Broken by the Horde King (Horde Kings of Dakkar #4) - Zoey Draven Page 0,37

to clear the ungira’s territory. There may be more.”

An ungira? I thought in disbelief.

“But…but ungira live far to the east,” I whispered. I didn’t think my father, a seasoned hunter, had ever seen one. Perhaps when the saruk had been a horde, he had, when Kiran’s father had been Vorakkar.

This is why he came back, I knew. To warn his father that creatures were crossing territories.

I just hadn’t realized how dangerous those implications were. Not until I’d stared down into the darkness of an ungira den less than a day’s ride from the saruk, from my family.

“Kiran.” I felt a familiar sense of calm descend over me. I met his eyes and didn’t look away. “I need to look at the wound. Now.”

Just then, a darukkar called out, “There is a grouping of hills up ahead. They should be safe.”

I didn’t think anyone had ever given this Vorakkar an order since he’d risen to his rank. His nostrils had flared at my words, his eyes burning into mine, though his dark pupils were dilated with pain.

Then, without breaking my gaze, he ordered his darukkars, “Patrol the area. Make sure there are no more dens nearby. We will camp here for the night.”

A chorus of, “Lysi, Vorakkar,” came and then the darukkars’ pyrokis picked up their speed, fanning out in all directions, pounding the earth with their clawed hooves.

Kiran and I were alone and he urged Roon into a gentle pace, turning him in the direction of the hills. They were slightly sloped with mostly flattened crests. If we made camp at the top, we would have a view of the grassy fields below and could see any ungira—or other beasts—that approached.

When we reached the base, Roon climbed the hill effortlessly until we reached the first plateau. I slid off Roon’s back easily, landing on the surprisingly spongy ground. It was soft and gave very easily. Taking Roon’s leads from Kiran’s hand, I watched the Vorakkar carefully as he dismounted.

When he turned, my jaw tightened, my fingers squeezing into my fists.

Like me, he’d taken off his furs earlier that afternoon, but he still wore a black hide tunic that molded to his chest. It had given him some protection from the ungira, but not enough.

The back of the tunic was slashed from the base of his neck to his lower back. It was a black and bloody mess. I couldn’t see the depth of the wound but the way his blood glinted in the sunset’s light made my stomach coil with nausea—and I had never been sick from the sight of blood before.

But this is Kiran, I thought.

Blood had begun to drip down his black tail, sliding down the long, flexible appendage.

When Kiran turned to regard me, my face gave nothing away. I realized now why the mokkira always looked so impassive. Because he couldn’t give his true thoughts away. He was duty-bound to help heal whoever sought his aid.

Even in his pain, I saw the corner of Kiran’s mouth quirk.

“That bad, seffi?” he asked.

He’s lucky to be alive, I realized, my brow furrowing, not certain I liked the churning in my gut at that realization. That he’d come very close to death today.

That if he hadn’t turned in that split second…it would have been me that had taken the ungira’s attack. And I probably wouldn’t have survived it.

Swallowing, I went to one of my travel sacks that Kiran had attached to Roon’s side earlier that morning.

Inhaling a deep breath, I closed my eyes momentarily.

I ran through the supplies I needed in my head, envisioning them all. Boiled water. Clean cloth. Uudun salve. Kioni pulp mixed with jenuria extract.

Judging by the depth of the wound, I would also need to stitch it closed.

When I opened my eyes, I felt more centered. I felt focused. Determined. Detached. Sometimes I had to remove emotion from the equation. Sometimes a body just became a body. Just flesh and muscle and sinew and blood.

“I need to get a fire started,” I told him.

“I’ll do it,” he voiced.

“Nik,” I murmured, already snagging the shallow fire basin from Roon’s other side. “Sit down.”

Before I could protest, he took it from my grip and I pressed my lips together. He was stubborn, just like me. Deciding I wouldn’t waste time arguing, I rummaged through my travel sack, quickly pulling out everything I would need as I heard him pouring in the fire fuel.

When I turned around, he lit the fuel with a spark from his sword—creating a fire