Mine,the instinct whispers.
Outside my alcove, the mindspace gradually fills with the waking thoughts of my clan. The dull throb of hunger, the sharp sting of healing wounds, the slow planning.
Ah-lex. Lucek’s clan. The war.
The reality waits just beyond the furs.
“Eh-ree-kah,” I project gently, aiming the thought right at the space behind her eyes.
She groans, screwing her eyes shut tighter. “Five more minutes.”
She speaks in Een-gleesh. It does not matter. The mindspace translates the intent perfectly.Delay. Comfort. Refusal to move.
A low rumble of amusement vibrates in my throat. I brush my thumb across the soft curve of her hip.
“We have a war to plan,” I remind her.
She buries her face into my chest, her voice muffled against my muscle. “The war can start at nine AM. Go away.”
I do not know what a ‘nine AM’ is, but I recognize a battle I cannot win.
I pull the thick furs higher over her shoulders, sealing her against the freezing draft of the cavern.
I will give her five moremee-nits.
I tighten my arm around her waist, anchoring her against my chest. She sighs softly, her breath washing warm across mycollarbone, and the last edge of my panic finally dissolves into the dark.
Lucek is out there. The dust will always demand a brutal toll. We will face all of it.
But my female is safe.
She survives. She leads. And she is mine.
I rest my jaw against the crown of her dark mane, close my eyes, and let the claiming hum vibrate through the quiet stone until the deep dark finally lifts into dawn.
Epilogue
AN ATTEMPT WAS MADE
ERIKA
Three sols have passed since the attack.
I wake up trapped in a sweltering, golden cocoon.
I lie perfectly still, staring at the cavern ceiling.
He is wrapped around me so tightly I’m practically fixed to him. Sometime during the night, he must have realized the temperature of the cave dropped, because he shifted his bulk to shield me from the draft. One of his thick legs is thrown over both of mine, his chest pressed flush against my back. His arm is slung across my ribs, burying me firmly in the furs.
I turn my head slightly to look at him, my cheek brushing against his skin.
His face is relaxed in sleep. The intensity usually burning in his golden eyes is hidden beneath closed lids.
I shift, slowly rolling onto my side to face him. He makes a low noise of protest, a sleep-drenched rumble vibrating through the mindspace, and his arm tightens around my waist to ensure I haven’t gone far.
I trace the line of his jaw. The thick corded muscle of his neck. The broad ridge of his collarbone.
My fingertip finds the raised, textured bumps carved into his skin. I trace the pectoral muscle to his shoulder.
