Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“Good morning, Zellina! Zortaire!”
Mortana’s wrinkled gray face is decidedly not what I expected to wake up to.
It doesn’t help that my eyelids feel oddly gritty. The early dawn light stings them as I wince.
Confusion settles over me. I glance around, noting the different direction of the light… the darker blue stone… not to mention the weight pinning me down…
Oh God.
Zolkan’s muscled, velvet arm cinches around my waist as he grumbles, “Just leave the tray and go.”
I tense, embarrassment and disbelief paralyzing me. The Zortaire sighs, tacking on a belated, “Please.”
I’m just conscious enough to catch Mortana’s smug smirk as she bows. “Of course, sire. Zellina.”
I’m still not sure what that word means, but judging by her Cheshire Cat impression, I assume it’s something significant. As soon as I hear Zolkan’s door shut, I start to turn, determined to demand an explanation.
Many of them, actually
But the King of Khanos only snuggles closer, burying his face in my hair. Answering my unspoken inquiry without prompting. “It means lover. Specifically, the Zortaire’s chosen consort.”
Oh.
Well.
After last night, I’m pretty sure there’s no arguing with that. Although once again, Zolkan left the heavy lifting to Rask and seemed content to watch.
Or, at the very least, resigned to watch.
In the bright light of morning, the mists of my insanity have fully evaporated. I stumble through my memories, reexamining each one. Especially Zolkan’s strong features, etched with intensity that bordered on pain.
“D-did—”
I start the question without knowing how to finish it. When I finally manage to squirm onto my back, the Zortaire’s violet gaze swallows mine whole.
The same intangible connection that sparked between us last night barrels back into me. His chest rumbles on a quiet purr while his eyes swirl.
The combination is hypnotic. Pulling words from me without effort. “Didn’t it bother you? Just… watching?”
There’s something devastating about the way his square, masculine face softens when he gives me that small smile of his. My belly flips and flutters as his lips curve.
“I did not just watch, if you recall,” he murmurs wryly. “But no, omega, it did not bother me. I expected to hate it—then, the more I observed, the more I understood.”
My chest squeezes as he reaches one of his clawed hands over and winds a loose piece of hair behind my ear. “Understood?” I repeat, breathless.
“Your nature,” Zolkan explains. “It… unites alphas. I was insanely jealous not to be the male filling your cunt—but I also felt more at ease with Rask than I have in a long time. You brought us together, gave us a common goal.”
He fully smiles, his fanged white teeth displaying what I can only describe as impish delight. “I suppose it helped that watching you two made me more aroused than anything else ever has.”
A startled giggle flies up my throat. “Seriously?”
He nods, sunlight slowly shining over each arching iridescent horn. “Yes. Seeing you take your pleasure, using us both… You are my Zellina, Sofi. If you need more than one male to satisfy you, I will get you more. As many as you need. Or want. And I will direct them all as to how best serve you.”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Is it hot in here?
He stares for a long moment, then sighs.
“It is for the best, honestly. My clanspeople have seen you by my side, but my scent is not fully on you yet. Only a thread of it, so far. In the meantime, Rask’s will help keep you safe; I may be the Prime Alpha, but he is the most skilled warrior.
Bearing both of our scents is the best protection I can offer, short of allowing one of us to shadow your every move. ”
It’s odd that he already knows me well enough to sense I would hate being guarded. He clearly does, though; when I grimace, a gentle, knowing smile curves his dark lips.
“You’re very proud,” he points out, fondness softening the opinion into a compliment. “I cannot decide whether I find it endearing or arousing.”
I sputter indignantly, unsure how else to reply. He flashes that rare, fanged grin, concluding, “Perhaps a combination of both.”
God, he really is striking when he’s happy. I blink, dazzled. Mind reeling.
I’m in his room. In his bed. We’re both naked. I don’t have clothes or—
Shyness starts to creep into my chest, seizing my lungs. Zolkan must sense it, because he drops his forehead to mine and closes his eyes.
Now that I know this is sort of how Roktusians kiss, the gesture feels undoubtedly tender. Especially when a memory flashes through my mind—this hulking alien king, trying his damnedest to press his lips against mine while I came.
He’s… sweet. Gentle with me, even as both of his enormous cocks jerk to life between us.
Which reminds me.
“W-where is Rask?”
The question trembles out of me, a sudden ache springing to life under my ribs. Rejection, maybe. This is the second time he’s left while I was passed out on top of him.
Sensing my upset, Zolkan hums, gathering me into his chest. “He had to be on the training field at dawn to instruct his latest recruits. He left well before I fell asleep.”
I must have been dead to the world, because I don’t remember hearing any shifting wings or conversation. Still, part of me can’t accept that he would fill me so completely in every way and then disappear. “D-did he say anything?”
Zolkan shifts onto his wingless back, frowning ponderously at the arching blue-and-silver stone overhead. “No,” he replies, like the answer troubles him as much as it disturbs me. “He did not.”
Violet eyes return to mine, reading the muddled emotions I can’t unriddle. A clawed, comforting hand smooths a path down my spine, settling on my hip with a gentle squeeze.
“I will speak to him after our evening meal, stryllas,” Zolkan vows quietly. “Perhaps let him know that the invitation to our bed is an open one. You like him, yes? He still pleases you?”
Too much.
