Broken by the Horde King (Horde Kings of Dakkar #4) - Zoey Draven Page 0,98
but I could see his discomfort, his embarrassment.
“Human men cannot compete with Dakkari males,” he finally said softly. “I think I’ve known that for a while.”
My brow furrowed. “That’s not it at all.”
“I saw the way he looked at you,” he confessed. “That was why I backed off at the feast. Because if a human cannot compete with a Dakkari, you better believe that no one can compete with a horde king.”
“Come with me,” I said, frustrated when another horde member passed.
He sighed and I led him to a more private place in the encampment, winding my way through the volikis until we reached the edges of the pyroki enclosure. Not many ventured here during the day, probably due to the stink. But I didn’t mind it.
The nests for the frost were built for the pyroki, I saw. Only the mrikro was around and he was inside the pen, mucking it out.
I leaned against the fence, pressing my belly into it as I draped my arms across. The breeze felt nice and it kept most of the smell away since it blew north.
“Gabe,” I said quietly, “the Vorakkar and I have known each other since we were children.”
He nodded hesitantly. “Yes, you said you grew up in his father’s…village?”
“A saruk,” I corrected. “But lysi, very similar to a village, I suppose.”
“Were you…together?” he asked quietly.
I sighed again and turned to look at him.
“Nik, never,” I told him. My shoulders went back a little as I said, “But I did love him. For a very long time.”
His brow furrowed. His gaze strayed past me to the enclosure, his jaw tight, pondering something.
“We were friends. Very close friends,” I continued. “And when he became a Vorakkar…well, I didn’t see him for close to ten years. Not until recently.”
Gabe swallowed.
“He didn’t love you back?” he asked.
My lips pressed and I said slowly, carefully, “I know what it feels like to love someone who does not feel the same way. How much it hurts.”
His shoulders stiffened but he turned to face me, studying my expression with wariness.
I reached out to touch his forearm, squeezing. He didn’t have to tell me if he didn’t want to, but I liked Gabe. And I hoped that we could become friends during my time here.
His shoulders sagged all at once and he slumped against the fence.
“Is it that obvious?” he asked, repeating words he’d said earlier, but this time, his tone was miserable, not teasing.
“I’m sorry. I know how painful it can be,” I said quietly. “How long have you loved her?”
A sharp exhale, bitter and short, escaped him.
“We met under the Dead Mountain,” was what he said.
I swallowed. I’d known about the Ghertun taking slaves. I couldn’t imagine what that must’ve been like, to live in that dark place, walls all around, suffocating.
“Addie was from another village. She’d been there longer than me,” he whispered. “I had only been a slave for a…month before we got saved.”
“How long was she there?” I asked, throat tight. I’d heard stories of what the Ghertun did to their slaves.
“Almost a year,” he told me. “She was so different than she is now. She was quiet, withdrawn. I did what I could whenever I saw her, to try to make her smile. But those were few and far between. Then we came here and it was here that she began to heal. Her mate helped her with that. Her mate brought her back to life, it seemed. And how selfish am I that I wish it had been me?”
“Oh, Gabe,” I whispered, squeezing his arm again, my chest aching.
He shook his head. “We don’t talk about it. None of us do. We all just want to forget. And maybe that’s why Addie could never love me. Because I remind her of that place.”
“But you’re her friend,” I argued. “And she seems so happy when you’re around.”
“That took time,” he said. “But yes, we are friends. And that’s all I can ever hope for. That’s all we’ll ever be to one another. Especially now.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pyroki approach, heard a chuffing sound emerge from its throat.
Roon stuck his snout right next to my face and I couldn’t stop a small smile.
“Rei kassiri,” I whispered softly, stroking Roon’s nose.
“What does that mean?” Gabe asked, looking at the pyroki with wariness.
“My love,” I translated.
“Isn’t that the Vorakkar’s pyroki?” Gabe asked, seeing the golden marking that decorated the beast’s black scales, wide strokes and swirls of glimmering paint.