Broken by the Horde King (Horde Kings of Dakkar #4) - Zoey Draven Page 0,27

brow furrowed. “Why are you really here?”

I tried to read her but she wouldn’t meet my gaze again. Without thought, my hand reached out to touch her face, to tilt it back so I could see it, but she flinched away so quickly I froze.

We stood there as heavy silence stretched between us. In the soliki I could hear the child squealing with laughter.

Why was I really here? I thought, repeating her question in my mind.

My tail flicked across the ground restlessly, an anxious tell I’d never been able to quiet.

Because the years have felt endlessly long without you.

That was the simple answer that came to mind. It was an answer, however, that I could not voice. It was an answer that surprised me…but didn’t. I felt the ache of it thread through my veins, like it was one long cord that was barely tying me together.

“Look at me,” I rasped. When she still wouldn’t, I said a word I thought I had forgotten. “Hanniva, Maeva.”

Please, I’d pleaded.

Maybe it was her surprise that finally drew her gaze to me. But I captured her eyes and I held them, stepping closer.

“We were friends once, Maeva. Can we not be again?”

A Vorakkar didn’t have friends, however. Not when my days were filled with thoughts of seasons and Ghertun and if our stores would feed my horde through the frost and the Dothikkar’s ever-changing whims in Dothik. The idea of friendship now seemed laughable, especially the type of easy, wonderful friendship Maeva and I had once shared.

“And you showed me just how much you valued that friendship,” was what Maeva replied. Even she seemed surprise by the bitterness in her tone.

I deserved her ire, however. I deserved her anger. Nine years ago, I’d left as quickly as I’d arrived. I’d been cruel to her. I’d rejected her. I’d hurt her.

I knew all this. When I remembered her, lying in bed at night, the memory of her tear-stained face haunted me. How many times had I readied my pyroki in the thick of night? How many times had I been tempted to ride to the south lands, to seek her out, and make amends to the only true friend I’d ever had?

In the end, I’d always gone back to my voliki, back to my bed. I’d steered clear of the south lands, of Drukkar’s Sea, for a cowardly, shameful reason.

To anyone, nine years was a long time. As Vorakkar, nine years seemed like a lifetime.

And now? I didn’t recognize the human female in front of me anymore. We were strangers now, tied together by endless memories of who we used to be.

So why do I ache when I look at her? I wondered, gritting my jaw. Why does it feel so right to look at her?

Because you’ve always known, came that familiar, nagging whisper in the back of my mind. Because you’ve always known and you’ve tried to fight it all these years.

I blew out a sharp breath.

“Can this not be repaired between us, Maeva?” I asked quietly.

“Nik, Kiran,” she said, lifting her chin instead of shying away again. She’d always been a study in dualities. A study in opposites. It was what had drawn me to her in the first place. “I—I don’t think it can. I can’t go back. I’m not that person anymore. I’m sure you aren’t either.”

I’d expected her answer. It still hurt to hear it.

“It’s best if we try to forget,” she whispered, the words almost lost in the sudden breeze that whipped between us. “Especially if I will be among your horde.”

I didn’t want to forget. Which made a hypocrite out of me. All I’d done the last nine years had been to try to crush that aching place inside me where Maeva always lived.

When I looked back up at her soliki, I saw Laru’s child peering at us from the window. A male, his eyes yellow and glowing. Immediately, I knew who the father was. Nevir. Once, we’d been friends. We’d sparred together at the training grounds often. I saw Nevir’s mischievous expression in his son’s face.

Life at the saruk had gone on. Suddenly, I felt like an outsider in the place I’d once called home.

My horde is my home now, I knew. And already, I’ve been away too long.

With that thought in mind, I turned back to Maeva.

“I leave in the morning. At first light,” I told her, my voice hardening. Cold. Detached. Everything that I was used to feeling. “I will send for you in