by Zoey Draven
With a grace and experienced ease, Arokan swung himself up behind me, those thick thighs bracing on both sides of my body, encasing my own.
Stiffening in the seat, I gasped when Arokan reached around and pressed his hand to my bare sex, cupping it. Warmth from his hand heated me, registered, and my cheeks flamed when I asked, “What are you doing?”
“No male will see you here,” he growled. “This is only for me.”
“Then maybe you should have given me a longer skirt,” I returned, though my voice sounded a little strangled.
Arokan made a grunting sound and curled his fingers, making me straighten, making my nipples tighten even further, if possible. “I did not want to.”
My eyes narrowed—maddening male—but I bit my tongue when he urged the pyroki forward.
The jolting, rocking motion of the pyroki was both familiar and strange, but every step it took pushed Arokan’s hand against me more, making me swallow, making me aware of my shallow breathing.
Perhaps it was best that I focused on that hand, as opposed to everything else that would come that night. Perhaps that was part of the reason why he’d done it. To distract me from my nerves.
So, I stayed, rigid and still, on top of the pyroki as Arokan guided it towards the front of the camp.
That glow that I’d noticed early became more and more pronounced and when the pyroki rounded a tent, riding onto the main alley of the narrow road, I realized what that glow was.
My breath hitched, startled, when I saw all the Dakkari, all members of Arokan’s horde, lining the makeshift road of the camp. Females, males, children, all holding glowing, parchment-thin lanterns with something bundled inside it that I couldn’t make out.
All roads of the camp, the same route that Arokan had taken when he’d presented me, were filled with Dakkari.
The warm glow reflected in their dark eyes as his pyroki led us through. It was completely silent and the only sounds were the gentle breeze whistling through the tents and the crunch of the pyroki’s hooves on the dirt.
It was beautiful. Surprisingly peaceful and dizzyingly beautiful.
The Dakkari reached out with their free hand as we passed, pressing them over the pyroki’s side and over both our legs, just like that first night. Hundreds of hands brushed my flesh but I continued to look around at all the surrounding Dakkari, into their eyes, searching for something.
They would only meet my eyes for a brief moment before they looked away, but I realized that they did the same for Arokan. It wasn’t discomfort that had them unable to hold my eyes, I realized.
It was…respect.
We rode through every possible road that connected the camp together until we reached the end. It was there I saw a celebration area had been erected. A raised dais with one golden throne stood off to the right, underneath the starry sky, against the backdrop of the silent landscape of Dakkar. Before that dais were rows and rows of tables filled with food and a cleared area for dancing, I assumed.
Arokan halted the pyroki when we reached that area and turned to face his horde. With his hand still pressed to my very core, with all of their eyes still on us, Arokan bellowed out words in his language, which reverberated in my ear. Whatever he said was short. I heard kassikari and Morakkari, but the other words were alien to me, frustratingly so.
When he was done, the Dakkari cheered in their strange way, like war cries, rolling their tongues, the sound rising into the quiet night, as jarring as it was mesmerizing. Then, all at once, they released their lanterns and they rose into the black sky, lit by little flames that would flicker out long before they touched the earth.
My lips parted, watching the subtle glow within each of them shine through the thin, colorful lanterns. More than a hundred rose, some faster than others, until it seemed like the sky was peppered with a hundred new stars.
I’d never seen anything more beautiful. It was so beautiful that it made me forget what was to come that night.
Soon, the breeze picked up and the lanterns scattered and drifted away, still high in the sky. In the back of my mind, I wondered if one would carry all the way to my village, if my brother would see it.
Suddenly, drums started up and excited cries came from the Dakkari, who all started towards the celebration area.
Arokan’s hand suddenly left between my thighs as he dismounted his pyroki. I swung my leg over and he reached up to snag my waist, effortlessly helping me down. Then he kept that grip on my waist as he led me towards the raised dais, towards the throne.
