I bare my fangs at the empty shadows. My claws shred the wet fibers of the basket before I even register the deep, vibrating snarl ripping out of my own throat.
My biology screams at me to track her fresh scent into the dark, to stand over her sleeping form, and scrape the dried blood from her skin with my teeth. The raw, blinding need to drag her against my chest so no other male in this cavern can even look at her paralyzes me.
“Dra-dam.”
The formal title vibrates sharply through the mindspace.
I turn. Zan stands near the dying central fire, rigid.
I walk over, my bare feet silent against the stone, just as Rok and Tharn slide out of the shadows. Sarven joins us, his glow dim, and we form a loose circle around the ash pit.
Zan reeks. It is the bitter, sour stench of fear. He attempts to smother it with aggression, but the scent pours off his skin in thick, undeniable waves.
“Speak.”
“The females,” Zan begins. His gaze shifts away from mine, staring down at the firestone ash as if he cannot bear my direct focus. “They make us weak.” His thought is excessively loud. It scrapes roughly against the inside of my skull. “They wastewater from their eyes. They make high, fearful noises when the shadows move. They are brittle and soft and they are changing us.”
The mindspace bristles instantly. I feel three different warriors awaken with low, rumbling growls echoing in my head.
“My female wove fiber to pull poison from the cavern,” Sarven projects. The force of it is directed straight at Zan’s skull like a sharpened spear. Zan bares his fangs in response. “She saved us.”
“A sand-runner got loose in our alcove,” Tharn projects, a wave of dark amusement flooding the shared space. “Jah-kee threw a rock at its head before I could even draw my blade. She is not soft.”
Zan’s fear-scent spikes so aggressively I can taste it on the back of my tongue. “They are making us weak! Changing our forms!” He gestures sharply at the hide coverings Tharn and Rok have begun wearing over their lower extremities to appease their mates. “They are making us forget the dust!”
“Enough.”
My projection slams into the mindspace like a falling boulder. It crushes the argument instantly. The overwhelming weight of it forces the air from their lungs. Zan flinches violently, his ears flattening back tightly against his skull as the sheer, dominant pressure of my will forces his submission.
“The females are ours to protect,” I project, my frequency deadly calm. “We hunt the eastern ridge today. We keep the darkness away from our cavern. And if you speak of the females like this again, I will remind you with my claws who leads this clan.”
The human females exist in our territory. Asdra-dam, I am sworn to protect them all. Yet the exact second Zan spoke against them, it was only Eh-ree-kah’s sharp, storm-wind scent that surged into my lungs. Mydra-kirseizes with a darkpossessiveness that singles her out from the rest. I will tear Zan’s throat out before I let him disrespect her.
Zan’s jaw clenches, but he lowers his head in absolute submission and steps back.
I remain by the dying firestones. Without another sound, my brothers disperse, melting back into the shadows to gather their bone weapons and prepare for the hunting rotations.
For a long time, the cavern remains perfectly quiet.
Slowly, the deadened rhythm of the dark begins to break. The air in the cavern shifts as Ain’s light creeps in through the cavern entrance, the scent of sharp dust and cool stone giving way to the sweet, soft musk of the waking females. From their sleeping partition, I hear the rustling of woven mats being pushed aside and the soft, high-pitched murmurs as they begin to stir.
I step back into the deeper shadows near the wall and fold my thick arms over my bare chest.
I am waiting for her.
Mydra-kirthumps heavily against my ribs the exact second she walks out.
Her dark mane is twisted into an untidy knot secured at the top of her head, exposing the soft, vulnerable line of her neck. Her brow is furrowed, her small hands planted firmly on her hips as she surveys the main cavern.
She does not look soft.
She looksfierce.
She immediately begins organizing the other females. She points at the baskets, assigns tasks, and grabs a stubborn knot of weave to show them how to tie it.
“Pam,” she says. I listen to the rapid stream of sharp, meaningless sounds spilling from her mouth. I do not understand the words, but her tone carries a commanding, absolute edge that makes the skin on my forearms prickle with sudden heat.
The other female steps back, submissive to her command. Eh-ree-kah turns to the next female before the first can even move. She leads them exactly the way I lead my warriors. The weight of their survival rests squarely on her fragile shoulders, and even though my warriors hover nearby, waiting to be called upon, she does not look to any of us for assistance.
