Chapter 11
SCOUTING MISSIONS ARE THE WORST TIME TO GLOW IN THE DARK
KOL
Ispend the rest of the sol pacing the high ridges. The loyalty from the reveal has not faded, but the restless energy tearing through my muscles will not let me stand still. By the time Ain sinks below the dust and the cavern darkens, I have made my decision.
The loyalty still hums through the mindspace when I give the order.
“I lead the perimeter scout this dark.”
The response is instantaneous. A surge of fierce, aggressive energy slams back through the mindspace from every warrior in the cavern. They are ready. They want blood.
“Dra-dam, you cannot,” Rok projects on a tight, private frequency. “Your body is unstable. Let me lead the patrol.”
I shut him out.
I stalk past the dying central fire and begin assembling the deep-dust scouting party.
“Guard the camp,” I project to Sarven.
My assigned second barely gives a tilt of his chin before I turn my back on the cavern.
My body fights every step toward the entrance.
The instinct to stay inside the cavern is like a hook buried under my transforming skin. It does not want me to leave her. But I must.
Lucek is coming.
I must find him and break his neck before he makes it this far.
“Move!” I project a sharp, grating command at the scouting party.
I force my legs forward. Every step tightens the invisible, agonizing cord attached to my sternum.
We are a solmark out along the eastern ridge, tracing the outer edge of our territory.
Ain has long gone to rest. The dust is a freezing, pitch-black void.
My eyes adjust seamlessly, filtering the absolute black. Every jagged stone and steep drop is perfectly clear.
We move like desert wind. No glow. Complete silence. We are perfectly camouflaged against the dark stone, gliding soundlessly over the dunes.
I take the fore. The shift inside my chest is a constant, grinding burn. But it is doing something terrifying to my senses. The scraping sound of a small mite a thousand lengths away? I hear it. The subtle shift of a sand runner beneath a cave? I hear that too.
I abruptly stop walking and raise a single fist. The scouting party instantly drops into low, silent combat crouches behind me.
The wind shifts through the narrow gorge ahead.
My nostrils flare, pulling in a deep volume of the freezing air.
I taste them. The bitter stench of Lucek’s clan fills my throat.
It is a hunting scent. Sharp with violence and feral focus.
Woven beneath the bitterness is something unnatural. A synthetic tang. The scent of dead-weaves and strange, alien threads. Someone is tracking a scrap of the females’ strange coverings.
The lifeblood in my veins goes cold.
They are not mapping our perimeter. They are not establishing borders to protect their water supply.
They are not just posturing at the borders anymore. They are here. On our territory. Actively tracking.
The burning tether anchored under my ribs yanks agonizingly tight.
This is not the distant threat we discussed in the war council. Lucek’s hunters are already close enough to smell. And the scent trail is fresh. Solmarks old at most.
Every thought of patrol routes incinerates. The heat under my forearms spikes into a blinding gold. There is nothing left in my head but a deafening roar to get back to the caverns before they do.
“Lucek’s hunters. On our border. Fresh trail,” I project as a feral roar into the open mindspace. The force of the thought physically knocks the two younger warriors backward. “We return. Now.”
I do not wait for a response.
I pivot and break into a dead sprint.
The return journey is a frantic, blurred nightmare.
I am the largest warrior in the deep dust, but my feet barely register the jagged rocks beneath me. My lungs heave, pulling in freezing air. The pain of the distance tearing at my chest spikes into pure, blinding agony.
I track the distance in dra-kir beats. Every single strike of my heel against the ground is fueled by the terrifying image of Lucek getting anywhere near her sweet storm-wind scent.
I will rip his arms off. I will crush his skull. I will—
A devastating wave of heat explodes directly behind my ribs.
My right leg gives out.
I drop hard onto one knee in the dark dust. The impact jolts my teeth together. A terrifying ripple distorts the dense muscle across my chest. The concealed starfield skin beneath my dark forearms surges with a blinding heat.
Every single muscle in my frame locks. My bones are shifting.
My vision whites out, a blinding explosion of starlight directly behind my retinas.
I cannot breathe. I cannot move.
The terrifying paralysis holds me in a crushing grip for ten long clicks before the white light begins to recede, leaving a ringing ache in the freezing dark.
When my vision slowly clears, Rok is crouched directly in front of me. His bone-spear is raised in a defensive guard. His normally stoic face is a tight mask of poorly concealed panic. Tharn is standing five paces away, his back to us, relentlessly scanning the high black ridges for threats.
I force a harsh breath into my lungs, plant my shaking fist into the dust, and force my towering body back onto my feet.
“I am fine.”
“You are not fine,” Rok projects, his thought sharp with genuine alarm. “The change is accelerating. You are highly unstable.”
