Madness of the Horde King - Zoey Draven Page 0,122
will not take my advice, Dakkari,” the Killup said after another pause, “then you only have one option left.”
I knew what it was before he spoke.
“The Ghertun created the poison. Only they will have the cure. If one even exists.”
Chapter Forty-Six
When I woke next, I saw Davik dressing in front of his chests. My body felt strangely numb, my limbs tingling and heavy, but there was very little pain. A welcome relief, one I didn’t understand.
I watched him for a few moments in quiet, feeling my chest ache at the sight. His jaw was tight, his lips downturned into his familiar scowl. He was securing….armor? Hardened straps of leather that covered the entirety of his broad arms wrapped around them like the cuffs around his wrists. Over his chest, he wore a black tunic made of the same material that molded to him like a second skin.
His hair was tied back, exposing the sharpness of his features. After he secured the leather to his forearms, he bent, hurriedly pulling on his boots.
“Davik,” I whispered.
His head jerked towards me. We were alone. The voliki was quiet. The only sound was him dressing and the gentle, occasional crackles from the fire basin. I was warm, I realized, not freezing. I felt a sheen of sweat across my forehead, felt my hair sticking to the back of my neck underneath me.
Anything was better than that icy chill, however. That icy chill that seemed to scrape away at my bones from the inside out.
He approached me quickly, dropping down to his knees beside the bed of furs. The bed he had once called ‘ours.’
“Leikavi,” he rasped, reaching out to touch me before he hesitated. I remembered the pain of being touched as the vovic coursed in my veins but the pain was dampened now, a dull ache and nothing more.
My hand lifted and caught his wrist, my fingers sliding up until I could feel his calloused, rough palm, made from years and years with a sword in his grip, no doubt.
His forehead dropped to mine though he was careful with his weight. His lips brushed my nose, then my cheek, before he kissed my mouth and I sighed against him.
My voice was hoarse and scratchy as I asked, “What happened?”
I remembered the tree. I almost shuddered with that memory because it would forever be seared into my mind. I remembered…Devina? I remembered Davik, though only briefly. I didn’t remember how we’d returned to the horde.
“I found you,” he said. He paused. Then he said, “Nik. Actually, Devina led me to you. In the ancient groves.”
I stilled. He pulled back slightly so he could look down at my face. His palm smoothed back my hair, his touch so gentle that it made me want to cry. The expression in his eyes…that also made me want to cry.
“And how do you feel about that?” I whispered.
“I do not know,” he admitted gruffly. His eyes tracked over my face. “How long have you known?”
“That night…when you saw her in here.”
The night we’d first had sex. He remembered it.
“I felt something too, though I don’t see her the way you do,” I murmured, a million words bubbling up in my throat, words that I hadn’t been able to voice before. “She’s come to me though. She’s come to me in dreams. The shadows that you see, they are real. The shadows you have seen your entire life are not a result of madness. You have a gift. Just like I do. And you should not fear it. I think she wants you to understand that.”
He’d worked that out for himself, I saw. Though he didn’t quite see it as a gift. It was more like a curse to him, especially since his sister came to him the most.
I feared I didn’t have much time left and I wanted him to understand this before…whatever came next.
“Devina asked me to help her. To help you,” I whispered, my vision blurring with tears. “I just—I don’t know how.”
“What did she ask of you?” he rasped.
“Nothing,” I told him. “She just said that the both of you can never be whole unless you let go of her.”
His brows drew together, pained.
“She said she wants you to free her. That she thought I could help you do that, but I have no idea how. And I want to help…I want to help before it’s too late.”
“Pevkell,” he murmured. His fingers brushed my cheek, so gentle. “Enough, leikavi. Do not say that.”