Claimed By the Horde King by Zoey Draven

Chapter Twelve

Three nights later, the winds came, aggressive and punishing, scouring their way across the planet’s surface like crawling, seeking fingers.

A small part of me was relieved that my own tent wasn’t yet finished. While I’d lived through many cold seasons in my village—and many of those alone—being out on the plains of Dakkar was a different experience altogether. Though the encampment had the mountain at its back, protecting us from the south, it made the winds from the north—and east and west—seem even more violent, whistling around the ancient stone behind us so that a constant hiss reverberated around the camp.

It set my teeth on edge and made me tap on my wrist, though that tapping had extended down to my toes as well.

The horde king noticed my nerves that night and reassured me with, “It will quiet in the morning, thissie.”

Even the jarring sound of the wind wouldn’t stop me from eating my meal. Though the normally delicious fare tasted like ash in my mouth, I still chewed and swallowed mechanically. I’d already gained much-needed weight in the past week. I could feel it in my hips, in my thighs. No longer did my bones protrude almost obscenely from my pale skin.

“The winds last year went on for three days before the frost came,” I told him softly.

“Drukkar was punishing last year,” he said. “He was angry because of what happened in the east.”

He’d already finished eating, not seeming at all concerned about the winds. However, he was still sitting with me at the low table, his back to one of the poles that stabilized one side of the tent’s domed ceiling, one leg bent, the other stretching out towards me. In his lap was his sword, which he was sharpening and cleaning with efficient precision after his training session earlier that afternoon.

We’d done this every night for the last three nights. We took our meal together and he waited for me to finish, either looking after his seemingly endless supply of weapons or simply watching me, which always made me squirm. It was as if he knew my nerves were already on edge, so he directed his intense attention elsewhere that night.

After I finished eating, he would take his bath, which was already set up in the far corner of the tent. He would undress in front of me without a care and I would try not to look at his golden, sculpted flesh as he sank into the bathing tub. I would try not to hear his pleasured groan and I would try to ignore the strange sensation deep in my belly whenever I heard it.

After he was done, he would climb out, dry off, snuff out the flames, and tell me to come to bed, since he knew I would not bathe with him in the tent. In fact, I specifically bathed in the mornings, once I was certain he was gone for the day.

Then we would sleep. I would sleep fully dressed and he would sleep fully naked. And always—always—I would wake sometime in the night to find myself pressed close to him.

Last night, I’d found my face against his side, my lips brushing the hard edge of his pectoral muscle. I’d felt his heartbeat against my cheek—steady and strong and sure, everything he was—and I’d lain there longer than I would admit to myself, listening to it, imagining a life that I didn’t have as I smelled his skin before I pulled away. I could understand the appeal of bed partners and that knowledge made me uncomfortable.

“What’s east?” I asked, picking at a chunk of meat.

“The Dead Lands,” was what he replied, his eyes on his blade.

I frowned. “I’ve never heard of them. What’s there? What happened last year?”

He met my gaze then, his lips slightly quirked at the corners, and I knew what would come before he said, “More questions? You know our arrangement.”

Pressing my lips together in annoyance, I returned, “So the Dead Lands must be important. If you don’t want me to know the answers, you always bargain with me for them.”

Ever since the night in the training grounds, he’d been doing it. If I asked simple questions, safe questions, about horde life or what a word meant in his language, he would answer me easily and without hesitation. But for other questions, about his scars or about whether he’d been raised in Dothik—which I assumed he was, considering he spoke the universal tongue—he threatened me with more time as his alukkiri, whatever that meant.

“And I know what you’re doing,” I continued. “You bait me with the Dead Lands, knowing I need to know more, and then you won’t tell me anything. It’s simply cruel.”

“You gave me the title of demon king, yet you are surprised when I act like one, thissie?” he returned.

“Fine,” I said. “Will you at least tell me of Drukkar?”

He set his sword to the side, giving me the full weight of his stare, and suddenly, I wished I could take the words back. Whenever he looked at me this way, I felt pinned in place, wanting to move, but also wanting to stay completely still.

“The only thing you need to know about Drukkar is that he will punish any who threaten or harm Kakkari,” he said, his voice low and soft, “in any way.”

“Why?”

“Because he loves her,” he replied simply. My chest jolted at the word, longing shooting through me with a sharpness that stole my breath. “He is bound to protect her at any cost and to seek vengeance on those that wrong her.”

“As are you,” I reminded him softly, knowing that it was his duty to punish those that harmed Kakkari, who embodied the earth, who embodied life itself for the Dakkari. Whispers had recently come to our village that another human settlement had set fire to their land…and that the nearest Dakkari horde had gone to execute the one responsible.

“The Vorakkar are extensions of him, lysi,” he said, but his voice held something strange I couldn’t place.

“And is that what you did, or one of the other Vorakkar? Did you punish those that wronged Kakkari in the Dead Lands last year?” I probed. “Or was Drukkar still not satisfied and that was why the winds came so strongly?”

He knew what I was doing and he stood, his hands going to the tied leather belt that held his fur pelt in place over his groin. I held his eyes, not about to be frightened into submission as his pelt dropped to the rug and he was standing nude in front of me.

I could see his cock at the bottom of my vision, though I kept my eyes glued on his. It was large and seeing how it was almost fully erect—a state I’d grown so used to the past few nights that I wondered if all Dakkari males were like this—it made it near impossible to miss.

