Chapter 7
THIS TINY, FRAGILE HUMAN IS TERRIFYING, AND IT MAKES MY FANGS HURT
KOL
Two sols have passed. I stand at the mapping stone, the surface cold under my claws.
My warriors surround the stone table. The cavern air is still, but the mindspace is deafening. It vibrates with hunting reports and the sharp memory of blood-scent.
“They moved closer to the eastern ridge,” Tharn projects. He stabs a thick claw at a jagged carved circle in the rock. “Ten. Perhaps twelve males. They are mapping the high cliff.”
“They search for the vents,” Rok adds, his frequency exceptionally flat. “And they search for the lower tunnels.”
I drag my claws slowly over the carved route in the dark stone. Lucek’s clan is starving and desperate. They are searching for a way in. They are searching for the soft females.
They are searching for her.
My dra-kir thrashes against my ribs. A harsh urge to sink my fangs directly into Lucek’s throat floods my mouth with thick saliva. I lock my jaw tight.
Zan leans over the table. Pure aggression pours off his scent. “We hunt further,” Zan projects. “We take our fastest spears into the deep dust this dark. We drain their lifeblood before they ever reach our rock.”
I stare at the deep grooves in the stone.
Zan’s instinct is blood. But if I send our strongest fighters out into the dust, the cavern is left bare. If Lucek’s clan manages to slip past our hunting party in the dark, the fragile females will die in these tunnels. They are impossibly small. They possess no thick hides.
And I will not risk her.
My warriors look at the rock and see where to sink spears. But the attack must be perfectly matched against the limits of the females. I need to know how quickly her people will fail if the water supply is severed.
“Bring Eh-ree-kah,” I project into the center of the mindspace.
The silence that follows is dense enough to crack the floor.
Zan’s fury spikes, the lethal edge of his hostility cutting through the mindspace.
“One of the females?” Zan projects. “To the council table?”
I do not look at him. My claws trace the canyon lines. “To war council.”
Rok slowly inclines his head in silent acceptance. He turns his back and walks toward the water channels to fetch her.
Zan’s glow flares dangerously bright. His control is fracturing. The idea of a soft thing standing among our spears insults his fierce sense of order.
I do not care. I will shatter the ancient structure of the clan to keep her safe.
Eh-ree-kah arrives in the dark behind Rok’s shadow, with Jus-teen walking quietly beside her.
Her thin earth-garments are stained, her dark mane knotted back. She is exhausted, her pale skin translucent in the dim cavern light. She looks so small, so fragile, yet the exact moment she steps into the center of the council circle, her delicate spine snaps straight.
She studies the ring of silent warriors before stepping forward to the edge of the stone table. Her eyes are so dark. Like wet sand. They drop to the map.
At first, her soft face is blank. She does not know the stone. But then she tracks the deep grooves I clawed for the canyons. She looks at the jagged circles Tharn scraped for the high rock.
I watch the sharp focus snap directly into her dark eyes as she pieces the terrain together.
She recognizes the deep claw marks. She understands the shape of the rock. She has seen the bone of the dust carved before.
My dra-kir slams hard. A single, brutal thud that nearly drops me to my knees. Her soft world has endless water. They have everything. Why would a tiny fragile creature with impossible abundance ever need to carve rock for war? Do they fight over nothing?
My chest swells. The glow along my forearms burns hot. She is brilliant. She is lethal. I have pressed my face into the soft curve of her neck before just to breathe her in, but this time, the urge to open my jaw and actually taste her sweet skin is blinding.
She looks straight up at me with those dark eyes, then at Jus-teen.
“What is he tracking?”
Jus-teen hesitates, but she is heavily mated to Rok. She hears everything in our mindspace. “Another clan,” Jus-teen says quietly in Een-gleesh. “They’ve been scouting the perimeter.”
Eh-ree-kah stops breathing for one full second. I actively watch the soft pulse in her throat stall.
She turns to me and stabs a soft digit at the map. “How long?”
Jus-teen flashes the concept into the mindspace. “Time. Duration.”
I grip the edge of the stone table and force my stiff throat to form the harsh Drakav sounds, trusting the stone in her ear to whisper my words back to her.
“Many... sols.”
“You knew?” Her delicate hands clench into tight fists and she looks sharply back at Jus-teen. “Tell him that is unacceptable. Tell him twenty unarmed humans are sleeping defenseless in this cave. He does not get to keep us blind while he prepares for an attack.”
