the most violent and territorial of all game on Dakkar. It did not sit well with me that my darukkars, my horde warriors, would make the first hunt of the season in my absence. Anything could happen.
When a small door slid open to my left, I growled, my hand darting to the sword at my hip. A small, breathy gasp made my ears twitch and my tail flick restlessly behind me. But I realized it was only a brothel whore, as surprised by my being there as I was by her unexpected interruption.
My hand fell away from the hilt of my blade as I regarded her with narrowed eyes. Her full lips were painted black. Her red eyes raked down my body, no doubt wondering if I had gold to pay her should she approach me.
But I made her wary, hesitant. Her instincts were warning her away from me.
She mistook the dark grin that spread over my features for interest. Despite her better judgment, she walked down the short steps to where I was hidden in the dark. When she was in front of me, she parted her robe, her body nude underneath, her breasts full, her nipples painted gold, though the shimmering color was smudged, as if another male had already been suckling there.
“We do not have to go inside,” she murmured, her voice husky and warm, though I detected the thread of fear underneath. Still, she cupped one of her breasts, pinching her nipple until it was tight. “You can fuck me out here if you wish. If you like that.”
And despite my anger, despite the sudden desire thickening my cock, both emotions tangling so deep within me, a knotted mess that had been there since I was young, I was tempted to ask her price. Something quick, something distracting, something rough…perhaps it was what I needed.
Then she made the mistake of touching me. She reached down to cup my cock through my trews, pressing. Her eyes went wide, her lips parting, but I snatched her hand away and snarled.
The brothel whore’s startled gasp met my ears. She backed away, eyeing my face when I stepped forward into a thread of golden light from the tavern’s windows next door.
She saw my scar, recognized my features, and stunned realization went through her. Immediately, her head dropped, shielding her gaze, and she greeted, “Vorakkar. Forgive me. I did not—”
I was already pushing past her, more frustrated now than I’d been before. Being in Dothik, I was never alone. I could never be. It was why I’d sought out the darkened alley to begin with. For quiet.
Though, I feared the shadows most of all. I feared what hid there, what lingered.
At the last moment, I dropped her a golden coin and heard it clatter on the stone at her feet. “For your trouble,” I rumbled and then stalked away, my footsteps thudding hard on the cobbled path.
There was a sour stench in the air that made my belly churn. I was tempted to turn towards where my pyroki was stabled, take her from the mrikro, and steal away from the city in the night. Ride until I met my horde in the east. Only then would I breathe easier. Only then would the air be cleaner. Only then would the dark memories of this city fade.
Instead, I paced Dothik restlessly—as I used to when I was younger—keeping my face shielded in my cloak, though most I encountered steered clear of me. Buzzing under my skin made me walk faster, longer, eating up the city under my boots. A part of me was tempted to return to the brothel and bury myself in a female or two until the restlessness passed. Perhaps then I would sleep. But I knew sex would make it worse.
I stayed away from the western part of the city, where I used to live with my family, and where she used to live. To the south, I had just turned down a set of slanted stairs, stepping over a slumbering male’s outstretched legs, when I spotted a cloaked figure hunched against the side of darkened home. The small figure was trembling, despite the warmth in the air. I frowned. A child?
But the cloak wasn’t Dakkari-made. That alone made my spine straighten, made me regard the child closer.
The figure’s head came up slightly and seemed to freeze at the sight of me. Slowly, the child pushed up from the wall.