Chapter 27 Not a Prize
NOT A PRIZE
AMARA
VEXAR’S BLACK EYES swirl with some shimmering emotion that I can’t quite name. Something between rapture and devastation. Then he translates the words he spoke. “I am yours eternally, and open to you always.”
Our connection seems to vibrate with the unspoken significance of what he said, and yet, I have no idea what that significance is. “There’s more to those words, isn’t there?” I say.
He presses a kiss to my lips, steps out of his pants, and pulls me onto the bed with him, curling around me like a giant shield. His breath warms the back of my ear as he says, “They are words that have not been spoken in a very, very long time.”
“What language is it?” I ask.
“Ancient Vhorathi. The language of my ancestors.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, as I press my lips to his forearm.
“Would you like to learn it?”
“Someday.” With a little effort, I wriggle around until I’m facing him.
Rays of morning light spear through the cell, backlighting Vexar’s warm, golden skin.
I trail a finger down the muscles of his shoulder, over the line where shadow meets light, and ask, “Why did you say you were afraid you’d hurt me? ”
“It is difficult to explain.”
“Try.”
He sighs, like he doesn’t want to tell me. “When you accepted the bond, something came with it. Something that was not there before.” He takes a deep breath. “It feels dangerous, and I do not want it to hurt you.”
I brush a stray lock of hair from his face, confident he would never hurt me. “Tell me more.”
“It speaks to me.”
“Speaks?” I ask gently, trying to hide my surprise.
“It is hard to explain. I hear it, but not with my ears. At first, I thought they were my own thoughts, but they are not. The voice is distinctly not mine. And it demands things.”
“What kinds of things?”
He groans and buries his face in my neck, tickling my ear with the rough stubble on his cheek.
I wrap my arms around his head and whisper, “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
With his voice muffled against my skin, he says, “It urges me to let go. It wants me to give up my control. Give in to my baser instincts. Dangerous instincts.” I feel his lips press to the spot just below my ear. “I will not let it hurt you.”
“What do you think it wants you to do?”
“Seek revenge for you? Mate you? Claim you? I am not sure.”
I have to stifle a laugh. Fortunately, Vexar doesn’t notice. His darkness, or whatever the hell he’s calling it, just wants to rail me and kill my enemies? Doesn’t sound so bad. But he’s clearly not comfortable with it, so I bite my tongue and avoid making him feel worse.
“The Zhyrrak was something your people evolved to have, yeah?” I ask. He hums an agreement. “Then it doesn’t make any sense that it would be dangerous to me.”
“And yet, I know it is dangerous.”
I slide my fingers through his hair, massaging his head as I go. “If your ancestors all turned into dangerous monsters who harmed their partners, there probably wouldn’t be very many Vhorathis left. Evolution isn’t perfect, but if a mutation is deadly, it doesn’t last.”
He pulls his face back and frowns. “Obviously. But if this darkness is part of the bond, why does it feel so violent? What if it is not part of the bond at all? What if it’s a part of me?”
A memory of seeing two pigs mating flashes through my mind, and a surge of anxiety follows. “Vhorathis don’t have sexual rages or anything, right? Like, you don’t go into a mating frenzy?”
“No, we do not.”
I let out a silent sigh of relief, and then feel silly for trying to hide it. He knows what I’m feeling. It’s probably going to take a while to get used to that.
“Well,” I say, “maybe it feels so intense because you’re denying it?
I’m not an expert or anything, but when I try to hide an aspect of myself, especially if it’s a need, it only gets louder and more persistent.
Maybe this ‘darkness’ is just an unmet need?
Or maybe it’s a lizard brain thing, just trying to get you to procreate? ”
“Lizard brain?”
“Uh… Like your animal brain—the part of you that hasn’t really evolved. The instinctual part.” He grumbles, so I add, “It’s not a bad thing. Maybe you should consider giving in to it? Just to see what happens?”
He cranes his head back and looks at me like I’ve completely lost the plot. “It is trying to strip me of my control and push me out of my own mind. I will not willingly hand myself over to some … some shadow that craves violence.”
I sigh and give his arm a light squeeze. It’s clear he’s going to have to work this one out on his own.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just know that whatever this darkness is, I can’t feel it at all.” Every part of him is gentle and protective. Not dangerous. “I don’t think it wants to hurt either of us.”
“Maybe,” he says before burrowing his face back into my hair and sniffing the side of my neck.
“Did you just sniff me?”