There was only one seat and Arokan dropped down into it. Just when I began to suspect that I was meant to stand, he tugged me down onto his lap.
My breath hitched when my skirt rose and I wiggled to pull it down. Only his surprised groan made me freeze and I swallowed, my eyes flashing up to his.
“Continue, kalles,” he rasped in my ear, “if you wish for me to end this feast early.”
My cheeks flushed at his meaning as I straightened, feeling the fur cloth covering him settle against the backs of my thighs.
When I didn’t move an inch after that, he murmured, “You will eat tonight. No broth. Meat.”
My jaw clenched as I eyed the long tables of food, as I watched Dakkari gather around them and pick bite-sized morsels off the platters and pop them into their mouths. Cries of delight rose as they socialized with one another in a language I could not understand.
“No,” I said. “You know—”
“The horde will think it an insult if you do not,” he said. “You will eat.”
My shoulders sagged. It was one thing to refuse food in the privacy of the tent. But if I was going to be by Arokan’s side, I couldn’t disrespect his people. Not tonight.
“I will send a gift to your village,” he said next, making me gasp and turn to look at him. “Three bveri. That will be enough meat to feed them for months, if they dry it properly. If you eat from this moment forward, not just tonight, no more fighting me, I will do this.”
“Really?” I said softly.
He inclined his head. “Lysi.”
Relief so potent that it made tears sting my eyes overwhelmed me. This was a step in the right direction, evidence that the horde king could help my village.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He regarded me with those yellow eyes. His tail, which had tucked to the side when he sat down, came up to wrap around my knee, the gold cuffs lining it chilly against my skin.
Slowly, I relaxed. As relaxed as I possible could be during a Dakkari marriage celebration with my breasts out, of course. Blowing out a small breath, my gaze darted over the forming crowd, noticing that many had their eyes on us. But just like on the pyroki, they averted their eyes whenever I made contact with them.
Other than my piki, other than Arokan, I hadn’t held anyone’s gaze for longer than a couple seconds at camp. Even Lavi didn’t look at me for long.
Arokan seemed content to simply watch his people. His features were carefully schooled into an unreadable expression. Though his muscles were loose, his gaze was observant. Always aware…always ready. I wondered if he ever relaxed.
Soon, we were approached by a female, bearing a serving platter. She waited at the base of the dais until Arokan inclined his head and then she ascended the steps. She deposited a tray laden with food and drinks, which she perched on the wide arm of the throne.
With a bow, she turned and went back into the throng of the crowd below.
Arokan lifted a goblet made of white bone to my lips. “Drink,” he ordered.
I did. Whatever the liquid was burned down the back of my throat and made my eyes water, though I fought valiantly not to hack it back up. I thought I caught his lips curl before he took a long swallow from it himself and returned it to the tray.
Next he lifted a braised piece of meat—bveri meat, I assumed, though I didn’t know what kind it was—and I opened my lips at his beckoning.
My eyes widened when the flavor of it burst on my tongue. Rich and fatt
y and so tender that it seemed to melt in my mouth. I’d never had fresh meat before. Years ago, we’d received dried jerky in our rations, sourced from animals residing on other planets, but we’d never hunted on Dakkar, in fear of retribution.
Arokan was watching me. Once I swallowed, I was silent for a moment, processing that something could taste like that, and then said, “I’ve never had fresh meat before.”
Something flashed in his gaze, his brows and lips pulling downwards.
“You will have fresh meat every day now,” was all he replied, though his voice was gruffer than it’d been a moment before.
“When you…” I started. “When you give my village the meat, they won’t know how to dry it.”
Arokan’s jaw clenched. “I will have my pujerak give them instructions.”
“Your pujerak?” I asked.
He tilted his head to one of the far tables. There I saw the Dakkari male that had come with Arokan to my village, the messenger, who’d first spoken with me in the universal tongue.
“My second-in-command,” Arokan replied.
