Chapter 2
A'Vanti
Iwatch Cody disappear around the corner, pleasure lingering in my chest. The book is heavy in my hands, a lovely weight, solid and real. A piece of his world, given freely.
Vel'shar.
A vel'shar is a protector. Someone who stands guard without being asked, who shields without demanding recognition. On Ceraste, it was one of the highest things you could call another person. I never expected to apply it to someone outside my own species.
The word rises unbidden, and I push it down before the emotion attached to it can bloom on my face. Because I am not alone in this corridor.
The approaching footsteps are heavy and deliberate. A warrior's gait. I know who it is before I even turn my head, and my first instinct is to slip through my door and pretend I never saw him.
But D'Vorak has already spotted me. He's angling toward me with clear intent, and to retreat now would be both cowardly and rude. I was not raised to be either.
So I stay.
I pull my emotions inward, tucking them behind the mental walls I've built over years of practice.
The warmth from Cody's visit, the residual vulnerability from my session with Dr. Singh, the lingering pleasure of holding this beautiful book – all of it gets packed away into a box that no one else can access.
By the time D'Vorak reaches me, my face is stone. Serene and unreadable. If he tries to scent my emotions, he'll find nothing to latch onto.
"A'Vanti." D'Vorak inclines his head in greeting.
His scales are a dark bronze, and he steps close enough I have to crane my neck to keep eye contact.
He towers over me by a full head, all warrior-caste muscle.
The look in his eyes is that of someone who sees a prize, not a person.
Unbidden, my mind flashes to Cody. Leaner, shorter, but with a kind face and a quick smile.
A face that has never once looked at me like a trophy to be won.
"D'Vorak." I keep my voice neutral. "Is there something you need?"
He reaches into the small pouch at his belt and produces an item that makes my stomach drop.
A val'ari. A traditional Cerastean hair adornment, all delicate gold filigree and tiny amber stones. The kind of gift that carries weight. The kind of gift that carries meaning.
"I wish to present this to you," D'Vorak says, holding it out like an offering. "As a symbol of my intent."
I don't take it. "Your intent?"
"To court you." His eyes meet mine, steady and certain. "I am interested in pursuing a bond with you, A'Vanti. I believe we would be well-matched."
Well-matched. I nearly laugh. He's never had an actual conversation with me. Doesn't know my favorite food. He knows nothing about me. He knows only I am female and alive – apparently that's enough.
There was a time, on Ceraste, when a warrior would never have dared approach a female of the artist caste in this manner.
Our hierarchy was rigid, with clear boundaries. A warrior presenting himself so boldly would have been met with swift social censure.
But that was before. Before Queen Diamalla's poison killed our world.
Before the survivors were forced to abandon the old ways to survive.
The caste system has now been formally dissolved.
Warriors, Scientists, Leaders, Artists – we are all simply Cerasteans, scrambling to preserve what remains of our species.
And yet.
D'Vorak's approach still feels presumptuous. Not because of his caste. I've worked to let go of those old prejudices, but because of the assumption behind it. The confidence I would welcome his overtures. That I should welcome his pursuit and be grateful for it.
"I appreciate the gesture," I say carefully, "but I am not looking to take a mate at this time."
D'Vorak's expression flickers. Surprise, followed by something harder. "You cannot mean that."
"I assure you, I do."
"A'Vanti." He says my name like I'm being foolish. Like I simply need the situation explained to me more clearly. "You are one of the last Cerastean females. Surely you understand what that means."
I feel the ice forming around my heart. "Enlighten me."
"Human mates can bear our young, yes. But those children will never be fully Cerastean.
If we want to preserve who we truly are – our bloodline and heritage – we need pure Cerastean children.
" He steps closer, and I have to fight the urge to step back.
"It is your duty to help ensure that. To continue the true Cerastean line. "
My duty.
Oh, that does it. Something inside me snaps.
For four months, I have worked to soften my edges. Dr. Singh has helped me process the trauma of captivity, helped me learn to trust again, to feel again. I have let people in. Paige, with her compassion and sweet nature. Cody, with his patient kindness, ridiculous nickname, and irreverent humor.