Jus-teen projects the translation over the mindspace. Eh-ree-kah’s raw outrage rings loudly in my skull.
“Tell him it’s not his call to make!” she snaps furiously at Jus-teen.
Zan’s heavy upper lip curls, baring his thick fangs. A low, dangerous growl vibrates directly in his chest. “This is council,” he projects into the mindspace. “She speaks out of turn. She disrespects the dra-dam.”
A deafening roar rises at the base of my throat. Zan questions her right to stand here. He is questioning me.
My burning gaze slides to Zan. I throw a physically crushing wall of pure dominance into his mindspace, forceful enough to make every single being around us visibly flinch.
“She carried rock,” I project, the thought echoing like cracking stone. “She leads her soft people. She holds ground.”
The force of the projection rocks Zan backwards.
My burning gaze slides back to Eh-ree-kah and her furiously defiant expression. I step slightly to the side and gesture with one claw to the empty space directly beside me at the head of the stone table.
“Sit,” I say aloud.
She stares at me, incredible wide sandy eyes burning with defiance.
Then she steps right into the dangerous circle. She walks to the head of the stone table. She takes the place at my right side, exactly where she belongs.
Her sweet, storm-wind scent fills my senses, wiping the bloodlust of the other males out of the cavern air. My sharp fangs ache again, but this time, the ache in my jaw is not for tearing lifeblood.
“Alright,” Eh-ree-kah says flatly. Her delicate digits slowly trace the deep claw grooves of the western gorge. She looks to Jus-teen. “Ask him exactly what we’re looking at.”
I point a thick claw directly at Lucek’s borders and firmly project to Jus-teen to translate.
“The enemy numbers twelve,” Jus-teen relays softly across the stone to her. “They stalk the high rock. They carry no heavy bone-plates over their chests. No thick hides.”
Eh-ree-kah’s sharp mind catches the translation instantly.
“Ask him if they’re desperate enough to attack directly, or if they are testing the boundary lines,” she sharply tells Jus-teen. “What is their motivation?”
Jus-teen projects the sharp questions clearly into our minds.
I stare at the soft side of Eh-ree-kah’s face.
She is extremely tiny. Her soft mouth lacks fangs.
How does a soft female understand the shape of a violent siege?
My warriors look at the same grooves and only see where to thrust spears. She sees the terrible hunger.
“They want...” I project directly to Jus-teen. My chest tightens around my hammering dra-kir. “What they do not possess.”
“Water,” Eh-ree-kah concludes immediately. “Shelter.”
“Us,” Jus-teen vocalizes.
The terrifying Een-gleesh word hangs heavily over the stone table.
Eh-ree-kah does not flinch. Her delicate human jaw sets into unyielding stone.
“Then we have to assume they already know we’re here,” she tells Jus-teen. “Tell the dra-dam we need to change how the warriors patrol. Make the routes unpredictable.”
I lock my intense gaze with Tharn across the long table. His head inclines in sheer appreciation of her brilliant command.
For two solmarks, we carve a new defense directly into the dark rock. I know exactly where the dusty terrain is physically weak. She knows exactly where to build the brutal snares. Our utterly different minds run at the exact same pace. Two fierce leaders sharing one brutal war.
She is flawless. She is ruthless. The overwhelming instinct to grab her, drag her into the pitch dark, and scent-mark every single soft inch of her sweet skin is making my fangs profoundly ache.
My glow visibly brightens. The skin along my forearms burns with a steady, escalating heat. My body knows that she is mine.
“The dra-dam is undone by this female,” Sarven projects quietly to Tharn.
My frequency catches the unshielded thought. I slam a crushing mental wall extremely hard directly on Sarven’s frequency, severing him out of my mindspace as a harsh warning.
I force myself to focus on the rock map, deliberately ignoring how loudly my dra-kir is currently roaring in my chest.
I sit alone in the shadowed weapons alcove, my claws digging into my very own thighs.
My dra-kir is actively starving in my chest. The need to finally drop my endless restraint and just put my hands around her is consuming.
But I remain exactly where I am. Physically paralyzed.
We Drakav do not have rituals for this. Before the fragile humans fell from Ain, we took no mates.
There was only survival, then death. Returning to the Giving Stone to be remade again.
