The translated word rumbles harshly from his throat. He is standing exactly two feet in front of me, his broad arms crossed over his chest, his dark face unreadable.
I grip the bone handle. The weapon is unbalanced in my grip, designed for a creature three times my size.
Kol frowns. The deep V between his golden eyes sharpens.
There is zero hesitation. Zero warning. He steps up directly behind me, his rigid chest brushing against my spine. The furnace-like heat radiating from his skin envelops me instantly. Hot dust. Hot stone. And spice. Spice I want to lick.
“Weak,” he rumbles, snapping my attention back. The Drakavian word is a physical vibration that travels directly from his chest, straight down my spine, while the tinny, mechanical translation echoes uselessly in my ear seconds later. He doesn’t elaborate. He just reaches around to tap the side of my wrist with two large fingers.
He leans into my space, his arms caging me in completely. His claws wrap over mine on the bone handle.
The contrast is too distracting. His dark skin swallows my thin fingers. His grip is rock-solid, his strength terrifying.
“Strike,” he commands in a low purr, the translator barely keeping up.
He guides my arm, forcing my body through an upward thrust against a phantom enemy. The movement is fluid and fast. It forces me to lean my entire weight back against the solid wall of his chest.
The textured ridges of his braided leather harness grind against my thin shirt.
My lungs lock up. The friction rips a sound from my throat that I am desperately trying to disguise as a cough. It’s not a cough. It’s a whimpering, pathetic noise that meansplease drop the knife and drag me into the darkest corner of this cave before I spontaneously embarrass myself.
The scrape of claws against stone breaks the silence. A Drakav warrior enters the armory, stops dead in his tracks, andstands in absolute silence. His golden eyes fix unblinkingly on us.
Kol catches the movement. He ignores the warrior, tilting his head down until his mouth is hovering exactly one inch from my ear.
“Again,” he murmurs in Drakavian, his hot breath brushing my skin.
“While we are talking about defense,” I force out, my voice thin and breathless as he forcefully guides my arm through another arc, grinding his chest against my spine. “We need to institute a buddy system for the outer perimeter.”
He pauses, holding my hand and the blade perfectly still mid-air. The heat of his chest burns straight through my clothes, it’s like I’m not wearing anything at all. “Boh-dee?”
“A buddy,” I explain rapidly, staring ahead at the blank rock wall. “Someone who goes with you. No one goes anywhere alone. It’s safe.”
Kol’s golden eyes narrow slightly. I can tell he doesn’t understand ninety percent of what I just babbled at him. But his alien brain catches the words ‘with you’ and ‘safe,’ and immediately filters them through his lens.
“Tor-vakh,” he states.
“It isnottor-vakh,” I argue, my voice pitching up. “It is nowhere near a blood-vow. It’s just walking to the latrine holes together.”
Kol steps back, releasing my hand. I pull my arms tightly against my chest, the cold cavern air hitting my skin where his heat had just been.
He turns his head toward the archway leading out of the lower armory.
Less than ten seconds later, Amelia and Alex walk past the armory’s wide archway carrying woven firebloom baskets. Noteven a second later, two fully armed warriors march exactly two paces behind them.
Kol looks down at me. He steps back into my space, his broad shoulders blocking out the dim light of the cavern.
“Boh-dee,” he rumbles approvingly.
My knees actually shake.
“No,” I say, my face burning hot. “We are not?—”
Across the armory, the warrior stops moving. He stands in dead silence, totally paralyzed by whatever just happened in the mindspace.
He tilts his head at the dra-dam.
“What did you just tell them?” I demand. It takes both my arms to haul the weapon up, but I manage to point the bone knife at the silent warrior before awkwardly turning the blade toward Kol. “Explain.”
