Captive of the Horde King by Zoey Draven

Chapter Thirteen

When I woke the next morning, my whole body ached in places I never even knew existed.

And for once, Arokan was still in bed beside me.

My head was resting on his shoulder, in virtually the same position I’d fallen asleep in, making me wonder if I’d moved a single inch. He was warm, his eyelids were closed, and his chest was rising and falling in a smooth, soft motion.

Wincing when I moved my legs, I felt a sharp twinge deep inside my body.

It was enough to wake Arokan, who jolted from sleep in an instant, making me tense.

He made that deep, rumbling sound in his chest again and his yellow-rimmed eyes tracked over my face, studying me.

His eyelids lowered slightly and I gasped when his hand moved beneath the furs, moving to cup my sex, his intentions clear.

My breath hitching in alarm, I grabbed his wrist and held it in place. Biting my lip, I whispered, “I’m sore.”

He blinked, clarity returning to his gaze and he sat up in the bed, removing the furs off our bodies, exposing our nudity to the chilly air.

I resisted the urge to cover myself from his seeking eyes, but I forced my hands to remain in place, knowing that he’d seen every part of me, that there was no use or purpose for my modesty anymore.

I bit my bottom lip when his finger traced over my sex and inner thighs. When I saw his jaw clench, I looked down and froze when I saw the mess we’d made. Blood and seed coated the furs underneath me and my inner thighs, which were beginning to show the telltale signs of fresh bruises.

Arokan murmured something in Dakkari, his tone sounding…angry. Then I jumped when he barked something out towards the entrance of the tent.

He pulled the covers around me before the tent flaps opened to reveal two Dakkari males, once again bringing in the bathing tub and buckets of hot water.

Arokan rose from the bed in his full nudity, rounding towards my side once the males left, leaving a steaming bath in their wake.

I gasped when he gently lifted me into his arms and walked the short distance to the bathing tub, lowering us both inside.

A sigh of unexpected pleasure escaped me when hot water wrapped me in a cocoon of soothing heat, loosening my sore muscles, relieving some of the ache between my thighs.

“Better?” Arokan grunted, shifting me so that I was situated between his legs, until I felt his half-hard cock resting against my lower back.

“Yes,” I whispered, surprised by how shy I felt with him that morning. Last night returned to me in vivid flashes, of searing pleasure and dominating thrusts. Of Arokan’s dark eyes, of his filthy, exciting words that only spurred me on, of his heat and his vibrating bump and the way his hands moved over my body with a familiarity that alarmed me.

The tent smelled like…sex. And after last night, after experiencing the consuming, frightening need and desire I’d felt with him, I was worried that I would never be the same, that I would never look at Arokan the same now that I knew what he was capable of, now that I knew what he was capable of unleashing within me.

Whoever that woman had been last night—that needful, lustful woman who had met his thrusts and wanted more—it wasn’t me. She was a stranger to me, someone I’d just met.

All of my fears had come true. I’d liked it. And now I was changed because of it.

Arokan gently stroked my body, gently washed between my thighs until I was cleaned of the evidence of our mating.

“What happens now?” I whispered, feeling confused and strangely on the verge of tears because of how gentle he was being. I could handle it if he was rough or cold with me, but this Arokan…this male I couldn’t handle.

Arokan didn’t answer me. He just continued to wash my body, threading his fingers through my hair. Finally, he undid the heavy necklace, massaging the marks it made against my neck, and tossed it to the floor of the tent.

When the water began to cool, he carried me out and dried off my body. He went to the chests on the far wall of the tent, but then hesitated. Instead, he grabbed the pants and tunic I’d made and helped me dress in them.

I was more thankful for that than he probably realized. When I was bathed and dressed in my familiar clothes, I felt like I could breathe again.

“We will get new markings this day,” he told me, his voice rumbling out as he pulled on a fresh pair of pants that looked to be made of leather, molding to his thick, muscular thighs. The golden cuffs around his wrists gleamed as he tied the laces.

“Markings?” I asked, eyeing him with trepidation.

He approached me and my breath went a little shallow when he tilted my chin up to look at him. For a moment, I thought he would kiss me again, like he had last night.