I nodded, biting my lip. He was being…sweet. He was being kind and truthfully, I didn’t know how to take it. I felt more at ease with him when we were fighting.
We lapsed into a strange silence as the drums grew louder and louder, as the feast continued. Arokan continued to feed me morsels from the large selection on the tray, in between taking some for himself. But soon, my belly was full of soft braised meat and simmered roots and tart fruits that made my lips pucker.
Not to mention the fermented drink that made my head swim pleasantly, that made me smile when I watched the Dakkari children darting through the crowds, when I watched the dancing begin.
Soon, I forgot that I was sitting topless in the horde king’s lap. I forgot the nerves that had pummeled me all afternoon and evening. For once, I let myself enjoy the night because I’d never had a night like that before.
Arokan was warm underneath me and he shifted his arms tighter when I shivered. The night was growing colder, but I didn’t mind. The tray of food was emptied, though some brew still remained in the goblet. Most of the feasting was over by that point and the celebration had turned to revelry. Laughter and voices and drums filled the air.
I don’t know how long I sat in Arokan’s lap or how long I’d been watching the celebration below in utter fascination. But soon, I felt something begin to shift.
My breath hitched when Arokan lifted some of my hair at the nape of my neck. I felt the tip of his nose drag over my flesh there, soft but purposeful. My spine tingled with the sensation, unexpectedly pleasurable.
He had one hand gripped around my hips and the other rested on the arm of the throne, his clawed fingers pricking the metal. Suddenly that hand on my hip dipped until his fingers were resting over my sex, just like when we’d been riding on the pyroki.
Eyes widened, I shot a glance towards the crowd, but couldn’t discern if anyone was watching. The way his legs were positioned, I doubted anyone would be able to see directly, but it was obvious where his hand was.
Those fingers against me twitched and then pressed firm. A surprised gasp escaped my throat and I wrapped my hand around his thick wrist, just over his gold cuff, though my grip only encompassed half of it.
When I turned my head to regard him, those eyes were on me. I was frozen again, looking into those eyes, so black in the center that I saw myself in them.
His finger stroked me once, twice.
“Arokan,” I whispered, panicked, my mind muddled from the fermented drink, my inexperienced body beginning to respond to his expert touches.
The sound of his given name leaving my lips made him growl, made his spine shoot straight. Belatedly, I wondered if I’d made a mistake using it, if I’d crossed a line.
Before I knew it, he was standing from the throne, bringing me with him. He swung me up in his arms and descended the stairs of the dais.
The dancing never stopped though I felt eyes turn towards us, though the beat of the drums seemed to increase. I felt those beats pulse through me.
He swung us both up onto his pyroki once we reached it with ease, which was telling of his strength. To the crowd, he bellowed, “Kirtva njeti Morakkari!”
Whatever he said was met with deafening cheers and my lips parted, my chest heaving when I realized what was about to happen. Just then, my eyes met Mirari’s in the throng and she nodded at me, smiling.
He urged the pyroki into a gallop back through the camp, turning his back on the celebration.
He was guiding us towards the tent.
“It is time, kalles,” he rasped in my ear, his hand again curling between my legs. “You are my queen now. I will wait no longer.”
Chapter Twelve
My back hit the furs of the bed.
Heat registered as a fully nude, fully aroused Dakkari male lowered himself over me, his head dropping to lick the column of my exposed neck, his tongue hitting the golden collar of the necklace I wore. He hadn’t taken it off, had only stripped me of my short skirt the moment we stepped foot inside the tent with a rough, tearing pull.
I let out a small gasp as Arokan ran one massive palm up my bare leg, spreading it, sinking our naked bodies more closely together until I felt something I’d never felt before: a body pressed against mine, so tightly that it felt like my own.