There was no... this. This suffocating, absolute devotion to a creature so soft she might snap if I hold her too tightly.
I have watched Tharn, Sarven, and Rok. They have successfully claimed their humans. They have somehow convinced their tiny, terrified females to surrender to their imposing, lethal bodies. But I am terrified of making a mistake. She is half my size. What if I break her?
If I bring her the warmest predator hides, she will probably just log them as clan inventory.
If I find her the sweetest roots in the deep caves, she will immediately carry them to the sick bay to feed the weakest humans.
If I drag a rival male to her feet and snap his neck to prove my strength, she will definitely reprimand me for scaring the other females.
How do I make her understand that the dust is telling me she belongs to me?
Rok slides quietly into the alcove. His shadow blocks the dim light as he leans against the stone archway and crosses his arms.
“You stare at her,” Rok projects smoothly. He is deeply amused. “The entire cavern can feel your dra-kir thrashing. Do something about it, dra-dam.”
“Do what?” I project back. “She is soft. She is completely alien. If I bare my fangs to show her my intent, she will think I am attacking her. How is the claiming established on her world?”
Rok takes a slow, steady breath. He looks at me with a sympathy I would not have entertained before.
“Jus-teen explained it,” Rok projects. His frequency is utterly serious now. “They use... words. They do not show intent with hides or blood. They must explain how their body feels. Out loud. With their mouths.”
I stare at Rok. He has just calmly suggested I sever my own limbs.
“With their mouths...” The concept is deeply repulsive. Our vocal cords are rigid. They are built for roaring in battle. Shaping this raw mating instinct into clumsy words sounds agonizing.
“I am aware this is horrifying,” Rok projects. “But Jus-teen says it is what their females require. You must speak to her.”
I look down at my forearms.
The glow is pulsing. I refuse to rely on frail syllables. They are not for claiming a mate. I must perform a physical gesture so completely overwhelming, that it bypasses language. I will bring her a prize so magnificent she will have no choice but to understand she is mine.
Eh-ree-kah walks quietly toward her sleeping alcove.
The deep dark cycle has settled. The cavern is quiet. She rubs her tired, beautiful eyes and misses my towering form camouflaged in the high tunnel above her path.
She reaches her sleeping mat and freezes.
Blocking the entire entrance to her small sleeping area is a tall, jagged barricade of sand serpent bone plates and sharpened spikes. I spent four highly dangerous solmarks gathering the bone from the dust. I dragged the giant pieces up through the tunnels and wedged them into the rock face.
The structure is impenetrable. It leaves only a gap small enough for her tiny frame to squeeze through, while ensuring nothing larger than a sand-runner can ever reach her sleeping mat again. It is the greatest defensive structure a Drakav male has ever built.
It is magnificent.
Eh-ree-kah stares at the wall of jutting bone and razor-sharp rock currently blocking her sleeping area.
“What the absolute fuck is this?” she whispers.
She presses a delicate hand against her forehead, staring at the structure.
I stand in the shadows, baffled.
Why is she not immediately seeking shelter behind the spikes? Does she not appreciate the structural integrity of the marrow-bone?
“You barricaded her into the wall,” Tharn projects sleepily from across the cavern, having felt my dra-kir spike with frantic confusion. “Is this... romantic?”
“She looks like she is preparing to leak water from her eyes,” Rok projects with a long sigh. “Humans do not like being trapped in small spaces, dra-dam. Jus-teen nearly struck me when I tried to sleep blocking the entrance to our cave. They prefer to have an exit.”
“This is an embarrassment,” Zan’s sharp frequency forcefully interjects from the outer perimeter.
I instantly sever the mindspace, grinding my fangs together in the dark.
Below me, Jacqui and Justine walk up behind Eh-ree-kah.
They all stare at the impenetrable fortress of spikes I built for her.
Eh-ree-kah is wildly gesturing at the impressive barricade, speaking panicked, rapid human words.
She is distinctly distressed. My brilliant, magnificent gift has upset her.
She ignores the small, perfectly round, polished stone sitting on the clean floor exactly three inches away from the terrifying bone spikes.
It fits seamlessly into the palm of a small, delicate human hand. Deeply carved into the center of the dark rock is a single Drakav symbol.
Tor-vakh.
Equal.
I retreat into the deeper darkness of the upper tunnels, my dra-kir aching with absolute failure. I will have to dismantle the barricade before first light.