But he didn’t. I wasn’t sure whether I was disappointed or relieved by that, which disturbed me.

He only looked at me, in a way that made me feel vulnerable and exposed. Like he could see all my darkest thoughts, all my regrets written on my very bones.

Finally, his hands came to grip my wrists. “You will get yours here. You will receive the markings of my line. Of Rath Kitala. For you are of them now and all of our offspring will be of them too.”

Realization hit me. My eyes darted to his chest, his arms, tracing the swirling, golden lines, a beautiful pattern over his flesh.

Tattoos.

I felt the pressure of his grip around my wrists and thought that my markings would reflect his golden cuffs. A symbol.

The queen’s symbol.

Swallowing the thick lump in my throat, I didn’t voice the doubts in my head. What did I know about the Dakkari? Hardly anything. What did I know about being their queen, about being the queen to a horde king?

Nothing at all.

I felt like an imposter already but receiving the markings would make me feel even more like one. Even more out of my element, further removed from my past life.

Last night, Arokan revealed he thought me strong and brave and loyal. His words had touched something in me, soothed something in me.

I wanted to be strong. But it was more than that because I realized I had to be. There was no room for cowardice. Not there. Not in a Dakkari camp.

So, I nodded. I said, “I’m ready.”

Arokan seemed pleased with that because he brushed his fingers across my cheekbone. Then he led me outside, into the fresh air, into the bright sunlight.

That morning was quiet, as if the majority of the camp was sleeping off their fermented drink from the night before. There were two guards stationed at the tent, like usual, who inclined their heads when we emerged, but Arokan kept moving, kept guiding me deeper into the camp.

Any Dakkari that we came upon inclined their heads, keeping their gazes averted, before scuttling off to do their duties for the day. In no time at all, Arokan stopped us in front of a nondescript tent, no different than any of the others around it.

He called out in Dakkari and a long moment later, an older female emerged.

“Vorakkar,” she greeted, though she seemed put off by the early hour. I watched their exchange with interest, noting that the female didn’t shy away from Arokan’s gaze, not like other members of the camp.

They spoke quickly in Dakkari, rapid words that floated over my head. I wondered if there would come a time when I would understand the language in its entirety.

Not likely, I thought.

Finally, the older female looked at me. Lips pressed together, she looked over me, from head-to-toe, before inclining her head and said, “Morakkari. You have come for your markings.”

I blinked when she spoke the universal tongue, when she looked me directly in the eyes, her eyes rimmed in green, not yellow.Her dark skin was wrinkled, just like the elders in my own village, but her hair was still black and shining, plaited and decorated with colorful beads.

“It will be an honor, Morakkari,” she spoke again, but something in her tone made me question her words. She seemed sharp, cutting.

I realized she wasn’t impressed with me, wasn’t impressed by Arokan’s choice of a queen. Mirari had mentioned those that didn’t agree with my being human among the horde. Was she one of them?

Surprisingly, I found her disinterest in me…refreshing. It was honest. I could handle honest.

“Thank you,” I replied because I didn’t know what else to say.

“You may call me Hukan,” she replied.

I studied her as she studied me. She’d given me her true name. Was it because I was Arokan’s queen now? I couldn’t help but remember what Mirari had told me. That sometimes Dakkari gave their given names to people they didn’t respect, as an insult.

I didn’t give mine in return. Partly because I somehow knew Arokan wouldn’t approve and partly because I didn’t want to. Perhaps the Dakkari were onto something about only giving your name to those you trusted or cared for.

And yet Arokan gave his name to me, I couldn’t help but think. I didn’t particularly think he trusted me or cared for me beyond simple desire and necessity for a queen.

“Hukan,” I repeated.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly before she looked at Arokan. He was watching her too, watching me, as if it was all a test. Did he know she disapproved of me?

Probably, I thought. Something about Arokan told me that not much got passed him. He was always observing, always aware. It was probably why he made a good horde king, why he was respected.

“Come inside, Vorakkar. Morakkari,” Hukan said, ushering us inside. Her tent was much smaller than our own, but was comfortable enough with a bed of furs and cushions. Incense burned within, filling the tent with an overpowering earthy fragrance, one that made my eyes tear up.