“Yes,” he mumbles, “your scent is soothing.”
Chunks of stone crumble beneath the rounded edge of the medical shears as I slowly work another groove into the window’s ledge.
The muted colors of the morning sky have morphed with the rising sun, turning brighter and more vibrant, begging for my attention, but I’m focused.
We don’t know how long we have, and I want to get this done sooner rather than later.
“Are you going to tell me about your plan yet?” I ask Vexar while I deepen the groove I’m working on.
“I am still thinking,” he says. He’s been as still as a statue since I got up.
Eyes closed, head leaned against the wall, legs outstretched, and hands folded in his lap.
He looks peaceful, but beneath his surface, I can feel the rapid pace of his thoughts as their emotional echoes dart across the back of my mind.
I tuck my crossed legs in a little tighter and rock side to side, trying to bring back circulation to my butt.
This table is not the most comfortable place to sit.
“Well,” I say, “we don’t have a lot of time.
The sun’s all the way up.” Puffs of orange fill the air and are sucked out the window as I blow away the accumulated dust.
“We have until midday. The fights won’t begin until then.”
I resume scratching. “Oh? I didn’t realize you’d gotten a schedule from the guards already.” He huffs at my sarcasm, and I add, “Really, though, why are you so confident in this timeline?”
“They bring food to the gladiators in the morning, yes?”
“They do.”
“Then we have time.”
My face scrunches as I try to figure out how he came to that conclusion, but I come up with nothing. “I hope you’re as clever as you think you are.”
“I am,” he says with complete confidence.
Alright.
Once I’ve finished the final groove in my rudimentary design, I blow away the dust and admire my handiwork. It’s a messy pictogram, but Roveen is smart. If she finds it, I’m certain she’ll figure it out.
I wipe my hands on my bare thighs, drop the shears on the table, and spin around to face Vexar. From my perch, I’m almost taller than him, and I get the sudden urge to inspect his horns in the daylight. They’re so strange. But there are more important things to address right now.
“Can we talk about something that’s been bothering me?” I ask, folding my hands in my lap.
Vexar opens one of his eyes and says, “What is that?”
“What sort of weapons were you using in the arena yesterday?”
His other eye opens, and he lets out a knowing sigh. “Not the same kind of weapon that injured me.”
“Wait, what?”
“I was not injured in my fight,” he says. “I already told you that.”
“Great, yeah. That’s super helpful.” His eyes flick down my naked body, and the urge to smack him becomes overwhelming.
“Oh my god! Focus for five seconds.” I swear, a few hours ago the guy was groveling in front of me, swearing to tear down the world in my honor, and now he can’t even focus on an important conversation because my tits are out. Huh. Maybe that actually tracks…
“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. He pulls his knees towards his chest and drapes his elbows over them. His movement draws my attention downward, and I fall into the same trap he just did. Fuck.
Ripping my gaze back up, I nod at the bandage around his torso and ask, “If you weren’t injured in your fight, how did that happen?”
He raises his hands in a placating gesture. “This took a while to work out. I have not been intentionally keeping it from you.”
“I never suggested you were.”
With a nod, he lowers his hands. “I have reason to believe Gaius had me shot. My injury is consistent with a pulse-round, and pulse-weapons are not allowed on this planet, much less inside the arena. The only way for that weapon to have ended up here is if Gaius approved it.”
Well, there goes my calm. “For fuck’s sake! How long have you known they were trying to kill you?”
“By ‘they’, do you mean Gaius?” he asks. My face drops, and he continues in a more serious tone. “Gaius is the only person trying to kill me, Amara.”
“Then why didn’t—” I cut myself off as a tickle in the back of my mind draws my attention to the question I should have asked a while ago. “Is it normal for future kings to die during the—” I wave my hands in the air, trying to find the word he used.
“Obligation?” he supplies.
“That.”
He bobbles his head. “The goal of the Obligation is to ensure the next leader is both fearless and willing to die for their people. If it were without risk, the purpose would be null. So yes, it can be deadly.”
I stare, blinking slowly as my mind works through everything. “So is it normal to also refuse medical care?”
“It is,” he says.
Huh… My mind spins as I scratch my forehead. “So Gaius is the only person who wants you dead?”
“The only person with the means to make it happen, yes.”
“And you don’t have any concerns that everything else going on might point to a bigger conspiracy? Like, maybe your Senate wanting you dead?” I raise my brows and lean forward.