Chapter 5
The idleness of being an honored guest gnawed at Zul’s patience.
Over the next several days, he dined with the Prima of Fangrys and listened bemused to her lively chatter.
He agreed with her as to the perfidy of the human government which had duped her into traveling to Uribern, but decided that he was grateful they had done so.
He thoroughly enjoyed looking at her and listening to her, thinking that her mere presence brought peace to his soul.
He also enjoyed spending time with Crow, always supervised by lurking castrati who were eager to keep their mistress informed of every interaction or to tattle about any infraction.
Zul used his limited time with Crow to begin instructing him in martial arts.
To his surprise—for he’d incorrectly assumed the Fangrys Prime and Second had coddled the young male—the boy already knew some of the basics.
Zul was happy to pass the time working with the child on perfecting those basics, exercising a patience he’d not known he possessed.
“Papa Bran!” Crow cried out during an afternoon session, breaking from Zul’s light hold positioning his arm for a proper strike.
Zul swiveled around as Crow dashed toward the Fangrys prime. Seeing the hulking, golden-skinned brute, he bowed low to show respect for the dominant male, although his own nature balked at the show of subservience. He straightened and met the prime’s golden stare with bold confidence.
A turquoise-scaled male passed through the door into the courtyard to stand beside his prime. His silver horns glinted in the brilliant sunshine. The second offered a gracious nod and said, “You must be Zul. Our mate explained your presence to us.”
The golden warrior dipped his chin. “We owe you a great debt of gratitude, Zullar cen’Gyrah. We heard of the demise of the Uk’khadir Triad, but were not aware their Third had survived.”
“They died with honor and in glory,” Zul replied, the ache of their absence lingering in his heart and the shame of having survived making his gut churn with guilt.
Bran nodded, again a single dip of his chin. “We will speak after dinner of your service to our Prima.”
“I would be honored,” Zul replied with studied civility.
With a lethal race such as theirs, sometimes civility was all that prevented bloodshed over the most trivial of matters.
The Urib had adopted and strictly enforced polite behavior to ensure their killing instincts were unleashed against their enemies rather than their own kind.
“Come, Crow,” Gil ordered, giving the boy a smile in toothy mimicry of Ursula’s friendly expression. “You must tell Papa Bran and me of your adventures while we were gone.”
“And we can have a snack, too?” the child pleaded. “Please, Papa Gil?”
Gil chuckled. “Yes, we shall have a snack, too.” He looked at Zul, his expression sobering and his whole demeanor changing. “We thank you for furthering our son’s training during our absence.”
“He will grow to be a fierce warrior,” Zul replied, observing how the strangely genial Second quickly turned into a lethal warrior.
The golden and turquoise males departed, their son skipping between them and bubbling over with excited chatter.
Zul wasn’t sure if he found the boy’s loquaciousness charming or annoying and decided it was probably inherited from his hybrid mother.
In her, such chatter was definitely charming and one of the many attributes he found appealing about her.
Were he not an honorable male, he would have stolen her for himself.
Zul picked up the wooden practice knives and returned them to the armory, then retreated to the library to wallow in his thoughts while pretending to read a book.
As he turned the pages with desultory slowness, his hostess entered the room.
She moved languidly, and a small, sly smile curled her lips.
His nostrils flared as he caught the scents of her mates.
Zul’s stomach clenched in envy. Prima Ursula had been well and thoroughly ravished by her mates: their scents clung to her skin, though the fine scales gleamed with the dampness of having recently bathed.
“Oh! I did not realize you were in here,” Ursula said, stumbling to a halt. “I apologize for intruding and will leave you in peace.”
Jealous of the intimacy she had enjoyed with her mates—and not him—but still wanting the pleasure of her company, he said, “You are Prima here; you do not intrude. I shall leave if you wish.”
Ursula gracefully settled in an oversized chair, tucking her bare feet under her. Giving him a small smile, she said, “No, no need to leave just because I’m here. I get lonely, you know, so it’s lovely to have company. I consider you a friend.”
Zul exercised firm control not to pull a sour face at being labeled a friend. He desired so much more. Instead, he nodded and replied, “I am honored.”
“Bran and Gill are cautious and protective,” she explained, although there was no need. He, too, wanted to coddle her, give her every luxury, and isolate her from all threats. “I told them of your heroics, and you have their gratitude.”
