The glow on my forearms brightens from dull gold to a bright, aggressive yellow. I cross my arms tighter over my chest, burying the light, and click my jaw shut.
Then she stops. Mid-command, her dark head turns. Her gaze finds the far corner of the cavern, and I follow it.
Sorn. He is sitting with his broad back against the stone wall, staring blindly at the empty shadows.
Eh-ree-kah grabs a gourd bowl filled with filtered water. She walks directly toward one of the deadliest trackers in our clan and holds it out to him.
Sorn physically recoils. His broad shoulders draw violently inwards, trying to shrink away from her. He immediately ducks his head, pressing the ruined, raw tissue of his scarred face hard against the cold stone to hide his disfigurement from her sight. He does not reach for the water and a wave of self-loathing leaks from him into the edges of the mindspace.
Eh-ree-kah does not retreat. She shoves the bowl closer, pressing the hard gourd directly against his muscle. She makes a sharp, scraping noise in the back of her throat and attempts the ancient greeting.
“Ain kah tor,” is what she should have said. May Ain not be hot today. Drink.
What she actually barks out is, “Ain ka’vrakt.”
Ain is a mindless beast.
Every warrior in the cavern freezes.
She leaves her hand planted firmly on her hip, tilts her delicate chin up, and glares intensely at Sorn. She refuses to let him hide in the dark.
“Ain ka’vrakt,” she demands louder, tapping the gourd against his chest again.
Sorn goes still. He looks slowly down at the tiny, exasperated female standing fearlessly in front of his ruined face, loudly commanding him to drink.
The scarred tissue of his jaw visibly tightens. His clawed hand trembles as he reaches up and carefully takes the gourd from her.
The jagged, freezing void inside Sorn’s frequency softens just slightly.
Mydra-kirimmediately pulses with a dark, feral need.
I am undone.
I look at her small wrists. I look at her fragile frame currently ordering huge warriors around. And a violent, undeniable urge roars straight through my bloodstream. It is roaring so loud I cannot hear my own thoughts.
Claim her.
Something deep in my being demands it. Something in the very dust demands it.Scoop the tiny female up. Carry her to a dark, unmapped place deep in the tunnels where no other male can ever look at her. Pin her to the stone and wrap your body around hers until she smells like you. Make her purr.
I need to physically feel her say my name in that terrible, harsh mouth-speak when she is trapped underneath me.
Kol ka’vrakt.
My skin ignites. My glow surges dangerously bright, lighting up the deep shadow I stand in. My fangs ache with the need to bite, and my claws fully extend, scraping harshly against the callouses of my own palms. The heat radiating off my forearms is searing.
I sharply turn away. I step deeper into the dark recess of the back tunnels, plunging myself into total blackness before I lose control, cross the cavern floor, and violently drag her away in front of everyone.
I do not stop walkinguntil I hit the dead-end stone wall of the lower storage tunnel.
The air deep down here is freezing. I do not care. I press my broad back flat against the freezing stone and crush a clawed hand hard over my own chest, right over my glowingdra-kir, physically trying to force the hammering rhythm to slow.
It does not work.
I close my eyes and attempt to ground myself in the dark. I focus on the smell of the dry dust blowing through the upper tunnels. I focus on the soothing bite of the cold stone seeping into my overheated flesh.
But cutting directly through all of that, sharper than a bone knife, isher.
There are many females in this cavern. Their scents do not impact me at all. They are simply fragile creatures in need of basic protection.
