Chapter 10
FOR YOU
KOL
The dark tunnel is freezing, but my blood is boiling.
I stagger until I am out of visual range of the cavern. My right side seizes again and I drop hard to one knee, driving my left fist into the solid rock wall to keep myself upright.
My chest heaves. Jagged, ragged gasps tear through the silence.
I can still taste her.
Like sweet water and desert wind. The phantom heat of her narrow hips arches against my mind.
My body is a raw, screaming instinct. I do not even possess the required anatomy yet, but everything within me is demanding that I turn around, stalk back to the mapping stone, and claim my female until the frantic, driving need in my blood is satisfied.
I cannot do it.
I look down at my right arm. The dense muscle is rigid, locked in a harsh spasm. Underneath the bronze skin, broad patches of deep black are spreading like a creeping shadow over Ain-lit rock. Deep within the blackness, scattered pinpoints of bright fractured light pulse in erratic rhythms.
Starfield skin.
I clench my fist. My claws extend and scrape against the stone floor. The starlight beneath the dark patches responds to the physical strain, sliding directly under the tissue in waves.
The reshaping is no longer a dull ache. It is a constant, grinding agony spanning across my chest, burning down my back, and tracing hot pathways along every single carving on my torso. My own body has turned the ritual scars of my leadership into deep ravines of pain.
I drag a harsh breath through my teeth and reach for the bundle of rough hide strips secured at my belt.
I bind my right forearm first, pulling the dark leather tight across the starfield skin. The rough edge of the hide drags over skin that feels like it is tearing itself apart.
A sharp hiss rips past my locked jaw.
“You cannot continue to fight this, dra-dam.” Rok’s frequency presses into our private mindspace.
My left hand pauses over the hide strip. I stare blankly at the dark tunnel wall.
“I will continue as long as the clan requires,” I force the mental projection back through the tight haze of pain.
“Your body will not wait,” Rok counters ruthlessly. “It will tear you apart. I know, because it happened to me. You just fled the central stone. The entire clan felt the surge of your heat, and then the blinding agony that forced you away from her.”
“Let them feel it.”
The private frequency is silent for a long, waiting beat.
“Your transformation will be the strongest in this clan,” Rok finally projects. “When you shatter, it will not be quiet. It will tear this cavern apart.”
A third consciousness seamlessly slides into the locked frequency.
I bite down on my own tongue to kill the low growl rumbling deep in my chest. “Stay out of my mindspace.”
The broader clan network buzzing beneath my skull hums with the suppressed awareness of warriors who know I am listening.
I sever the mental link.
I snatch the second rough hide strip and rapidly bind my left forearm, jerking the knot tight to obscure the mutating skin.
I am the shield of this clan. I cannot fall while we are under siege.
I will hide the mutation. I will endure the agony.
I force myself to stand, my knees locking as another wave of brutal restructuring pain explodes behind my chest. I lean my weight against the cold stone of the tunnel, close my eyes, and wait for the spasm to pass.
I lock my jaw so tight my teeth groan.
Then, I hear it.
Small, unsteady footsteps echo at the entrance of the dark tunnel.
I open my eyes. Eh-ree-kah is standing in the shadows. She followed me.
She shouldn’t be here. She should be as far away from my unstable being as possible. I need to order her back to the fire pit. I need to walk away.
But I don’t move. She takes another step toward me, and the dim light catches her face.
Her skin is a terrifying, ashen grey. She sways dangerously on her feet.
“Kol,” she whispers. It is a small, broken sound. Deep, breathless, and wrong.
The gravitational pull on my chest yanks me forward. I am across the tunnel before my conscious brain even registers that I am moving.
Her eyes roll back in her head and her knees buckle.
She falls forward into the empty air.
I let out an involuntary roar of pure, feral terror that shakes a cloud of abrasive dust from the jagged ceiling.
I lunge.
I catch her before she hits the unforgiving stone floor. One arm sweeps behind her waist, my other claw bracing her narrow shoulders, crushing her against my chest.
She weighs nothing.
Her skin is burning with a severe, terrifying fire. The planet sickness. Xiraxis’ rejection. It has returned. Stronger. And I cannot help but fear that I am the cause. That putting my lips on her, tasting her salt, has thrown her fragile human system into shock.
I do not hesitate.
I turn and carry her limp, burning body straight into the deep, shadowed privacy of my own isolated alcove.