She led us over to a low table in the center of the tent and I followed Arokan’s lead and sat down on the cushions next to him.

Hukan retrieved materials from a chest of drawers and returned to the table, slowly lowering herself down across from us. Her eyes ran over me again. I was so used to Dakkari averting their gaze that I was surprised how uncomfortable it made me.

“You continue to wear your nekkar clothes,” she commented. “You do not think you are Dakkari now?”

I blinked.

Arokan whistled out a low breath. “Kivale,” he said, though whether it was a name or a warning, I didn’t know.

“Your queen should be proud to wear Dakkari adornments,” Hukan said and I was stunned at her tone, at the way she looked at Arokan. All the while, she continued to lay out her materials like nothing was wrong. She was criticizing me though we’d just met. “It is a disrespect to you, Arokan. A disrespect to us all.”

I sucked in a breath at the sound of his name, disbelief spreading through me. I thought no member of his horde was supposed to know his name, much less speak it.

Except one, I remembered. He said that none knew his name except one.

Who was this female to him?

“Enough,” he said, his tone sharp and Hukan stilled, her outstretched hand freezing over a needle. When I looked over at him, I saw his barely concealed anger. “I do not care what she wears. She is human. She is Dakkari now too. You cross lines in speaking to my queen this way. Even you, Kivale.”

He was…defending me?

“Forgive me,” Hukan finally said, after a brief uncomfortable pause, though she only held Arokan’s eyes. “You know I am just an old fool.”

Looking down at my pants and tunic, I’d never realized that the way I dressed would reflect poorly not only on me, but on Arokan. I’d never even thought that it could be considered an insult.

“You can ask my queen for forgiveness, Kivale,” Arokan said, his tone still sharp, like a blade.

Hukan met his eyes then she looked down at the table, rearranging her needles and pots of gold slowly, before she met my gaze.

“Forgive me, Morakkari,” she said. “I forget my place.”

“You gave your opinion,” I replied a moment later, because I wanted to keep the peace. “There is nothing to forgive.”

She blinked, her lips pressing together.

“I am human,” I said. “I’m not ashamed that I am and I won’t apologize for what makes me feel comfortable.”

I sensed Arokan’s gaze but I held her eyes. Hukan reminded me of the seamstress I used to work for back at village. Hard as nails, that woman, and she constantly tested me at every turn with her sharp words and cranky attitude. I was used to criticism, just from people I was familiar with. One thing I did know, however, was that if I didn’t stand up for myself from the beginning, I would always be lesser in her eyes.

Hukan looked away first and my fingers twitched, relieved. She looked down at the pots, picked up a clear salve, and asked, “Do you wish to go first, Vorakkar?”

I blinked. Arokan would get markings that day too?

Arokan held out one wrist in reply, his irritation still evident. Hukan spread the salve just above his gold cuffs in a thick band, wrapped all the way around, waited a moment, then wiped it away.

Despite the slight tension in the tent, I was soon distracted by the process of tattooing. I watched as Hukan cleaned her needles and then dipped one in the gold, balancing the pot between two fingers with ease. Quickly, she jabbed the needle into Arokan’s flesh, re-dipped the needle, jabbed again, re-dipped, jabbed, re-dipped, jabbed. Over and over again until she had an outline of a wide band spanning the space above his cuff.

Though she was incredibly quick and talented with her needle, the process was slow, quiet, and tedious. But there was a mesmerizing beauty about it, a subtle art. It was apparent that Hukan had done this many times before.

Soon, one wrist was done. The tattoo was almost as wide and thick as his cuffs, one solid band of gleaming gold. It was beautiful and it made his skin shimmer in the light.

Arokan’s other wrist was done in the same slow, intricate process until the two tattoos were virtually identical.

His eyes met mine and he said, “Now you, kassikari.”

I didn’t show my hesitation when I reached my wrist across the table. I didn’t need to give Hukan any more reason to dislike me. With an almost clinical touch, she repeated the cleaning process, spreading the salve over my wrist.

