He could see slivers of wood rippling the flesh on her limbs. He picked them out as he came across them, careful not to further damage her fragile skin with his claws unless he had no choice when digging out the splinters.
Perhaps there was a reason she’d attacked him so desperately. Something had done this damage to her before she’d passed the boundary and trespassed in violation of the treaty. He’d scented her terror when she’d confronted him. He had believed it had been because of him, and most of it probably was, but he hadn’t done this to her.
A new fury filled him that overwhelmed his anger at being forced to take her as his mate. If someone had hurt this female, he would find them and destroy them. Their corpse would not go into the pit. He would put it on a pike beyond the boundary in nixir land, so that they would know never to harm what belonged to the yan-kanat. Least of all, the Jotaha’s mate.
She was not clothed like the others, nor was she hard with muscle like them. Like the yan-kanat, the nixirs did not appear to send their females into battle—a rare point of agreement between the two species. The others he’d killed had been clearly male—in the open and vulgar way of the nixirs. Though this female had tried to fight him, she had not had the air of a nixir warrior. Nor the body of one.
As he exposed more of that body to determine the extent of her wounds, he discovered that she was soft and round. The muscle beneath that layer of softness was barely defined, making her so different from the others that she could have belonged to another species. Though her scent told him that was wishful thinking.
He had no idea where this one had come from, but it was not from the warrior ranks of the others. Perhaps they had allowed one of their shatazurans to stray from their enclosures. How else could a female who clearly enjoyed a life of leisure and excess have found her way into the dark tunnels of the nixir underground?
If she was a shataz, then she was far more valuable than nixir warriors. Some nixir males would undoubtedly be on her trail, eager to reclaim their soft-skilled female.
There were tales of ancient yan-kanat raiding nixir lands to steal away the plump shataz from the nixirs to mate them, back before the vile nixirs chased the yan-kanat underground. Perhaps those raids had contributed to the increased anger and violence of the nixirs, but they only began after the nixirs started their war against the yan-kanat, slaughtering many females and nestlings as readily as they did yan-kanat warrior males.
The shataz were trained by the nixirs and kept for passionate encounters. According to legend, their skills were so prized that they made the females valuable to nixir and yan-kanat males alike.
No matter what the background of this female nixir, he suspected his time with her would be challenging. His salavik was already eager to discover if she possessed shataz skills, but the likelihood of her warming to him as his seal warmed for her was not high. Nixir females did not experience love like the yan-kanat, because they were like their coldhearted and vicious males, incapable of such tender emotions.
After completing his examination of her body, ignoring the intriguing scent that rose from her oddly positioned seam that made his tongue flick in anticipation of tasting her deeper, he covered her with another fur and returned to making the tea. He tried to focus on Farona, reminding himself of their love and the commitment they had planned together. He knew his heart, but his body seemed to agree with Seta Zul, already desiring this female as much as he’d ever desired his lover.
It didn’t take long for the xirak to fully steep in the hot vandiz, but he left the drink to cool for a bit longer. Given the condition of her body, even the unnatural sleep caused by the venom would be better for her than to be alert and aware while clearly damaged enough to cause her considerable pain.
He watched her sleep, her breaths shallow, the mounds on her chest barely shifting the heavy fur lying over her.
He couldn’t leave his sleeping mate to return to the temple and demand the removal of the seal, even if he were willing to accept the consequences of defying Seta Zul’s will. Not only would his body burn for the nixir the more distance he put between them, but his own honor wouldn’t allow it. As much as he wished for his beloved, his life now belonged to this creature before him. This female of the enemy.
The most hated enemy of the yan-kanat.
5
Sarah dreamed about being held, and that dream brought tears to her eyes, though whether they were real tears or the ephemeral ones of a dream she couldn’t say. She did know that it had been a very long time since someone had held her in their arms, the way someone was holding her now. She had missed that feeling of being cherished, and realized that there had never been a time in her life where it was true.
A warm, firm surface touched her lips as her dream cuddler pulled her further against a strong, solid chest. Her naked back pressed against firm muscles and, oddly enough, a scaly surface—like the person holding her wore an alligator skin vest.
The liquid that splashed her lips was hotter than the surface of what must have been a cup. She jerked away instinctively, feeling it dribble down her chin to splash onto her bare collarbone.
“Vaka-iv, nixir. Zarken anzha xirak.”
The hissing sounds whispered past her ear, barely spoken aloud, but still with enough volume to jar her. The grip of her dream companion tightened around her as one hand reached to encircle her throat.
Her eyelids fluttered as that hand tilted her head back towards the mug, settling it against her lips. As groggy as she felt, and as blurry and surreal as her surroundings were when she opened her eyes fully, she now suspected this was no dream.
“Zarken, nixir.”
The one holding her must have felt her tension as awareness slowly returned. The earlier hissing that might have been words, since they followed a pattern, shifted to softer sounds with no discernible pattern. They sounded more like the shushing, soothing noises someone would make to a wounded animal as they slowly backed away.
Sarah certainly felt wounded. With increasing clarity, her body sent a thousand messages to her brain and most of them transmitted pain. She ached everywhere, though the stabbing of splinters seemed to be gone, leaving behind only dull embers where sharp fires had once burned.
Despite the softer tone, the grip of the other person remained firm, pressing the mug against her lips. The hand tightened slightly around her throat as she tried to turn her head again. This time, hard, long fingers gripped her jaw to hold her in place.
The strength of that grip worried her enough to obediently swallow whatever was in the mug. She had little choice, since the hand on her throat massaged it as soon as the liquid passed her lips.
The liquid tasted like a strong tea with a hint of a floral flavor. It wasn’t terrible, despite lacking the sugar she usually added to her tea, but she feared what might be in it.
“Who are you?” she asked after taking a second swallow.
She tried to shift away from that firm body at her back, her awareness growing sharper with each moment as the liquid warmed her empty belly.
“Kiv’as shir, nixir. Zarken.” These words, if that was what they were, were followed by the mug tilting against her lips more persistently, as if to silence further questions.
“Niche-ear?” She’d heard those sounds said together each time the stranger had spoken, if that was what he was doing. She assumed he was male because despite the low volume of his voice, it was deep enough to rumble in her ears.