Broken by the Horde King (Horde Kings of Dakkar #4) - Zoey Draven Page 0,40
blood on his back, at the deep wound he’d taken when he’d shielded me from the ungira attack.
He stiffened, his head whipping towards me, the muscles in his arms bunching and tightening.
“I’ve chosen myself,” I said. “And only myself.”
I didn’t need Kiran anymore to make me feel whole. Or any male for that matter.
I made myself into who I was.
And that was something I took great pride in.
“Now turn, Vorakkar,” I ordered, keeping my voice hard. “I need to clean your wound before you do bleed out.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I’ve upset you,” I grunted, the knowledge making me more uncomfortable than the wound on my back.
Maeva’s silence was thunderous behind me. It felt heavy.
“I always seem to have a way of doing so,” I commented, pressing my lips together, leaning forward, feeling the sizzling heat of my wound zip up my spine.
“I’m not upset,” she informed me. And to her credit, she didn’t sound upset.
But I knew Maeva, regardless of what she might think.
In the distance, I saw a plume of earth kick up around my darukkars’ pyrokis. They had spread out, going in all directions from the hill, to ensure that we hadn’t unwittingly stumbled onto an ungira nesting ground.
I saw them begin to return, finding nothing, and some of the tension in my shoulders eased.
“You saved us, Maeva.”
I felt her hands still on my back. She’d dipped a cloth into the hot water next to her and she’d begun cleaning the wound, making me grit my teeth.
“I did not see the ungira den. If you hadn’t taken the reins, we would’ve dropped inside,” I continued.
“You were turned in your seat,” Maeva said quietly after another moment, her hands resuming over my heated flesh. “You would’ve seen it had you been facing forward, perhaps far sooner than I had.”
“I am trying to thank you, seffi,” I said. Despite the situation, despite the furious frustration I directed at myself—I’d come to protect Maeva as we journeyed to my horde and instead, I’d almost gotten us killed—I felt amusement curl in my chest.
“If that is the case, I haven’t heard a ‘kakkira vor’ from your lips at all,” she informed me as she concentrated at her work.
A low rumbling chuckle rose in my throat, emerging before I realized it. I was glad my darukkars were not here. If they’d heard me laugh, they’d have probably shit themselves.
“Kakkira vor, Maeva,” I purred gently. “Does that satisfy you?”
She didn’t answer my teasing question.
Instead, she said softly, “Kakkira vor, Vorakkar.”
That surprised me.
“For what?”
“For taking this,” she said, pressing the cloth to my wound. “I wouldn’t have…I wouldn’t have survived this.”
My gaze lingered on the flickering fire, my body tightening. Nik, she wouldn’t have. But why was she thanking me? Surely she knew that I would do anything to keep her safe.
Then again…maybe she didn’t. Not anymore.
I felt a hot puff of breath drift across the back of my neck. I barely suppressed my shiver, stiffening slightly, my nostrils flaring.
This was no time to feel desire and heat tighten my varx, given the situation.
But it had been almost a year since I’d last rutted a female. The most frustrating part of it all was I didn’t know why I had suddenly imposed this stretch of celibacy on myself.
Errok, my pujerak, snickered constantly at my situation. It amused him to no end that I would willingly subject myself to this. Dakkari were lustful beings. We liked to fuck. We liked to touch and lick and kiss and stroke.
So why was I doing this?
I thought I knew, however.
I strongly suspected my newfound celibacy had to do with Maeva. With Kakkari. With the dream the goddess had given me. With the memories that rose within me afterwards.
I cursed under my breath, cutting off my thoughts as I grappled for control.
“Did that hurt?” Maeva asked, briefly pausing in her work. Belatedly, I realized she’d been in the process of cleaning out the deepest part of the fresh wound. She thought my curse was in reaction to pain.
If only she knew the direction of my thoughts…
“Nik.”
My stiff word made her resume. I told myself to focus on her touch. I forced myself to focus on the way the cloth dragged over sensitive flesh, scraping at me from the inside. That was better than remembering Kakkari’s dream.
Once Maeva was done cleaning out the wound, she rinsed it and then set about packing it with uudun—I’d recognize the sharp smell of it anywhere—and another mixture I couldn’t identify, though it felt warm and hot.