She dipped the clean needle in the pot, but paused, looking up at Arokan before asking something in Dakkari.

“Rath Kitala,” he replied.

“Rath Kitala?” Hukan repeated slowly, her eyes narrowing.

“Lysi,” he replied, his brow quirking, as if challenging her, as if daring her to question him.

My own brow furrowed, watching the exchange, confused by it. Hukan’s lips pressed together again and then she made the first jab into my wrist, though it was aggressive.

Eyes widening at the sharp pain, I shot a look at Arokan, almost in betrayal. He hadn’t even flinched, hadn’t moved, during the whole process of his markings. I’d decided that it couldn’t hurt that badly.

It hurt like a bitch. Though, I suspected, after Hukan’s second, third, fourth jab, that she was a little rougher with me than she’d been with Arokan. She certainly seemed to put more muscle into it.

Arokan’s lips quirked at my outraged expression, but he remained quiet, simply watching me.

Soon, a slim band began to take shape across my wrist. It wasn’t solid, like Arokan’s, nor was it nearly as wide, but it was in the same swirling design as the markings across his biceps, across his chest, across his shoulders.

Soon, she started work on a second band, about half an inch higher from the first, in the same design, though the pattern looked slightly different.

Though tears welled in my eyes at the shooting pain, I blinked them away, not wanting Hukan to see. It felt like I had something to prove to her, so I took pride in the fact that whenever she looked up at me with a searching gaze, my features were expressionless, my eyes dry.

Relief went through me when she released my wrist, wiping away some of the blood that welled and coating the gold in the clear salve.

It was only a momentary reprieve, however, because she gestured impatiently for my other wrist.

So, I gritted my teeth, sent a withering glare over to Arokan, and she began work on the next set of markings.

It seemed like hours later when it was done.

Once she released me, I felt shivery from the pain and my face was probably pale, but I looked down at my wrists, turning them to see every inch.

“They’re beautiful,” I said softly, looking up at Hukan.

She ignored me, simply cleaned and packed up her materials before redepositing them in her drawers.

Arokan stood and helped me up, placing his hand on the small of my lower back. His heat felt nice.

“Kivale,” he murmured, inclining his head. “Kakkira vor. Thank you for your time.”

Then he urged me to the entrance of the tent.

“Let me speak with your Morakkari a moment,” Hukan said before I stepped outside.

Arokan hesitated, watching her with narrowed, suspicious eyes. He looked at me, then jerked his head and ducked outside, leaving me alone with the older female. I would rather be alone with a hundred pyroki, I thought.

“You are not good enough for him,” Hukan said, simply, her voice quiet and hushed. “He made a mistake in choosing you.”

I froze, my back straightening, her words stunningly…hurtful.

“Do you dislike me because I’m not Dakkari?” I asked, keeping my voice level and even. “Because I’m human?”

“Nik,” she said. “I dislike you because I think you are weak. I think you do not have the spine or the stomach to be a Morakkari. Not like his mother.”

His mother?

My brow furrowed and I lowered my voice so Arokan would not hear. “You know nothing about me.”

I sucked in a breath when Hukan reached out to grip my raw wrist, right over the markings she’d just made across my flesh. She squeezed and pain sizzled through me, making me dizzy. “These are the same markings that his mother had. It is a disgrace that they mark you now. He might not see that now. In time, he will. He will realize how wrong you are for him, for the horde.”

I tugged my wrist from her grip with a strong pull, making her stumble. Her gaze flashed up to me in surprise.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” I hissed.

Her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing, but she wisely held her tongue. Fury rose, hot and quick. I’d never liked bullies and there was no doubt that she was one, despite her age.

“My mother had been mauled by one of your wild pyroki, outside the protection of our village,” I told her, holding her gaze, straightening. I stepped forward, so that I was close, so that she would hear me when I whispered, “I killed her myself with a blade to ease her suffering. I was fifteen-years-old. So don’t tell me what I have the spine or the stomach for. You know nothing about me.”

A sharp breath whistled out from her flat nostrils when I pulled away.

I turned my back without a second glance and stepped out of the tent, away from that cloying incense.

Once outside, I felt like I could breathe again.