfinished porch.
Soren just kept his lip from lifting in a warning growl.
Enough, he scolded the beast inside,we must let her be.
Pretty, available, ours,growled theturukin response.
Soren let out his growl, but it was for his own beast more than anything. Scrubbing the rag hard over his face, he tried not to focus on the many pairs of feet walking past. His fur bristled, his feathers ruffled, and all he could do was shake himself from head to toe to try working out the uneasy itchiness.
Pressing his paw to his chest, he sank his claws into his own hide until he felt a prick of pain.
That only made theturukangrier.
Your fault, your choice, no!it raged.
A rumble grew in his chest.You’re why I can’t,he snarled at his beast.So angry, so possessive, you’d scare her away.
Histurukshuddered but wouldn’t back down.
The truth was never easy to face, even for his bestial half.
Soren had always had a tight rein on his inner beast. Hisabbatalways stressed the mark of a man was his strength and the control he wielded over it.“A strong hunter knows when to bend,”hisabbatwould say,“and when it is better to purr than roar.”
Soren never allowed himself to roar and had never had reason to purr.
To do so would allow his fearsome, troublesomelukanof a beast too much control. Histurukwas headstrong, domineering, and fierce. Such a beast would’ve led Soren straight into trouble as a cub—there were many cubs stronger than him, and all of them loathed him. Well, except Balar.
An unruly, untamed beast was looked down upon. And so Soren had trained harder than anyone else, tried harder than anyone else—he ruthlessly subdued his own beast, and he was convinced it’d kept him alive within the pride.
