37. Already Owned
~ MELEK ~
I’d been in conversation with Jhonas, the blonde, sunny-natured Captain from the Advisory Council, when the call went up to gather outside.
I had followed him and the others out of the Palace and deep into the gardens, to a manicured field where a massive fire was already crackling and popping, tended by several of the gardeners.
Yilan had warned me that this portion of the festivities were part of their old histories—and that tradition dictated that a Shadekin’s first attendance was “blind,” so she hadn’t told me what to expect.
But the combination of nerves and thrill that reached me through the bond when she spoke of it briefly had made me curious.
Most of the women had disappeared after the feast to change clothes. But they hadn’t joined us in the walk out here. The entire noble court was attending though I was surrounded by men. Only a very few women were present, and most of them were middle-aged. None of the children were here.
At first I thought that couldn’t be right because I’d been struck by how open the Shadekin were, bringing their children and young people to all the meals during this festival day. But now I couldn’t see any face younger than mid-teens.
That piqued my curiosity.
The fire made me frown—it was huge, and as I watched, the men added more logs, along with long, dried branches that still held leaves. Those went up like kindling when they were added to the hot fire, but the smoke and haze took on a lovely, fresh scent.
Was there dark magic afoot here?
Because of my size, I’d positioned myself at the back of the crowd.
Most of the Advisory Council and many men from their military ranks stood ahead of me.
I wasn’t sure if I’d subconsciously stuck closer to these men that I knew, or whether they were keeping an eye on me.
But as darkness fell, and even the sky overhead deepened from gray to black, I scanned the entire clearing. I couldn’t find Yilan anywhere.
I frowned as the drums began and more fuel was added to the bonfire.
The thunder of the drums rose from the trees around us. I couldn’t see any of the drummers, but the sound was deep and rich, vibrating in my chest. I wasn’t sure if that thudding resonance, or the herbs on the fire were what made my heart pump harder.
After a few minutes, the drumbeat picked up pace.
That was when the men around me murmured and shifted on their feet, stretching to look over and beyond each other and the fire, though I couldn’t see anything moving.
Their voices were hushed, but tight with excitement as they peered past the flames, and turned their heads like they were listening for something.
Finally, distantly, the sound of high, quavering voices rose in the night—so quiet at first that I almost missed them. I leaned forward with the others, eyes peeled for any sight of the singers, but for minutes all I could hear was a chorus of feminine voices.
Their singing reminded me of Yilan’s in my tent during the months before.
I looked for her eagerly, but no matter how I stretched and squinted, all I could see was the blazing light of the fire, and the deep black of night beyond it.
The voices crept closer, rising and falling in a melody they repeated over and over.
There was a murmur among the men when the glow of white robes billowing appeared at the other end of the clearing.
Finally, the crowd of women appeared singing, swaying, milling in a large, loose cluster as they emerged from the trees well beyond the fire, and now I could make out their words.
See her walk, her skin like silk.
See her sing, her voice raised to God.
See her, see her .
She stands in strength in the shadow of the Almighty
She stands in peace, her heart against war.
See her, see her…
I was still looking for Yilan among this crowd, still trying to find her as the women split to walk in two thick lines around the fire, and the rhythm of the drums shifted as their melody changed.
The Father of Light illuminates her skin
Her hair glows with health and fertility
Her smile brings His light, like the sun
While you stand and gaze on her beauty
The Almighty lights her fire within
He raises her up
He raises His daughter
She is His prize.
Who sees her? Who sees her?
Listen now, and watch…
Hear now, and see.
The daughter of the Most High comes
She brings his blessing.
She brings his strength.
Woe to the man who does not see
the gold and precious stones of she.
Take heed. Take heed.
She comes, walking in the shadow of God…
As they began another repetition of the whole song, my heart pounded in time with those heady drums. Then I finally caught sight of Yilan—just the dark gloss of her hair, her eyes lined and closed as she swayed in the inner circle, closer to the flames.
The two lines of women met and began to weave in and out of each other, around the bonfire.
The drums beat in my head now, a rhythm the likes of which I had never heard before. Suddenly, the circles were complete and moving together, the women swaying and their bodies rippling. Calls and song rose from the older women in the crowd around me.
The tension and anticipation of the men around me was palpable. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
Then their deep voices rose, singing back—but instead of words, the bass, baritone, and tenor of the Shadekin males rose and fell in a deeply masculine, almost animalistic rhythm of grunts and huffs— spurring the women on.
Broad chests and dark throats lifting song without words .
Hungh-ah, hungh-ah, hungh-ah…
My skin prickled. There was something inherently sexual about the noises the men made, yet none of them moved except to lean in, inching closer, closing their circle to hem in the women around the fire so that they couldn’t leave without passing through the crowd.
