Captive of the Horde King by Zoey Draven

Chapter Ten

Mirari had been right.

Arokan returned with his horde warriors the next afternoon to a camp in chaos.

At least that was what it seemed like to me, though Mirari told me that the camp was only preparing for the tassimara. The joining celebration, scheduled for later that night under the black moon.

All of them returned. Arokan and the ten horde warriors he’d taken with him. I was outside the tent when they came back, in my new pants and tunic top that I’d stayed up through the night to make with Mirari and Lavi. The two piki hadn’t complained once about the late hour, but I knew that they wouldn’t leave me alone with the blade or the needle either.

So they’d stayed.

And by the time they showed up at the tent the next morning, I was already dressed in my new outfit, with my hair braided down my back. I drank the bowl of broth they’d brought me, refusing the meat once more, and then we’d gone outside.

I felt more like myself than I’d had since I’d arrived to the Dakkari camp.

It was simply ironic then that later that night, I would never be the same again. I knew what was coming. Arokan had told me himself. After that night, I would be his wife, his queen. He would own my body and my life would be tied to his from that night forward.

Husband.

The word seemed strange to describe him, but that was what he would become.

My mother had often told me to be strong. It was such a general saying, two words that had no meaning to me until I found myself in a situation where they made perfect sense.

I’d had to be strong when I’d found my mother, lying in a pool of her own blood. I’d had to be strong for Kivan, to protect him, working long hours to keep rations coming in. I’d had to be strong when I made a deal with a Dakkari horde king.

Be strong now, I thought as I watched Arokan and his horde warriors ride into camp. Behind me, I heard Lavi make a sound, a sound like relief, when the males guided their pyroki to the pen a short distance away. I watched Lavi approach one of the male warriors, watched her speak with him, watched her touch his hand.

The warrior was tall and broad and handsome, much like Arokan. And Lavi was obviously smitten.

As if of their own accord, my eyes found Arokan. Our gazes had connected once he’d ridden into camp, but he’d looked away to attend to his pyroki, to give orders to the male in charge of the beasts, and to address an older Dakkari male that approached him from a nearby tent.

I watched them speak and studied the horde king, whose flesh was streaked in black blood and dirt. Some of the other warriors looked worse. One had a particularly nasty gash on his thigh and a female came forward to attend him almost immediately, leading him away.

Other than that brief pause, however, the camp continued to prepare for that night, as if their males and their horde king returning all bloodied was a usual occurrence.

When Arokan broke away from the older male and began his approach, my heart stuttered in my chest, remembering how angry he’d been the last time we’d spoken.

“You should attend to your male, Missiki,” Mirari said quietly. “Remember. He is just like Drukkar.”

I nodded to her, though my eyes never left Arokan. Quietly, she slipped away, weaving towards the front of the camp where I was sure she could find something to occupy her time. It seemed like there was still much to prepare.

His eyes tracked over my body, taking in my hide pants and cloth tunic, before settling on my face. Arokan didn’t say anything about the clothes, however, just held the tent flap open for me as I ducked inside and he followed behind me.

When we were alone, I took a deep breath and turned to him, though my tongue felt tied, knotted in my mouth.

It was possibly the first time I’d ever been at a loss for words as I looked at him. Up close, he looked like a bloody mess. Black splatters of blood adorned his body, covering parts of his golden tattoos. His left side was covered in grime and dirt, as if he’d fallen hard. The pants he wore would probably take multiple washings to clean.

As if on cue, the tent flap parted and males brought in the bathing tub, followed by buckets of steaming water.

We were silent as they filled it and I only moved once they left us in peace. Arokan was watching me and I moved towards him slowly, remembering Mirari’s advice, remembering the story of Drukkar. Remembering that perhaps the horde king needed warmth most of all, considering the crusted and cold blood that decorated his flesh, remembering that he had the power to help my village, if I gave him reason to.

He would be my husband. Nothing would change that. And if we entered into this partnership, however unequal it might be, on good terms, perhaps we could be of use to one another.

Arguing with him, fighting against him would accomplish nothing. Unless he really pissed me off and then I would give him an earful, the consequences of that be damned.

He watched me with thinly veiled suspicion as I removed the golden belt around his waist, only fumbling with the clasp for a brief moment, before letting it fall to the floor.

My cheeks heated a little as I untied the laces of his pants. Before I pushed the waistband down, however, he caught my wrists, his narrowed eyes on me as he rasped, “What are you doing, kalles?”

“Helping you,” I replied, disturbed by how much I liked his voice. It was rich and dark and deep. Sinful and decadent. “You need to bathe.”

His fingers gave my wrist a squeeze, like he didn’t trust my intentions, like a warning, before he released them.

Taking that as his answer, I pushed his pants down his long, thick legs, swallowing the lump in my throat when his cock made its appearance.

I turned to walk towards the bath and he followed, his heavy footsteps padding on the plush rugs spread across the floor. I prepared the wash cloth and soap as he got in and heard him hiss in satisfaction at the warmth.

I knelt by the side of the bathing tub and waited for the warm water to soften the blood and dirt coating his skin. Arokan’s eyes closed and I felt a twinge of strange compassion for him. What Mirari had said, about the Ghertun, had surprised me. It made my thoughts about the Dakkari shift ever so slightly. It was obvious that he wanted to protect his horde, his people…that he would do whatever it took to keep them safe. How could I judge him for that?

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” I asked softly.

His eyes opened and he regarded me carefully. “Would you have cared?”

“At the time…” I said and then decided to answer honestly, “I don’t know. We were both angry before you left.”

Arokan made a sound in the back of his throat, an acknowledgment. The water trickled when he lifted his arms, scooping it up to wet his shoulders and upper chest.