However, unlike other nights before, my eyes dipped, seemingly on their own because surely, I would never look intentionally. My eyes widened when I saw the thin golden markings, similar to the tattoos covering his flesh, around the thick base and head of his cock, glimmering in the low light.

The astonished words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Surely those aren’t your Vorakkar oath as well.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat—low and deep and amused—even as his cock twitched. My head swam, my face heated, and I jerked my gaze away, that strange sensation of warmth prickling my skin again.

“Nik,” he rumbled, walking around me, his bare thigh brushing my shoulder. “They are my oath to my future Morakkari.”

I stared across the domed tent at the bed of furs, hearing the demon king enter his bath. I waited for his small groan and when I heard it, my lips parted and my breath hitched in response.

His Morakkari. His queen. His wife, he’d told me.

“Why is it that you haven’t taken a Morakkari yet?” I asked next, itching to know exactly what the oath said, yet too cowardly to ask that question. Something told me he would tell me, too, if only to watch the tapping on my wrist increase in rhythm.

“Would you like to add another week, reialukkiri?” he replied, his tone almost lazy, and I knew it was another answer he didn’t want me to know.

When I was certain he was safely cocooned in his bathing tub, with only his broad shoulders and the top of his chest visible, I turned to regard him.

“Is it required that you take one?” I asked, squeezing my fist together when my fingers started twitching. “Perhaps there is a time limit for that sort of thing once you become Vorakkar.”

“A time limit?” he repeated slowly, his lips quirking again into that maddening smirk.

The ends of his hair darkened into brushed gold as it pooled in the water. Disappointed, I licked my lips and asked him quietly, “Will you answer none of my questions tonight?”

Something in his face softened, but I thought that surely it was just a trick of the light.

“Come here and I will answer your question, thissie,” he murmured, looking over at me from the edge of the bathing tub.

For a moment, I stayed completely and utterly still. His voice was deep and quiet, but somehow, both panic and calmness infused my veins at his command.

That was when I knew he was truly a paranormal entity—a demon or a god, I couldn’t be certain—because right then, with that voice, with those eyes, I thought that surely he could make me do anything he wished.

Curious, though my hands trembled and a shiver raced down my spine, I drew closer. With a heavy gaze, he watched me inch over to him. Only when I was kneeling next to the bathing tub, when I was within arm’s reach, did he say, “It is not a requirement to take a Morakkari, but no Vorakkar has led a successful horde without one for very long.”

“Why is that?” I asked, my voice edging towards a whisper, my gaze rapt on his own. Though the winds outside the domed tent had picked up in intensity, I still felt the need to whisper.

“A horde is only as strong as its Vorakkar,” he told me. “And a Vorakkar is only as strong as his Morakkari.”

Lips parting, I heard the truth of it in the reverence of his voice. His grey eyes bore into mine and I sensed him shifting closer towards me.

“So why is it that you haven’t taken one yet?” I asked. “If she would make you stronger?”

“Because there is much I wish to accomplish as Vorakkar. I have great plans for this horde, for myself. And when I take my wife, I want to be certain.”

“Of what?”

His jaw set and I watched his throat bob as he swallowed. “That she will have the strength, the determination, and the will to stand with me, at my side, to see those plans through, no matter the cost.”

He was weaving a thick spell around me, pulling me in deeper and deeper. His voice threaded down my throat, into my chest, looping around my ribs, until it tangled in my belly, filling it, warming it.

“Stop,” I whispered, my brows furrowing, my voice clogged in fear. “Please.”

He knew what he was doing. I saw it in his eyes, but I also saw his lips set in a firm line.

I heard the trickle of water as he lifted his hand. My eyes closed briefly when the roughened pads of his fingertips made contact with my cheek. His hand was warm from the water and his actions held no hesitation or doubt as he traced my face.

Eyes opening, I felt the tip of his claw brush my bottom lip and I sucked in a small breath, the sensation startling, goosebumps breaking out over my flesh.

“You do not have to fear me, thissie,” he murmured softly.

“I still think I should,” I said back. Because whatever he was stirring within me, whether they had been dormant or nonexistent before, were certainly fearsome things.

He pulled his hand away and rested it on the edge of the bathing tub. I stared at it like it was a lethal weapon, even though I felt warm from his surprisingly gentle touch.

Just then a loud, violent, echoing crash sounded from somewhere in the encampment and I let out a startled squeak. My heart stuttered and the demon king cursed, jumping from the bathing tub with lightning quickness.

Worry clogged my throat when I heard cries of alarm follow the crash and the horde king was already dressing, though he was soaking wet.

“I can help,” I said, trying to calm my racing heart, already reaching for my boots at the end of the bed.

“Nik,” he growled, hastily securing the heavy pelt of fur over his wide shoulders. “Stay here. Stay warm.”

He was storming from the tent before I could get another word in and the chilling wind that blew inside after his departure made my bones freeze.

Still, I heard the echoing shouts from outside. They sounded like they were coming from the front of the encampment and I didn’t want to sit around and wait if help was needed.

Mind made up, I disregarded the demon king’s order and snagged his spare pelt quickly, looping it around my shoulders, though it dwarfed my small frame and my muscles grew tired under its weight.

Without a second thought, I ducked through the entrance of the tent, straight into the beginning of the cold season, straight into Drukkar’s wrath.