Zul did not want their gratitude; he wanted their mate. His honor strained to the cracking point, he gave her a slow nod and said, “I am honored to have been of service.”
Ursula sighed, then complained, “Such formality.” She rose from the chair and took three steps toward him before he rasped, “Stop.”
She halted. “What is wrong, Zul?”
He clenched the arms of the chair, his claws piercing the upholstery and digging into the wooden frame beneath. Through gritted teeth, he said, “You tempt me to abandon my honor, Prima.”
Ursula’s expression changed from concern to wariness. She took three small steps backward.
“Do not run,” he warned, knowing if she ran then he would give chase, unable to override the strong, raw instinct of an apex predator.
She nodded and continued to slowly back up.
She bumped into a chair and put a hand back to feel her way around the furniture.
Slowly, carefully, she continued to retreat until she passed through the door and closed it behind her.
Zul took a deep breath to catch and savor the scent of her and eased his claws free of the chair.
He’d have to replace it out of the fortune he’d not touched since the demise of his triad.
He thrust himself to his feet and lurched a step toward the door, then stopped.
He was committed to dinner with the Fangrys Prime and Second.
They would scent his desire for their mate.
He could smell it himself, the lust rolling off his skin.
Only the absence of his spoor on her skin would prevent them from killing him—or trying to kill him.
He was a berserker and unbound: killing him would be no easy task.
Only knowing that killing Bran or Gil would harm Ursula restrained the overpowering urge to attack them and annihilate the competition.
Zul lowered himself to the floor and assumed a meditative position. He took long, deep breaths and exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax one tight muscle at a time. By the time he managed to restore his calm, a servant entered the room to announce his presence was requested for dinner.
He rubbed a hand down his face and replied, “I shall be there momentarily.”
The castratus bowed and retreated as silently as he’d entered.
Zul went to his room and quickly washed and changed into clean clothing more appropriate for dining with his hosts.
He had received the clothing courtesy of the Prima’s order.
He would have to leave it behind when he departed, for a vagabond had no need of such a fine or extensive wardrobe.
He was glad he’d changed when he entered the dining chamber, as both Bran and Gil wore formal garb. Ursula was not present in the room.
His hosts stood to greet him. Bran gestured toward the table and said, “Welcome, Zullar cen’Gyrah, Third of the Uk’khadir Triad. Please be seated.”
Gil’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing as Zul walked around the table and seated himself in an empty chair.
“Where is the Prima?” Zul inquired, carefully modulating his tone.
“Safe,” Gil replied. “While we are grateful to you, we do not trust you.”
“We do not trust any unmated Urib,” Bran added, waving his hand to indicate the servants should begin serving. “And we can smell your desire for her.”
Gil’s nostrils flared again. “It is testimony to your honor and our gratitude that you still live.”
Zul met his gaze, his own hard and glittering. “I’m not so easily killed.”
Bran nodded. “No, berserker, you are not. But I have controlled a strong berserker before, and I can control you.”
Zul almost managed to repress a snort. “Not if I don’t allow it.”
Gil slid a sideways glance at Bran. “Do you think he’s stronger than Crow was?”
Bran shrugged, not caring that their guest overheard their conversation. “Perhaps.” He met Zul’s eyes, his own expression inscrutable. “Now that we are home, you will not be alone with our mate or son.”
“And when you are deployed again?” Zul snapped.
“You will not be here,” Gil answered.
Zul bared his teeth.
“Eat,” Bran ordered, the heavy weight of his authority thrumming within the space. “We must discuss a boon in reward for your service.”
“I need no money,” Zul stated. “I am all that is left of the Uk’khadir Triad and sole owner of our accumulated wealth.”
“Then what do you want?” Gil asked.
Zul took a breath, paused, then answered slowly, honestly, “Peace. I want peace.”
Bran nodded, understanding that he meant peace of mind rather than an absence of violence. “We live with regret and loss. Peace is not ours to give.”
Zul took another deep breath and nodded, thinking of another boon, a request he dared not ask. He met the warrior’s eye and said with aching candor, “I miss the bond of brotherhood.”
Bran nodded again. “As we miss Crow, our Third and the Bridge between our mate’s First and Forever.”