“Mirari told me about the Ghertun,” I said, my eyes going to his throat, at the little knick there scabbed over with blood. “I had no idea that there are beings like that living on Dakkar.”

“I have seen some humans do worse things than the Ghertun,” Arokan said. “I have seen Killap and Nrunteng do worse things too. And Dakkari. Beings like that have always lived here.”

The Killap and the Nrunteng were other races that had arrived on Dakkar, the same time around humans, though I’d never seen one. Their settlements were further to the east.

“Still,” he continued, “as a race, the Ghertun are the most dangerous. Dakkari, humans, Killap, and Nrunteng? Their dangerous ones are outliers.”

“I’m assuming you found the pack you were looking for,” I commented, my eyes trailing his flesh. The blood had just started to soften, so I dipped my wash cloth into the water, soaking it.

“Lysi,” was all he said.

Smoothing the cloth over his forearm, I focused on scrubbing the grime away as I said, “Next time, I would like to hear about your leaving from you. Not Mirari.”

Arokan stilled, his eyes cutting to me, glinting like ice. “Neffar?”

I ignored his word, focusing on cleaning his skin. But Arokan wasn’t to be denied for long, because he caught my hand, tearing the wash cloth away, before tilting my chin up to look at him.

“Neffar?”

I assumed, by his tone, neffar meant something like what.

Taking a deep breath, I said, “I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

Arokan was studying me, those yellow-rimmed eyes darting back and forth between mine, as if I’d asked him a riddle and he was trying to decipher the answer.

“I will tell you next time,” he finally said, dropping my chin, his gaze turning away.

I nodded, snagging the wash cloth again. “Thank you.”

“Have you eaten?” he asked next.

“Broth,” I answered.

He shook his head, muttering something in Dakkari. “You need meat. You cannot survive on broth.”

“I have for a long time,” I informed him.

A sharp breath through his nostrils told me he was frustrated. Probably tired too. I wondered if he’d slept since he’d left.

We lapsed into silence again as I washed him. Once his arms were clean, I moved to his chest, where a thick coat of blood remained just above his right pectoral muscle.

However, as I washed the area, noticing that Arokan stiffened, I gasped, seeing that the blood surrounding it wasn’t Ghertun blood, it was his own. Underneath the crusted blood was a deep slash that probably needed stitching.

“You’re hurt,” I whispered. “Should I go get—”

“Nik,” Arokan rasped. He pointed to a tall dresser, near the entrance of the tent. “There are sutures and dressings in there.”

I pushed up from the bathing tub and retrieved them—thin golden thread, a hook needle, a clear salve, and clean padding.

I placed them on the bed, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to stitch him in the water. It would have to wait until he was clean.

So, I quickly resumed helping him bathe, gently cleaning the wound before scrubbing the rest of him down. Only after his hair was clean did he rise from the tub. The front of my tunic was wet, but I paid it no mind as I watched him dry himself. It didn’t escape my notice that his golden tattooed cock was hardened, bobbing against his abdomen.

Strangely enough, my eyes lingered on it before I forced myself to look away. I would know it well soon enough, I thought, knowing that the joining celebration drew near.

Once he was dry, he sat on the edge of the bed, still nude, which I tried my hardest not to notice as I cleaned the wound for a second time…though my face burned.

Arokan noticed and commented, “Humans are strange about bare flesh. Why?”

Swallowing, I kept my eyes on the slash, making sure there was no debris or dirt inside it. “I don’t know. We just…cover ourselves around other people.” I gave him a pointed look. “It’s polite.”

Arokan made a sound like a snort. “I am not ‘other people,’ as you call it. You will know my flesh like it is your own soon enough.”

Goddess help me, I thought, now my ears burning. He said it so nonchalantly, like it was a given. In a way, it was.

“Humans are strange about mating too, it seems,” Arokan commented next, eyeing my expression. “Why? It is natural.”

I cleared my throat, reaching for the hook needle and easily threading the gold strand through, despite my trembling fingers. “I don’t know. It’s just…it’s a private matter. We don’t usually discuss it so openly.”

“There is no one here now,” he murmured. “This is private.”

Startled, my eyes met his and for the second time that afternoon, my tongue was tied. To give me an excuse not to answer, I quickly pierced his skin with the hook needle and made the first stitch. He didn’t even flinch, which made me wonder how many times he’d done this.

“You know how to do this well,” Arokan commented, looking down at my neat stitches, when I didn’t reply.

“I worked as a seamstress in my village,” I told him softly. “Flesh and fabric are not so different.”

“I see you made your own clothing while I was gone,” he said.

“I didn’t steal the razor or the needle. I won’t have a way to kill you in your sleep if that’s what you’re worried about, horde king.”

He huffed out a small, startled breath and I felt it across my cheek. I hadn’t realized how close we were until that moment, but I could feel his heat along my side, could smell his scent.

“Nik, kalles, I am not worried about that,” he murmured. We lapsed into silence as I finished up the stitching. Only when I cut the thread and spread salve over the closed wound did he say, “You will need to wear the Dakkari ceremonial dress tonight.”

My lips pressed together as nerves stuttered my heartbeat. Softly, I said, “I’m sure the piki already have it prepared.”

Arokan grabbed my wrist gently when I finished placing the padding on his chest. It looked like he wanted to say something, but then his jaw ticked and he looked away, releasing me. He stood and pulled on a pair of fresh pants from his trunks.

Then he said, “I will see you at the tassimara tonight.”

With that, he ducked through the entrance and left.

“You’re welcome, Vorakkar,” I grumbled to the empty tent, wondering what the hell had just happened.