But there is a part of me that never left that cell in Diamalla's facility. A part that learned to survive by becoming cold and sharp and untouchable. Paige calls it my "ice queen" persona, and she means it affectionately.
Right now, however, I reach for it like a weapon.
"My duty," I repeat, and my voice could freeze the air between us. I draw myself up to my full height, letting every inch of my caste breeding show in the steel of my spine. "You dare speak to me of duty?"
D'Vorak's expression ripples with surprise, but he holds his ground. "Someone must."
"Then let me be clear." I bare my teeth in an expression that is absolutely not a smile.
The hiss that escapes my throat is pure, primal warning.
This male is lucky I no longer have my venom sacs.
"I would let the Cerastean species die out entirely before I would allow another person to dictate how I must live my life.
I owe no one offspring. Least of all you. "
D'Vorak's eyes flash with anger. "You are being selfish—"
"I am being honest." I cut him off with another hiss. "Which is more than I can say for your so-called courtship. You do not want me, D'Vorak. You want a breeding vessel. Someone to fulfill your notion of duty while you claim credit for preserving our species."
"That is not—"
"We are finished here."
His jaw tightens. Then his gaze drops to the book still clutched against my chest, and an ugly look crosses his face.
"It is obvious," he says, his voice dripping with disdain, "you are already accepting courting gifts. So your objection is not to being courted, merely to being courted by me."
I look down at the book. Cody's book. The architecture of Earth, given without expectation. Without demand.
"This is a gift from a friend," I say coldly. "Nothing more."
"A friend." D'Vorak's tone makes the word sound obscene. "A human friend."
"And even if it were a courting gift – which it is not – it would be absolutely no concern of yours."
My voice has risen now, sharp enough to carry down the corridor.
Part of me knows I should lower it, should handle this with more dignity.
But I am so tired. How many is this now?
How many males have approached me with gifts and intentions, not one of them interested in me as an individual?
They want only what my body represents: a chance at pure Cerastean offspring.
L'Senna accepted D'Ronin's courtship last month.
I heard the news secondhand, from Paige, who delivered it gently, watching my face for a reaction.
I gave her none. L'Senna is not me. Her choices are her own, and I have no right to judge them.
But I cannot stop the quiet voice that wonders whether it was love or exhaustion that made her say yes.
Did the obligation of saving our species influence her choice?
I wonder if she chose D'Ronin because he stirred something in her heart, or simply because the weight of being asked became heavier than the weight of saying yes.
Do they not understand what they're asking for? A mating is not a transaction. It's a lifelong bond. A partnership. You should know the person you're binding yourself to. You should like them. But none of that seems to matter when a fertile womb is involved.
It makes me want to rage like a wild beast caught in a trap.
"A'Vanti?"
L'Awai's voice cuts through my anger. I turn to find him approaching from the direction of the bride volunteer lounge. His eyes move between me and D'Vorak, his gaze heating as he reads the tension between us.
"Is everything alright?" he asks, coming to stand beside me. His posture is casual, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. The readiness. His scent carries the bite of rising anger.
I force my expression into something approximating calm. "Everything is fine. D'Vorak was leaving."
D'Vorak's eyes flare with indignation, but he's not foolish enough to challenge L'Awai directly. L'Awai is bonded to a female, which gives him a certain status among Cerastean males. And more importantly, L'Awai is not someone anyone wants to fight.
"This conversation is not over," D'Vorak says to me, low and heated.
"Yes," I say with my most withering sneer, "it is."
For a moment, I think he might argue further. But then he turns on his heel and strides away, his footsteps heavy with barely contained fury.
I watch him go, keeping my shoulders rigid until he disappears around the corner. Only then do I let my shoulders drop.
"A'Vanti?"
Paige has appeared behind L'Awai, her face creased with concern.
She's cradling the swell of her belly with one hand, a gesture I've noticed has become unconscious for her.
L'Awai shifts automatically, angling his body so he can keep both me and Paige in his line of sight.
His hand finds the small of her back without looking, a touch so natural it seems unconscious.
That. That is what I want.
Not a transaction. Not a male who sees me as a means to an end. I want someone who reaches for me without thinking. Who knows my fears and my dreams and chooses to share his life and his heart with me.