The word does nothing to explain the violence rolling under my skin, but it is the absolute truth. Her scent is perfect.Sheis perfect.
I slowly drop my claws from her fragile shoulders and force my feet to take exactly one agonizing step backward.
She stares at me. “Good.”
I do not trust myself to talk again. If I open my mouth, I will simply roar. I turn my back on her, my muscles completely rigid with tension, and force myself to stalk away toward the upper ledges.
I can feel the amused consciousness of the gathered warriors pressing against the back of my skull like a dust storm against a sealed vent. I ignore them.
By Ain’smid-point in the sky, I am sitting alone on the wide stone ledge high above the alcove the females are currently using to tend to their sick. There are bone weapons lying in front of me. I have not touched them.
I am completely watching her.
She is teaching the small, quiet female called Loo-see how to properly repack the filtration weave. She is not gentle about it. She points sharply at a lethal mistake, fixes it herself with her small hands, then steps back and commands Loo-see to do it again.
She does not coddle the other females. She fiercely protects them by forcing them to learn how to survive.
A thick, dark curl escapes the untidy knot on top of her head. She shoves it back angrily without looking, smudging grey dust across her pale cheek. Her human anatomy is severely fragile. She possesses no thick protective muscle, no brow sheltering her fierce, dark eyes, and the delicate joints of her bare wrists look incredibly easy to snap.
But she refuses to act like prey. Her small jaw tightens fiercely before she issues another hard instruction. She leans over the work, the collar of her tunic slipping sideways, exposing a long, vulnerable strip of soft, pale skin at the back of her neck.
Mydra-kirinstantly surges.
A bruising ache spikes directly through my bloodstream. I stare down at her vulnerable skin, my fangs dropping over my lip.
She must have thick furs. I will empty my private stores for her immediately. She must have completely fresh meat. Not the hard roasted flesh we consume here in the clan cave, but something soft, something that would make her exhausted face look different when she eats it. I must line the hard stone of her sleeping mat so she never feels the cold. I must know the exact temperature she requires to sleep, so I can press my body against her and maintain that precise heat through the coldest cycles.
I will wrap her in my scent until there is no piece of her left unclaimed.
I stop the thought, staring blindly down at the bone tools before me. I have been the undefeated dra-dam of this clan for many revolutions. I have survived the freezing dark of Xiraxis alone without shelter. I have fought Lucek’s males claw to claw deep in a ravine with zero reinforcements and I slaughtered them all.
I possess absolute control.
But the glow along my forearms flushes completely, fiercely bright. The searing gold light reflects off the stone walls of the ledge. I cross my arms tightly over my chest, burying the blinding light.
On the cavern floor directly below, Ah-mee-lee-ah approaches the central fire pit. She holds an empty gourd bowl.
Haroth is nearby. He is not watching the fire pit. He is sitting against the stone wall where he has a perfectly clear line of sight to the sick bay entrance, his arms folded across his chest. He has been sitting there completely still for most of the sol.
He thinks no one has noticed his obsession. I have.
Ah-mee-lee-ah walks directly up to him and holds the bowl out. She mimes scooping from the empty bottom, then lifting the invisible contents to her soft mouth. She requires a dipping shell.
Haroth studies her delicate gesture. He looks deeply at the bowl. He looks at her scooping motion. He tilts his head in affirmation once, stands up, and disappears directly into the storage alcove.
He returns almost instantly with a broad bone basin the exact size of her entire torso. He sets it down in front of her with great care.
Ah-mee-lee-ah stares silently at the basin. She looks down at her tiny gourd bowl. She looks back at the basin. A strange, unique sound comes out of her. High and sharp and constantly repeated. Her small shoulders shake violently.
She is making the human sound. The joyful happy sound.
Eh-ree-kah puts down her weave, wipes her small hands on her stained bottom coverings, and walks over to intervene.
Haroth looks squarely up at me on the ledge, projecting a panicked impulse loudly into the mindspace.”What did I do wrong?”
I do not know. I am completely watching Eh-ree-kah.
“Kah,” she says firmly to Haroth.No.