“I can kill,” I snap, jaw clenching against the residual tremor shaking my arms. “That is sufficient. Move.”
We resume the punishing sprint.
I force the pain down. My mind is already at the caverns, calculating. Entry points. Defensive positions. How many warriors I can station at the eastern ridge before Lucek’s hunters close the distance.
I go faster, harder, pushing my breaking body to its absolute limits.
We breach the main tunnel entrance deep in the dark cycle.
The tension pulling at the hook in my chest eases instantly the moment I step into the cool shadows of the caverns. I drag a desperate, grounding breath of air into my lungs.
The scorching gold blazing from my chest settles into a steady bronze.
Eh-ree-kah is pacing near the water filters.
Her dark eyes dart toward the tunnel opening before snapping back to the piece of rough fiber in her hands. Her scent is spiked with a restless, churning anxiety.
She is waiting for me.
My feet eat the distance across the cavern floor. I ignore Sarven as he steps forward. I ignore the sentries filtering in behind me.
Eh-ree-kah stops pacing. She drops the fiber.
I step directly into her space, letting my towering frame cast a shadow over her. My arm wraps around her waist, my forearm banding tightly against her back as I haul her flush against my chest.
Right in the center of the camp.
Her hands fly up, her soft palms flattening against the hard, carved ridges of my chest. The jolt of her touch nearly drops me to my knees. The starlight under my skin burns, desperate to reach her. I bury my face in the curve of her neck, dragging in a chest-rattling breath of her scent.
The pulse in her delicate throat flutters against my lips. Her skin is soft under my rigid forearm. The sweet, warm scent of her mane spills off her body, flooding the cavern.
A quiet energy ripples through the open mindspace. My warriors are watching. The thrum of a dozen unbonded males presses into my unprotected mind.
It is an ache that has been vibrating in the shadows ever since Rok brought Jus-teen into this cavern. The realization that there is something more to this existence than merely fighting the dust.
They smell my female. They see the desperate way my arms lock her against my chest. And the weight of their loneliness fills the open mindspace. It’s raw. An ache of something missing. Something they cannot explain.
“Kol?” Her voice is a breathless whisper against my collarbone.
I pull back just enough to see her face. The dark flush creeping up her throat is beautiful. I want to crush my mouth against it. I want to drag her into my alcove and tear those strange thin coverings off her.
But the bitter scent of Lucek’s hunters is still thick in my nose.
I press my forehead hard against hers. I do not bother trying to soften it. The bridge between our minds slams open.
“Lucek’s hunters,” I project, the thought rough and unhindered. “They are on our border. The trail is fresh.”
Her entire body goes rigid in my arms. A wave of pure, icy terror floods through the link. The smell of her fear makes my fangs ache. My claws flex against the small of her back, ready to tear apart anything that tries to touch her.
But the terror only lasts a heartbeat.
She sucks in a sharp breath. Her jaw clicks shut. Through the bridge, the ice shatters, replaced by a sudden, fierce heat.
She pulls her head back. Her dark eyes lock onto mine. They are not wide with panic. They do not leak water either. They are narrowed.
“How many?” she asks. Her voice does not shake.
The deep, foreign pulse in my groin kicks so hard my vision spots. She is soft. She has no claws. A single blow from a sand-mite would kill her. But she is standing against my chest, demanding the number of her enemies.
“Enough to leave a trail I could smell from the ridge,” I project. “A full party. Maybe more.”
She nods and pushes her hands against my chest.
My arms instantly lock. I do not want to let her go. My dra-kir screams to keep her caged against me until the blood is washed from the valley.
She pushes harder. “Mapping stone. Now.”
I force my claws to uncurl. I let my arm drop.
She does not wait for me. She turns her back and strides toward the mapping alcove. “Justine! Jacqui! I need you at the table!”
Tharn and Rok’s mates scramble away from the fire pit, hurrying to follow her. All three disappear around the rough stone archway.
I stand frozen near the water chamber. My chest heaves. The spot where she was pressed against me feels cold. Her scent is already fading from my skin.
I can hear her voice echoing from the alcove. Sharp. Commanding. Ordering her females around my mapping stone.
“Dra-dam,” Sarven projects quietly.
The low, rumbling growl that vibrates out of my chest has nothing to do with war.
I stalk across the cavern and take my place at the head of the stone. I plant my claws on the scored rock, leaning over the map. Eh-ree-kah does not move away. She stays right at my elbow.
“Every warrior to the mapping stone,” I project. The command rolls like thunder through the cavern.
Warriors drop from the ledges. Sarven and Haroth slide into place around the stone. Every golden eye in the clan focuses on the map. And on the tiny female standing boldly at my side.
I look down at her.
We prepare for slaughter.