My eyes fluttered closed, my lips parting when he stroked his hand up my body, over my hip, my waist, up to my breasts, where my nipples were still painted gold. I realized that the fermented drink at the celebration feast had probably been for the best. It had loosened my muscles, helped me relax. While I’d been nervous about this moment, about the inevitable, I wasn’t afraid of the pain, of him tearing past my flesh, but I was afraid of how it might…change me. I was afraid that I would like it.
His head rose from the column of my throat, those dark eyes watching me. His expression was a little wild, a little untamed. Saying his given name had unleashed something within him, something he kept tightly reined in, hidden from his horde.
I shivered, unsure whether I wanted to explore that part of him, that dark, exciting, unfamiliar place.
“Rei Morakkari,” he murmured, his eyes tracking over my face. They settled on my lips as his fingers trailed back down my body, until they reached my sex.
A small whimper left me when he parted my folds, when he stroked me so gently, much more gently than I’d ever think he was capable of.
“Rei kassikari,” he rasped.
Arousal pricked me when his fingers shifted over my clit and I bit my lip, holding back a groan.
“Lysi?” he asked.
Yes? Was that what he was asking?
“Tell me something first,” I managed to get out, though my voice sounded a little breathless.
“Neffar?”
“Why?” I asked softly, one question that had been on my mind more than once.
“Why?” he repeated, his brow furrowing. Despite his confusion, his fingers never stopped moving between my legs, never stopped stoking the fire deep inside me that was threatening to break free.
“You could have had any Dakkari female,” I said, looking up at him. Mirari had told me as much. “It would have been easier. So why? Why me?”
Arokan let out a sharp breath and dropped his head to my shoulder, pressing his lips there. His surprisingly soft lips. I wondered if the Dakkari kissed, like humans. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him.
Or perhaps that was the fermented drink wondering.
He lifted his head, meeting my gaze, and said, “I heard the courage in your voice before I ever saw your face. A human kalles daring to stand against the Dakkari…I was intrigued. I needed to see you. And when I saw your face, your eyes, I knew. Kakkari revealed you to me. I knew you would be my queen. You are strong and you are brave and you were loyal to your kin. That is why.”
Whatever I had been expecting…it hadn’t been that.
My heart pounded in m
y chest as I absorbed his words.
“Lysi?” he murmured, that low voice caressing over my skin like a touch.
This was my new life now. He was my husband now, a horde king of the Dakkari. It was unbreakable. It was…done.
I could fight against it and make life harder for myself. Or I could try to assimilate into the horde, to build a new life for myself while continuing to champion my village for aid. I could help them, whereas before, it was hopeless.
Perhaps my brother’s fire had been a blessing in disguise.
“Lysi,” I said softly, meeting his gaze.
Something flickered there at my word, at my affirmation. I felt the shift between us, as palpable as a touch.
He kept his eyes on mine when he ducked his head. When he found my gold-painted nipple and drew it deep into his mouth.
I cried out, twisting a little underneath him, as I felt that raspy, warm tongue. It felt good and I groaned as he flicked my budded nipple, until I felt that small pleasure sizzle in a straight line down my body.
My hands flew to his bulging biceps when he switched to my other breast, when he began speaking in guttural Dakkari, words I didn’t understand but words that sounded…reverent. I felt the twisting shift of his muscles beneath my hand, felt the cords of his arms tighten as he continued to stroke his hand between my thighs.
In the distance I could still hear the drums of the celebration, even that far away. The pulsing rhythm that seemed to mimic the way my sex began to throb.
His body was so warm, so hot, like a furnace. His mouth grew ravenous at my breast, tugging and laving, like he was starved for me. When he finally released my nipple, I looked between us, past the heavy plate of my necklace, and saw that he’d cleaned them of the gold. Now they were flushed a dark pink, sensitive and pointed.
“I will spill my seed deep inside your body this night, Morakkari,” he rasped, his voice dark and gravelly. “You will be heavy with my heirs. You will bear me a horde warrior that will be strong enough to lead, to be Vorakkar.”
My breath was coming out fast, my chest heaving. Children. I’d never even thought about children before.