Chapter 58 One Village Claimed, A Thousand More to Save
ONE VILLAGE CLAIMED, A THOUSAND MORE TO SAVE
“When éva breathed life into the world, she shaped it for the bond between spirit and strength—for the woman and the vólkin. In their union, the earth itself finds peace.”
—Elder A?na
Theron
So many females in one place, and yet not a single warrior has found his mate.
There are too few vólkins compared to the number of females. Too few mates to be found. And none of these females are one of the five we are searching for. But this is only the first village. We have an entire land to conquer, a world to reshape.
Things take time. And no one understands patience better than a vólkin.
Every warrior sniffs the air, desperate to catch a scent, to find her.
But their snouts do not betray them. When I first scented my mate, my body acted on pure instinct.
Had I not overpowered my own desires, I fear what I might have done to her.
Going against nature is a dangerous game.
Locking a few hundred vólkins away, forcing them to exist without their other halves, without their fated mates, was the worst kind of cruelty.
Now, I know what it means to be whole. My soul is warm, a constant burn that soothes and heals.
As if she is the cure to every sickness I have ever carried.
I cannot imagine parting from her. I wouldn’t survive it. The agony, the longing—it would end me.
“We’ve been here our whole lives, child. How can we believe you speak the truth?” An elder female breaks the silence. Among the hundreds of females staring at us with wide eyes, she is the only one brave enough to speak.
It is hard for me to understand their fear.
We came here. We took their abusers. We offered them freedom.
And still, they hesitate. Why? My mate even thought of the nymphí, ensuring the females would feel safe.
Their homes are nothing but dead trees, their air stagnant with dust and filth.
The soil beneath them is lifeless, not a single plant grows where it should.
They do not know what it means to breathe freely.
They only need to see ávera, and they will understand what my mate offers them.
But this conversation is a human matter. So I will not interfere.
“My name is Noel ársa, and I come from Tárnov,” my mate answers the elder. I barely register her words before my gaze lands on one of the pathetic males shackled in the dirt. Disgust burrows into my chest. How could any of these females have ever mated with them?
Even if I had the longest claws in ávera, I wouldn’t lay a single one on them. Let alone take them as a mate.
Gasps ripple through the females. Why?
“You are the girl who is wanted!” one of them exclaims.
Another nods quickly, eyes darting between the others. “Yes! Yes! I heard from the farmers. There were men who helped you escape. They were hanged in Tárnov’s square!”
I freeze. She never told me someone helped her escape. She was—
“I was kidnapped,” my mate says, her hand sliding into my paw.
The moment our skin touches, I feel her soul grow lighter, and her warmth floods into me. A slow, dangerous heat builds in my stomach. Not now.
“They planned to throw me to the vólkins, to my death.” She squeezes my paw, her gaze sweeping over the silent crowd. “As you see, I am well and alive.” Then, she looks up at me, her next words striking like a bolt of lightning. “And this is my husband.”
My ears twitch. My head tilts on its own. Husband? Is that what humans call a mate? If so . . . then Noel is my husband as well. I like the sound of it. She also declared we’re mates in front of other humans. That fills my chest with pride.
The elders chose to stay. They have known nothing beyond these borders, nothing but the life they were given. Change, even when it offers freedom, is a terrifying thing.
I don’t blame them, but I must make sure they’re comfortable.
Five warriors I’ve selected will remain behind. These vólkins will control and oversee everything, the human slaves will rebuild what we tore down. Borodyn will become a village without chains, but still under our rule.
The mothers with children chose to come with us to ávera, clinging to the promise of a life free from suffering. The never-mated females made their choice as well. They do not wish to be left behind in the ruins of their old lives. They seek a future.
For now, as we take more land, the females will be given time to gather their belongings, though there is little worth taking from these broken homes.
My gaze sweeps over my mate where she stands with furrowed brows and crossed arms. Her gown is soaked with blood that isn’t hers.
Maybe she wants to have her belongings as well.
Although we cannot take over Tárnov yet.
It is too risky for us, since it’s one of the most armed villages. It isn’t the right time. Yet.
I’ve assigned another five packs to carry the females’ belongings back to ávera.
That should be enough for now, since we need warriors for the next villages.
The warriors will move in rotations. Every village we conquer remains under our watch.
No territory will be left unguarded, no land reclaimed left unprotected.
And those stationed here will have their chance to meet the females from other villages, to find the mates they have been denied for too long.
I will do whatever it takes to make sure my people find their mates.
Because no vólkin should live without their other half.
And I will not stop until every one of them is bonded.
“Not a single one!”
ívar stomps closer, waving his paws in the air. Nér has just taken over his post with the slaves.
My mate catches my gaze before turning away and walking toward the females. She wants to speak with them, to ease their fear.
I tear my eyes from her to focus back on ívar. “Calm your senses,” I say.
“Hundreds, Theron! Hundreds! And none! Not even one!” His chest heaves, his claws flexing at his sides. “When will I meet my own?”
Everywhere I look, the females move in and out of their homes, carrying burdens they should have never had to bear.
Some help the elders, others haul cloth sacks filled with whatever they can salvage.
Warriors carry the heavy items. I think I’m seeing a table.
Perhaps the female truly likes that table. Each female is different.
Just like us.
Some are pale like my mate, others as rich in color as the earth itself. Their hair varies like the nymphí—red, golden, brown, light as sand—but none as dark as hers. Just as no other warrior is as white-furred as Aeson. We are not meant to be the same.
“That is why we will continue.” My voice is calm. “Village after village, land after land. Until every warrior finds his mate.”
ívar lets out a harsh breath, his golden eyes narrowing as he looks over at the shackled males. “They’re even uglier than the one who pissed himself.”
Nodding, I smirk. I once thought Gregor was unpleasant to look at.
I was wrong.
These males—these pathetic creatures—couldn’t possibly call themselves males.
Even those who drooled over the nymphí, their weak cocks standing uselessly, were .
. . small. How could that possibly satisfy a female?
A mate is meant to be strong, meant to claim, protect, and worship.
This is why no one should ever go against nature.
Mother Nature decreed it so—there is woman and there is vólkin. That is the balance. That is the law. But ádám created these males with a snake. Ugly, greedy, and weak.
With a weary sigh, I glance up at the sky, clear and blue, untouched by the chaos below. Yet, beyond the village walls, the wolves still wait. Watching.
Aeson, Kael, Zephyr . . . I wonder how they fare with their packs. I’ve sent signals, but no response. They’re already too far to reach.