Chagrin floods my stomach. “I… do,” I blurt, recalling all the times they snapped at each other last night, “but you two don’t seem to like each other very much.”
Zolkan’s answering half-smile is as sad as it is self-deprecating. “No,” he answers. “We hate each other. But that’s only because we once loved one another like brothers.”
His sorrow seems to seep into my very soul. A deep ache settles inside me. So heavy and thick, I can barely breathe my next question.
“What happened?”
Zolkan gusts a sigh. His rounded horn-tips sink into his pillow as he tilts his head back. Staring at the ceiling instead of looking at me. “It is a very unpleasant story, omega. I’d rather not stain your mind with it.”
Well, obviously, that isn’t going to fly. I start to rear up, outraged, but the voice at my middle hushes me, urging a gentler approach.
He’s in pain, she whispers. We should comfort him.
The appeal of that idea outweighs any frustration. Instead of demanding, I skim my lips over his bare chest, slanting a look up to his face. “Please, Zolkan? I want to understand.”
His dark gaze snaps to mine, white light dancing around the edges of his irises as suns-light pours into the bedroom. He mutters something in Roktusian. Most of it must be cursing or slang, because my brain only picks up, “—gorgeous, dangerous creature—”
He relents with another heavy exhale. “I was not meant to be the king,” he admits.
“That honor was to go to Zazt. We were twins—a very rare, auspicious gift among Roktusians. We have two hearts, two horns, two cocks. Southerners, two wings; Northerners, two tails. So when pips are born in pairs, it is a great honor from our goddess.”
I try to picture two squalling purple babies. The thought is oddly adorable—tiny little horn-buds, plated baby faces, a little tail to wrap around their mother’s fingers.
“He was born first, which made him the natural heir to our father’s throne,” Zolkan explains. “He still had to fight for it, as is our tradition. Zazt was a great warrior, though. When our father passed on, my brother felled his opponents easily and took the crown without issue.”
I picture a carbon copy of Zolkan, fighting off hordes of power-hungry alphas. A shudder racks me as he goes on.
“Norabi, Rask, Zazt and I had been best friends all our lives. When Zazt took the crown, he and Norabi announced they were mates—the very first mated pair of Roktusians in a century, at least. It was another great blessing, as everyone knows mated pairs produce the most offspring—and, as the Prime Alpha, Zazt had to breed before any other alphas could.”
The biology of that still fascinates me. I ignore the half-dozen scientific queries that arise, shoving them aside until I can pluck answers out of Cylus later.
Appeased, my mind turns to sprinting through the implications of what Zolkan shared. Reality lands in my center with a loud thud.
“Oh,” I murmur.
Zolkan exhales through his blade of a nose, nodding once. “Yes. It is an unfortunate part of our natures. No one quite knows why, but it divides our race into very distinct generations because our people can only breed while the current Prime Alpha is breeding.”
That sinks in, along with another essential detail. “And Norabi was your brother’s mate?”
Zolkan nods again, slower. “Yes. They made a good pair, both being the greatest warriors of our generation. Because Norabi was to be Zazt’s Zortana—his queen—she could no longer be the General. They granted that position to me, instead.”
Confusion creases my brow. “But I thought Rask was the General?”
Sadness fills Zolkan’s gaze. “He is now. I gave up the title after I got Zazt killed.”
Holy fucking—
I should probably bolt upright, but my entire body freezes.
Zolkan runs his hand over my side. “Not intentionally,” he assures, “but we have been in the midst of a war with a distant, dark planet for many orbits. Our enemies sent a message, asking me to bring Zazt to meet with them just outside Khanos’s atmosphere.
They claimed they wanted to treat with us and end the conflict.
“I was more relieved than I cared to admit. Our people are warriors, it’s true, but I never quite had the appetite for war that Rask, Norabi, and Zazt did. When the Drakosians expressed interest in a truce, I leaped at it,” Zolkan confesses, then swallows hard. “Too eagerly.”
The pieces snap together in my head. “It was a trap?”
He stares at me for a long moment before rasping, “Yes. It was.”
“And they killed Zazt?” I breathe, horrified.
Zolkan’s gaze hardens. “They killed many. Blasted about thirty of our best starcrafts. Half of them didn’t even make it back into Khanos’s atmosphere—and the ones who did fell to the ground without shields.
Rask and I only survived because our ship took on minimal damage, and he’s the best driver there is.
He managed to land us on the sea. My brother’s ship was not so fortunate. It’s a miracle Norabi survived.”
A shiver wracks my frame. “I—I’m—”
Speechless.
What can anyone say to that? He accidentally got his brother killed, all in the name of saving the lives of his men. Norabi lost her mate, Rask lost one of his best friends.
Well, both of his best friends, I suppose.
Half of me understands. If anyone had ever done something that led to me losing Addy or Capri, I’d hate them forever.
But another part…
How could Rask blame Zolkan for this?
Does everyone else?
The Zortaire answers my question when he abruptly sits up. The male studies me for a long moment, tension pulling his features taut. A weary sigh deflates his chest as he casts his gaze down to the sheets and turns his back toward me.
Oh my God.
Horrific scars as thick as my arms band across his muscled flesh in an X. I blink at them, not understanding. And then, suddenly, understanding too well.
The shape of his bed and mine. The way he wears a breastplate that covers his back. The chairs in the not-dining room, clearly designed for—
Wings.
He had wings.
And now, he doesn’t.