“When Haroth finds their location,” I let a snarl bleed into the command, “we hunt them down. And we leave nothing alive.”
The warriors slam their fists against their chests in unison, a deafening crack of bone against bone. The roar of the clan fills the mindspace with a promise.
The hunt has begun.
But as I stand in the center of my blood-hungry clan, my eyes flick past the warriors. They lock immediately back onto the small, dark-maned human female near the tunnel entrance.
She is watching me, her dark eyes wide.
My warriors wait for my signal.
My claws grind against the handle of my bone-axe and I watch her throat swallow. I scent the heat still clinging to her skin. My fangs ache. I want to drop my weapon, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her back to the furs.
I am the dra-dam.
But I cannot pull my eyes away.
Chapter 21
SHUSHING DEADLY WARRIORS (AND OTHER TERRIBLE SURVIVAL STRATEGIES)
ERIKA
Kol is standing in the center of the cavern, bone-axe in hand, and my brain has stalled out at the size of him.
I mean, I already knew he was huge. I spent all of last night pinned under the crushing weight of his chest. I know exactly how broad he is. But seeing him like this with his amber-gold skin glowing under the sunlight, shoulders wide enough to block out the rest of the cave, addressing his warriors does something unhelpful to my pulse.
His jaw is set. His broad, clawed hands are wrapped around the handle of that axe so tightly the tendons in his forearms stand out in thick cords. His projection to the clan carries so much authority it feels like a physical pressure pressing against the inside of my skull.
But it’s not just him. That’s the problem.
I can heareveryone.
So this is what I was missing. All those weeks we spent terrified of how they communicated without speaking. All thosetimes they stood in a circle, staring at each other in total silence, and we wondered what the hell they were doing.
They were never actually quiet. We were really just locked out.
The mindspace is overwhelmingly loud without actually making a sound, which makes no sense at all. It feels like there are dozens of towering alien men standing inside my actual brain. I’m catching physical sensations that don’t even belong to me and they’re all thinking right over top of one another. How is this even possible?
“...you need more meat... your skin is still too cold...” Rok. The thought is sharp, focused, hovering over Justine like an anxious, seven-foot golden guard dog.
Justine’s thought fires back almost instantly. “Rok, I swear to God, if you bring me one more piece of dried meat I will throw it at your head.” Then she softens and pulls him in. He goes, his body leaning into hers as if he has no resistance at all. His hand comes up to cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone.
“I’m not hungry,” she says aloud, her voice thick with sleep.
“You will be,” Rok projects, his thought firm.
“...move the watchers to the western ridge before Ain climbs higher...” Sarven. His thoughts are icy. Calculating. Pure tactical ice water.
“...is there any of that dried sandfin left?...” Tharn. Hungry, and amused by something I can’t quite untangle from the solid wall of noise.
“...my right fang aches from cracking bone...”
Wait. I press the heels of my hands hard against my temples. I can actually trace the shape of the thoughts now. The sluggish, dragging thud of boredom from a guard near the tunnel. The dull throb of pain from the wounded males near the fire. Therestless, aggressive itch of the warriors sharpening bone-knives along the far wall.
“...the females burn all the good blood from the meat...”
That one comes from Zan. I can feel the shape of his annoyance. It’s prickly, like trying to hug a cactus. He’s complaining.
