“We’re walking until daybreak?” Elora exclaimed. “I can’t do that. I’ll collapse before then.”
The steward in front of her glanced back. “How did you do it before? These territories are not small. You must have been practically running the whole time to get across without Zendyor capturing you.”
At that, Elora quietened. Crossing Zendyor’s land hadn’t been an easy task. In fact, it almost killed her. But she’d relied on the same bold energy and effort it had taken to live in the North Cities, and she’d been motivated to escape it. When Elora crossed Zendyor’s range, she had been running for her life, and if she missed the appointment time to enter Master Nyro’s lair, she never would have been safe. It was a sacrifice she had to make, but it wasn’t an easy one to do. Her whole body ached for days. She certainly never got time to admire the sky.
“I forced myself across,” she murmured back at the steward.
The steward grunted, turning back to face front. “And now is the same thing.”
They walked through the night until Elora could barely stand, and when she couldn’t take another step, one of the stewards handed her a vial with an amber-colored potion inside, which revitalized her.
At daybreak, they approached a valley where two other grey-robed stewards stood waiting. They were dressed identically to the stewards who’d escorted her, though one of them had a staff.
The stewards inclined their heads at each other respectfully and Elora was beckoned over to the other group. Once she was with them, both groups of stewards began their separate journeys, walking in opposite directions.
The new stewards set a faster pace than the old ones, and this time there was no potion from Dayatha to help her. Elora became so exhausted, she had to lean on the steward with the staff. Thankfully, they arrived at the new lair just as dusk descended over the range.
Zendyor’s mountain looked equally huge as Master Nyro’s, but they stopped a few yards away from it. When one of the stewards began casting, Elora took a deep breath and braced herself for the darkness.
When her consciousness ebbed back, she stood in the center of a cavern-like room lit with tall flame-lamps, their harsh light bouncing around the jagged walls of the space.
The two stewards who’d escorted her stood on either side of her against the walls, their hoods down and their heads bowed. The one holding the staff was an older male who had a small grey-streaked beard, and the other was an older female with thick, cinnamon-colored hair that fell over her face, but it was difficult to see anything more than that.
The way they stood was strange. They didn’t look at her and seemed to be waiting for something—almost as though they were on guard. Before she could say anything, the door on the other side of the room opened, and an enormous man stepped in.
It was him—the man who’d been on the back of the dragon. He strode toward her, that same hard glare locked onto her, but now she could see it was fury in his eyes.
And everything within her began to tremble.
2
As the man reached the center of the room, the power of his presence made everything else fade away. He looked like a well-kept beast. Huge and thick, he towered over everyone in the room, his muscled arms rippling as he flexed them in agitation. He was close enough that she could see him more clearly. But she wished she wasn’t. His full head of dark blond hair was rugged and rough, as though the wind had whipped it up into a frenzy just before he stepped into the room. The flickering light cut harsh shadows over his face, intermittently swamping his face, but one thing was clear; he was furious. His anger charged the room, and his tense body made her feel as though he was ready to pounce at any moment, but it was his expression that terrified her—he looked as though her appearance offended him.
Elora’s mouth was suddenly dry and she kept herself as still as she could, barely even breathing.
“kosh don sha hipik.” Deep and gritty, his voice rumbled straight through her chest.
Elora frowned, unsure how to respond. It should be obvious she didn’t know or understand his language. Thankfully, the female steward spoke up, but she didn’t translate—she responded to him in his language.
The alpha turned his head toward the steward, though his eyes remained on Elora, but whatever the steward said seemed to agitate him more. He paced back and forth, his eyes locked onto hers until he spoke again.
“You are the one who knew the rules of the Forbidden Mountains and still chose to breach my territory.”
Surprised that he could speak the common language of the North, Elora inhaled a sharp breath. I’mya had said that Nyro refused to speak any of the common languages, although that didn’t mean he couldn’t. Before she could gather her thoughts to respond, the beast spoke again.
“You sought to avoid punishment by hiding in my brother’s lair,” he snarled. “You choose to show the utmost disrespect to the dragorai! Explain yourself.”
Elora was unable to drag her eyes from him, especially while he was pacing. Still, she tried to compose herself. “It wasn’t my intention to be disrespectful, Master.” She hated that her voice was thin and small. “I was eager to meet with the stewards of Master Nyro’s lair, and I didn’t think it would be a problem to—”
Zendyor’s snarl interrupted her. “You did not think you would get caught!”
Elora’s fear seized her and her knees almost gave way. “That is true,” she admitted. “I decided to risk it.”
The beast slowed to a stop, turning to face her, his disbelief heavy in both voice and expression. “You decided to risk it?”
Elora simply stared at him; there was nothing she could say.
“Do you know what we, the dragorai, do to trespassers? Do you know the punishment?”
“I had to get away from the war,” Elora said, trying to explain herself calmly, a flash of irritation bursting in her chest.
“Answer me!”
Elora swallowed, battling equal amounts of fear and annoyance. “I… I’ve heard different things. I don’t know what to believe.”
“You can believe that we do not treat criminals well,” Zendyor growled.
Elora blinked. “Criminal? No, I-I’m not….”
“No?” The alpha shot forward in long powerful strides, so quick she barely had time to flinch before his thick hand grabbed a chunk of her hair and yanked her head back until she stared directly up at him.
Elora let out a whimper, her body stiff with shock, drowning in the terror filling her veins. His grip was so strong, and she was small and frail next to him. He could snap her in half with one thick finger. She pushed away the prickly fear that clawed down her throat, warning her to run.
“You are not what?” he snapped.
For a moment Elora had no words. Up close, he was vastly more handsome than she had first glimpsed from so far away. His features were strong with high cheekbones, thick brows, and a full wide mouth. But the most startling thing about him were his eyes—pure, deep blue, as dark and beautiful as the night sky. And the fury in them was tinged with an intense disdain yet sharp curiosity.
A distinctive earthy, smoky scent surrounded him, rich and dark and ladened with a potent masculinity that could only be described as divinely and deliciously alpha. It enveloped her, alerting her body that she was in the presence of not just any alpha, but a dragorai-alpha—an almost immortal being favored by the Goddesses. They were unlike any other people or creatures to ever exist. Elora bit her lip as her nipples hardened, and the trembling energy in her limbs spiraled through her, rushing straight to the tingle developing between her legs. His scent was highly appealing—beautiful, layered, and complex—as it would be to any omega; her body was bound to respond. It was the first time it had ever happened to her, but these were the times when it was frustrating to be an omega.