Home > Guardian of the Dark Paths (Children of the Ajda #1)(9)

Guardian of the Dark Paths (Children of the Ajda #1)(9)
Author: Susan Trombley

It had never even occurred to her that the monster had projectile weapons of its own, rendering her newfound rifle completely useless as it struck at her from shadows her light couldn’t penetrate. No wonder the rifle had ended up in a pit of corpses.

She supposed she would join that pile. An unnatural lassitude filled her and her knees buckled, dropping her to the sand to roll onto her back. She stared upwards at the tips of stalactites pointing down at her like the swords of Damocles. She wondered what was on the other side of life. She didn’t have the comfort of religion to soothe her as the creature appeared, blocking her view. It stood over her, staring down at her, sharp teeth bared and spines raised.

It’s clawed hand extended towards her just as she lost consciousness.

 

 

4

 

 

Jotaha cursed the Ajda, the elder gods, roundly as he stared down at the slumbering form of the nixir. Invader. Betrayer of the treaty. Enemy.

And now, apparently, his mate.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not here. Not now. He and Farona had decided that they wanted to begin a family. He’d gone to the priest of Seta Zul and asked for the mating seal, certain that the goddess would bind him to Farona. Certain that the desire of his heart would guide the goddess’ choice. After the seal was painted on his body, he’d had to rush out of the temple before he could seek out Farona to have her activate it. He had to return to his post in the hunting grounds at the boundary, because the urvak zayul—cave spirits—sensed danger approaching, in their enigmatic way. Their growing unease drew him back to his duty, when he was supposed to be preparing to retire his role.

There had been no time to prepare and initiate one of the jotahs to take his place. In fact, he’d moved so quickly to return to the urvaka that he hadn’t noticed that the mating gift he’d intended to give to Farona as soon as his seal activated for her was still in his pack, buried beneath the food and supplies he’d quickly stuffed in there. He’d unthinkingly carried a fortune in kivan into the dank caves of the urvaka. Perhaps Seta Zul had a hand in that lapse of memory. He would put nothing past the goddess.

He glared down at the softly glowing seal now visible over his groin since he’d removed his armor. Seta Zul’s blood mark had reacted to the presence of the nixir female, as if her alien pheromones had awakened it. He’d felt the warmth of it as soon as he caught the scent of her, following her screams to the boundary. The proof of her role was unmistakable. The fact that he hated her people and hunted them as Jotaha was irrelevant. It wasn’t wise to defy the will of the Ajda.

He despised this fleshy creature. He hated the lightly furred, weak flesh of the nixirs, the flat, pointless teeth, the blunt, soft claws, the dark-blind eyes. Yet somehow, these monsters had prevailed and had stolen yara-bralva—the home world of Gaia—from the yan-kanat—the inferno-blessed.

Still snarling at the treaty breaker he’d laid out on a fur after carrying her to his campsite, he withdrew a packet of henac powder from his pouch and crouched down by his small inferno stone pile to dump some of it into the boiling vandiz that bubbled in a crock upon the largest stone.

Removing the container from the heat, he set it on a stone beside his seat, stirring the powder and vandiz until it thickened into a paste. While it cooled, he cleaned the wound made by the nixir’s weapon, which had only grazed his arm. The metal projectile had dislodged a band from his pauldron to slice through his scales beneath. The damage seemed prophetic, since that lost band was the only one that Farona had personally crafted for him, her skill and artistry adding beauty to his utilitarian protection.

Yet another reason to despise the fragile creature before him. Though she didn’t wear the clothing of the other trespassers, and had found her weapon among their discarded carcasses, she had turned upon him with as much viciousness as any of the nixirs. Eager to kill the moment she had the advantage of her weapon.

The nixirs were creatures of hatred and violence. He felt no remorse for killing them to defend his people and the land gifted to them by the Ajda, after they escaped the purge of their kind by fleeing underground.

He had done so much for his people, spent so much time in the darkness to protect them from nixir incursions that shouldn’t have happened after the latest treaty was signed. Yet, this female of the enemy was how the Ajda chose to repay him. He could barely look upon her smooth, scaleless face without feeling seething hatred for everything she was. He had no idea how he could ever endure the sata-drahi’at—first mating—with her.

He left the female only long enough to retrieve the band, tucking the bloodstained, lacquered leather into his pouch. A part of him wanted to keep walking in the opposite direction of his camp after picking up the fallen band, abandoning the nixir in the dark to return to Farona.

The seal would not let him walk away. The further he moved from his drahi—his mate—the more the mark would burn into his scales, until it ate into his flesh, eventually destroying his salavik—mating spine.

Cycles of agony and a lifetime of celibacy and dishonor among his people, or the nixir female as a lifelong partner.

It was a difficult choice.

The fact that he returned and carefully pulled the dart from her arm, settling her more comfortably on the fur, showed that he had made it.

After spreading the healing paste over his wound, he cleaned the crock and refilled it from his vandiz skin, placing it back over the stones to heat so that he could make xirak—healing tea—for the nixir. The silok venom would take time to dissipate from her blood, leaving her groggy and nauseous. The steeped leaves would speed up the process. Though, if she had not attempted to kill him, as was the way of her people, he would not have been forced to dart her.

Fresh irritation sparked through him as he regarded the female, trying to accustom himself to the sight of her, as his body was already growing accustomed to the scent of her.

Too accustomed. He might hate how she looked, but his salavik already shifted beneath his scales, growing more eager for her with each flick of his tongue.

Her face lay slack, her mouth slightly agape to expose the flat edges of her teeth. He fingered the trophy necklace that hung around his neck. He’d taken much comfort from it over the passings spent in the dark, hunting the invaders that threatened his people. He’d nearly lost his own life so many times to their weapons—their lights blinding, their armor difficult to pierce. They always traveled in groups, so their numbers alone sometimes made battles against them difficult. The cave spirits helped lure them away from each other, but some nixirs were intelligent enough to remain close to their companions, despite the disorienting lures.

Except for this female. She’d been alone. She wore no armor, and her head covering was much weaker than the material used by the other nixirs. Hers had easily shattered when he slammed it against the stone to destroy the light after detaching it from her head.

Her clothing was soft material, even softer than the clothing the others wore under their armor pieces. It hadn’t offered much protection, as her body was heavily colored with ugly marks beneath her smooth skin. He knew enough about nixir flesh to recognize the marks as damage. Like she’d been beaten.

The idea made him growl as he slowly removed each item of her clothing to expose more damaged flesh. The inferno stones cast a mellow glow over the pale skin. The dark blotches that decorated it looked alarming and unhealthy.

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