I keep my frequency pulled brutally tight, projecting a suffocating wall of silence that usually forces my warriors to lower their heads. But right now, the high-ranking males push against it, their disbelief and amusement bleeding through my absolute defenses anyway.
A sharp, incredibly smug frequency slides directly against my mental wall. Tharn.
”The human female commanded you to lower yourself,”Tharn projects.”The Hall of Knowing shows the ancient Daughters of Ain commanding us to bow. It is a powerful sign. She is claiming you, dra-dam.”
I do not move my spine from the freezing stone wall. Instead, I shape a blunt block of absolute rejection and shove it back against his frequency.”She was upset. I calmed her.”
There is silence. I think he is finished. But then Tharn’s frequency returns immediately, completely unbothered by my violence.
”Rok lowered himself for Jus-teen. Sarven for Mih-kay-lah. I surrendered the moment I saw Jah-kee. You folded your body to the floor for Eh-ree-kah. The claiming pattern is clear.”
The thick muscles in my neck strain painfully against my own skin.”She does not want my claim.”
”The pattern,”Tharn insists,”is very clear. You should begin weaving her a thick new sleeping mat, dra-dam.”
I slam the mindspace shut, severing his connection.
The sudden internal silence is deafening, leaving me alone with the bruised rhythm of mydra-kirhammering painfully against my ribs.
When I push off the stone wall, the golden glow burning along my forearms is running too hot. I need the harsh, scouring wind of the outer wastes. I need immediate physical distance from her sweet, stormy scent.
The brutal windshould have scoured her scent out of my lungs by now. It has not.
I have been stalking the outer perimeter since I left the cavern. Ain is at her highest, blinding central peak and the wind is brutal, grinding coarse sand deeply into the ridges of my status markings. I dragged Haroth along because I demanded another set of eyes on the unprotected border, but I have not been watching the border. I have been desperately trying to stop my body from smelling her.
Haroth is not helping.
I keep feeling his consciousness brush against mine. He is doing an intensely poor job of shielding his frequency. Every few strides, a fragment of his projection slips through. The clear, vivid image of my body folding to the stone floor. The image of the small female pointing her shaking digit at my bare chest.
I stop walking.
”Check the outer markers,”I project, my frequency deadly flat.”South dunes to the plains. Check all of them.”
Haroth’s frequency goes carefully neutral.”That is a full sol’s walk, dra-dam.”
”Then you should start walking immediately.”
Haroth dips his head into the wind and immediately turns south. As he goes, a single, crystal-clear image drifts back through the mindspace. Me again. Sitting on the floor. Staring up at the tiny female.
He leaves the projection unshielded so I receive the insult perfectly.
I bare my fangs down into the dust.
I stand alone on the high ridge. The roaring silence is better. The harsh wind strips layers of heat off my shoulders and I close my eyes and drag air into my chest. Sand. Crushed stone. Dry, bitter air. Nothing sweet. Nothing stormy. Nothing that smells like her.
Mydra-kirfinally slows. One punishing beat. Two. The rhythm steadies.
Good.
I am turning my back toward the cavern when I hear it. Heavy footfalls. Fast. Too fast for a standard border patrol.
Haroth is running.
He barely left. He should be out of sight, well on his way to the south dunes by now.
He crests the high ridge at a full, desperate sprint, kicking up a wall of dust. He skids to a complete stop directly in front of me and quickly holds out the fresh carcass of a rock jumper.
The coarse, dust-colored plumage is still slick with its own lifeblood. Its long, slender neck has been roughly snapped. A completely fresh kill. The dust hasn’t even begun to settle naturally on the cooling body.
