Chapter 51
Do his desires have to be this strong?
It’d be one thing if he knew Nizzara, if this monstrosity of sexual desire was based on a relationship of any kind, but it is all—a thousand percent—his mating urge. Raw sexual tension built up for a hundred some-odd years bursting out all at once.
If he compares Nizzara to the blonde-haired Jaxelli with freckles one more time in his memories, I will lay him out. There is no fucking comparison here.
And what idiot would not go to war for her?
I’ve seen her loyalty, seen her friendships. She would bring down the three kingdoms for Yisabell, or Preysee, or even Liha, at the drop of a hat.
That is the kind of loyalty I’d burn worlds for.
Nizzara clears her throat and I realize I am slacking in the translating department. I’m still behind Lekk because his memories keep jumping between his hatred for Mazzar (totally understandable) and memories of Nizzara’s perfect breasts.
And the breasts of the freckle chick and even some random brunette’s breasts.
When he suddenly tenses, so do I, worried he”ll reach for his sword. If he touches a hair on her head . . . I don’t care if she can defend herself. I’ll end him. The deathwalker in me tries to convince myself it’s because if he harmed her then I would not gain my freedom, but I know better.
“He said he will outlive you by nine hundred years, bearing his child might kill you, and he doesn’t trust your father. That’s why he hesitates to mate you.”
Nizzara’s look of death—my favorite expression—rounds Lekk’s shoulder again, silently threatening to give me hell later for something. I don’t know for what. But whatever she has in store, I am completely looking forward to it.
A chuckle escapes me. Lo was right. I’d never admit that to her, of course. But what had she told me? “You may like nice girls, but your heart beats for hellions.”
I get it now, and I wonder if she knew I’d find someone who was both. I sigh, allowing the cold to reclaim me.
Because if I truly cared about Nizzara, I’d leave.
But then I remember the army of deathwalkers gladly lined up to take my place if I abandon her.
Hell. That’s what this is. Having her so close I can physically touch her and yet completely, absolutely out of reach. Not to mention Nightlight’s arm which she still hasn’t let go of.
Her eyes are still shooting daggers at me from around his bicep.
He glances over his shoulder, probably wondering what she’s glaring at. “Yes?” I offer.
“Ask him what he means about childbirth.”
I give her the answer instead of a translation, “Jaxelli Warriors cannot have children outside of their kind. That’s why the whole mating thing is sacred, because it’s the only way they’re promised children.”
“Like they can’t conceive or?”
I give her a translation asking more about Jaxelli childbirth.
Lekk gestures to his chest after she asks him. “The energy passing through us is too strong. It is hard even for our own women to give birth.”
Nizzara lifts her chin. “I am not weak.”
I smile at that and give her the translation for it, adding a word or two to help her get her point across.
Nightlight flinches, startled by her intense statement, but recovers quickly. “He says he doesn’t doubt your strength.”
Nizzara’s trying not to get angry. I can tell because she’s too still and tense. I make a mental note to never tell her she can’t do something, unless I want that look directed at me. Which, maybe I do.
“I want to ask him about his lifespan,” she says. “I know there is a big difference in longevity, but he could mate again after I die.”
Nightlight growls when she mentions it to him. “We mate for life. One time to one person. Ever.”
Her eyes flare. “That’s a real thing? I read about it but—seriously? Even if I wanted you to find a mate after I die?”
“It is our way,” Nightlight says.
“Well shit,” she says in her own language.
“There’s no translation for that,” I say. “The closest word would be scanta, but that’s the equivalent of saying bird doo-doo. Probably not the effect you’re going for.”
“Well, what should I say to that?”
“You could try, puntaka. It’s the Jaxelli version of the F-word, but a lot worse.”
Her eyes go wide. “You told me to say that three sentences ago!”
“What sounds better? ‘I am not weak?’ or ‘I am not fucking weak, you swine?’”
Her mouth gapes open, but when Nightlight turns his gaze back to her, she washes her face of all emotion.
With the expression of a lethally cold ruler, she says in the calmest tone I’ve ever heard, “You will pay for that, Dagen.”
Cruel little hellion.