Then those unbroken lines of women, the central circles around the fire, turned and swayed back in the opposite direction. Yilan was there, at the center, right in front of the flames that glowed behind her, sparking on her hair and haloing her silhouette in light.
It seemed every man inhaled and held his breath.
My jaw went slack as my eyes adjusted, and the women around Yilan parted just enough for me to finally see her form.
I had no idea what she was wearing, only that she was the only woman not draped in thin, billowing white. But instead, the fire glowed on her skin, its light flickering on the red fabric that hugged her body, making it look as if it were made of the flames.
As she moved and turned, her hair falling over her face, I saw glimpses of her skin, and my eyes flickered on moments when it seemed like I caught hints of her body under the fabric. But as quickly as the impression would land, it was already gone.
I was stunned senseless, unable to do anything but stand there, gaping at her.
She moved like a cat—or a serpent—hips and shoulders rolling, her hair drifting over her shoulders, falling forward when her chin dropped, then back like a velvet curtain when she raised it.
As she lifted her hands and began to writhe, I was reminded of that night I’d caught her dancing in my tent.
Only that night she’d seemed preoccupied, her movements small.
Tonight, while she undulated in the same, seemingly boneless ripple, there was far more intention behind her movements. A choreographed story she was telling with her body.
At some point I became aware that some of the other women moved in time with her.
Many that had approached the fire with her had since fallen out of the lines, shuffling back to stand in rows between the gathered men and the flames, leaving a group in the middle—more than a dozen—still moving and dancing together.
I recognized Diadre right next to Yilan.
But my eyes couldn’t leave my mate for more than a second.
I was growing hard just watching her move.
I had to swallow a growl, because I could feel the sexual tension in the clearing rising as the men watched the women dancing.
Salivating, hungry, the men watched. Not just Yilan. But I had eyes only for my mate.
Then the drums shifted rhythms again, and Yilan rolled her head on her neck. Her eyes opened and her gaze drifted across the crowd slowly.
She was searching for me. I could feel it. I sent a surge in the bond, eager for her, urging her to find me and then she did—her eyes snapping to my face for a split second before the steps of the dance had her body curling forward and her hair fell between us like a veil.
The men around me cheered, raising their voices to urge the women on.
I wasn’t entirely clear on what was happening, until Yilan repeated the sequence of moves, then took a few steps to the right and began again.
The women that remained near the flames were all doing the same, dancing a choreographed set of steps, then drifting around to pause, then begin again. Slowly, in this way, they all circled the flames.
The men were outright cheering now, even raising voices to name some of the women, or call to them. But none of the women raised their heads, or answered the calls.
Yilan’s hair had fallen over her face, but I could feel her looking for me; whenever her steps allowed her to face me, her body leaned closer. She reached for me in the bond—yet behind that curtain of hair, no one else could see who she was looking at, only that she leaned in this direction.
There was a tortured groan from one of the men near the front, and I had to bite my tongue.
Turo stood right behind the line of women who’d made a hedge of protection between us and the dancers. There were so many voices, so many cheers, every individual word was swallowed by the crowd, but I knew what the man was doing.
He was calling to my mate. Urging her on. Seeking her.
I did growl then, but it was lost in the hubbub of all the men who were growing more and more excited.
As the dance fully circled the fire and Yilan returned to front and center, the beat changed again and without warning, the men surged forward, held back only by the women who had formed a fence in front of them by linking arms .
My instinct was to roar and demand that the men stay back, but the women holding them were smiling and laughing, and none of the men broke the line.
My skin itched, my body needy. Along with the others, I was drawn closer and closer.
I needed her. It was torment not to be close. And then I blinked and watched her body roll again, a teasing glimpse of skin at her waist revealed as she twisted, and the skirt fluttered, falling in a straight panel down her front and between her legs, offering glimpses of her thighs and knees and—
God, I wanted to bite something.
Mostly her.
I was beginning to tremble, uncertain if there had been intoxicants in those herbs, or it was only my body responding to the sexual tension in the air…
but I wanted her away from here. I wanted her in my arms. I wanted her .
And I was more than willing to fight my way through this sea of masculine lust to reach her.
Hands clenched to fists, I fought to keep myself in check.
I couldn’t ruin everything now. These men had begrudgingly accepted my presence. They were ignoring me now, enthralled by the women. I couldn’t become a threat again.
But then Yilan turned her body, rolling her hips and lifting her arms so that the fabric against her breasts pulled tight and my cock went fully hard. The men surged forward again and I trembled, growling.
She is mine.
No one else can have her.
She. Is. Mine.