Kalisha shrugged. "She’s strong and beautiful. Malek chooses whomever he wants. There are always many females after him."
A bitter taste rose in my mouth. Malek was the leader, large, strong, and, I admitted, attractive. It would be naïve to think there wouldn’t be competition for him.
I lowered my voice. “And does he… accept?”
Kalisha hesitated, her nose wrinkling slightly.
“Krun,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s waiting for the right female.”
The leader of the Oksha finally stood. I held my breath, watching to see if he would take Ni’kira with him, if she would be the one chosen to accompany him to the hut. Our eyes met for a brief second, too intense to be accidental. I could have sworn a flash of amusement crossed his expression. He arched an eyebrow, almost imperceptibly, as if he had caught a thought I would never dare admit.
Then he walked away alone, not saying a single word to the female.
Only then did I realize how tense my shoulders had been. Relief followed, but it was an uncomfortable feeling.
Why did I care?
Chapter 14
I had grown used to waking before the sun since I started training with Malek. My body still ached, my muscles protested, yet a quiet sense of expectation pulled me from the hard bed, easing the grip of exhaustion and the lingering weight of the previous days.
I dressed quickly, my heart racing with an anticipation I refused to analyze too deeply. It wasn’t anxiety, I told myself; it was simply discipline and the determination to become stronger.
As I moved through the village, some people nodded and greeted me like I truly belonged—something that, even after days, still surprised me. Before I even reached the meadow, the air was already vibrating with voices and the sharp whistle of weapons cutting through the air.
When I finally arrived, Malek wasn’t alone. A ring of males and females crowded the training ground, their attention locked on a brutal fight unfolding at its center. Cheers erupted at every well-placed strike, while jeers and taunts cut through the air whenever their favored champion faltered.
I slipped closer, unnoticed, weaving through the crowd until I had a clear view. My breath caught.
Malek lunged at an orc nearly his height, though broader, his fists driving into the creature’s ribs in sharp, controlled bursts while the other struggled to block. He didn’t just fight—he danced with the violence, dodging his opponent’s blows with feline agility.
His opponent managed to land a few blows, but never enough to change the course of the fight. Malek absorbed thestrikes, shortened the distance between them, and then, in a swift motion, seized his opponent’s arm. Using his weight, he threw the orc off balance, sending him flipping through the air before slamming him to the ground.
The impact landed with a heavy thud, and the crowd erupted in cheers.
Despite the defeat, the fallen orc grinned, baring his fangs as the onlookers roared their approval.
Malek raised his arms and let out a roar, sending the noise surging higher. Sweat and dirt covered him, his chest rising and falling with each breath, but the sight was impossible to ignore.
The Okshai looked at him with something close to devotion—and it was easy to see why. He wasn’t just their leader. He was the clan’s shield and blade.
His eyes gleamed with victory when they found mine. A spark in them held me in place, my stomach tightening at the thought of what he might teach me today. Then a slow smile spread across his lips, deep enough to reveal his dimples.
The air seemed to thin in my lungs. I swallowed hard and realized I was smiling back before I even noticed, my heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the fight, and everything to do with him.
The circle of orcs parted, clearing a path for him.
"Mo’nk, Ruk’hai," I greeted him. Up close, the veins in his forearms stood out beneath his skin.
Malek kept smiling, his sharp fangs on display, stirring that strange feeling deep in my core. I ignored it.
“You watched me?” he asked, barely holding back his excitement.
“I did,” I said, my cheeks warming. “You’re very good.”
He stepped closer, grabbed a linen towel from a log, and wiped the sweat from his neck and shoulders.
“You,” he said, pointing at me with it, “will fight me.”