I carefully set her down on the predator hides covering my stone shelf. She shakes intensely, her teeth chattering against the biting cold of the rock.
I climb onto the wide shelf beside her, lie down on my side, and pull her shaking body directly against mine. I wrap my arms, my broad thighs, and my scorching skin entirely around her freezing frame.
She curls tightly against my chest.
She acts on pure instinct, seeking the hottest source of heat in the dark cave. She buries her face into the curve of my chest. She buries her small fist deeply into the hide strip crossing my torso, pressing her pale knuckles directly over my frantic dra-kir.
The burning fire radiating from her soft skin crashes against the brutal, restructuring pain radiating from mine.
I close my eyes. My jaw clamps shut so hard my fangs throb.
The physical contact eases the agonizing pain in my chest. Within clicks, her constant shaking gradually slows. Her breathing evens out into a deep, steady rhythm against my collarbone.
She sleeps.
I do not sleep.
My body stages a revolt.
I am hyper-fixated on every single point of contact.
Her warm forehead pressed deeply against my collarbone.
The pressure of her small knuckles digging into the hide strap directly over my hammering dra-kir.
The perfect curve of her hip fitting exactly against the unyielding muscle of my thigh.
The soft, breathless sigh she makes on the exhale that travels like a vibration straight through my ribs.
The raging hunger tearing through my bloodstream is vivid and consuming.
My body ruthlessly demands I press my hot mouth directly to her skin.
It demands I drag my wet tongue along the fragile line of her jaw.
It demands I slide my claw up under the edge of her thin hide coverings, map the delicate dip of her spine, and sink my fangs slowly into the tendon of her neck just hard enough to feel her gasp against me.
My claws extend with a sharp click.
I clamp both of my fists down onto the cold stone behind her back to keep my hunting hands from moving. I lock every single muscle in my towering body exactly into place.
I am the dra-dam. I am control.
I lie wide awake in the dark for solmarks. It is simultaneously the absolute best and worst cycle of my agonizingly long life.
“How is she?” Rok asks quietly through a highly restricted frequency later in the cycle.
“Sleeping,” I project tersely back.
“And you?”
I do not answer him.
She stirs against my chest when the cavern quiets down for the mid-sol rest period. Her dark eyelashes flutter.
She wakes up slowly, her cheek still pressed flush against my scarred skin. The light filtering into the alcove illuminates every fragile detail of her face.
Her soft, uncarved skin is smooth against my rough chest. The curve of her cheek is soft, lacking the harsh, flat shape of a Drakav’s jaw. Above the full curve of her parted lips, the short slope of her nose is delicate. Even the fine, dark hairs fanning across her closed eyelids look defenseless.
She should look weak to me. Instead, my dra-kir thumps a fiercely possessive rhythm. She is the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. The urge to cage her entirely inside the shelter of my own body makes my claws flex into the stone.
The hot, sweet puff of her slow exhale hits my neck.
Her wet-sandy eyes open. She blinks, focusing blindly on the dark expanse of my chest directly in front of her nose.
She slowly tilts her head back and looks up. Our faces are mere breaths apart.
She goes perfectly still.
“How long was I out?” she rasps, her voice quiet and sleep-drenched.
I blink, my brow furrowing. I do not just hear the vocalization; I feel the shape of the question. A shadowy understanding of her meaning drifts across the few inches of open air between us.
“Solmarks,” I project down at her, the intent forming smoothly in my mind.
She just stares at me blankly. She blinks slowly, oblivious to my projection. The bridge only works in one direction, it seems.
A deep rumble vibrates in my chest. I tilt my chin down, close the remaining distance, and press my hot forehead firmly against hers.
“Solmarks,” I project again. My mental voice is a low, dragging rumble.
She slowly registers her surroundings. The furs. My arms wrapped securely around her. And then her digits, resting against my chest, stroke the rough hide strip.
Her brow furrows, her gaze shifting around us before landing on my bandaged arms.
“What is this?” she asks, her voice losing the sleep-slurred haze and sharpening.
“Hide,” I project, maintaining the steady pressure of our foreheads.
“Take it off.”
I do not move. “It is—”
“Take it off, Kol.”
She does not wait for me to comply. She breaks the mental bridge as she pulls back to reach down and tug the knotted end of the hide strip binding my right arm.
I could stop her. I could pin her wrist against the furs with one finger. But the physical contact of her hand unmaking my defenses paralyzes my higher reasoning.
The strip falls away.