thick material of my pants, I could feel its heart pumping furiously against my calves.
The pyroki didn’t like me. Not one bit.
Once the Vorakkar calmed his beast, his gaze came up to me. His jaw tightened as his eyes ran over my form and then he swung himself up behind me. Underneath the safety of my hood, my face burned when he pulled me, until my backside was nestled against his groin and his inner thighs cradled my hips.
He grunted, reaching forward to take the gold reins, his arms bracketing my body until I had nowhere to go. I was tense, frozen, trying to keep as much distance between us as possible and failing.
“Vir drak ji vorak,” he said, his deep, rough voice vibrating through me. The words weren’t meant for me, however. They were meant for his pyroki, who started into motion at its master’s command.
I couldn’t contain the startled squeal that escaped my throat as the pyroki bolted into a run. The stables were on the edges of Dothik and had their own exit out onto the Dothikkar’s road and, by extension, the plains beyond. The pyroki had bolted into a furious sprint towards the gates and when it saw they were closed, that the guards stationed there had not opened them in time, the pyroki came to a sudden stop, kicking up dust and nearly throwing me off its back had the horde king behind me not caught my waist in time.
The Vorakkar growled, “Pyroth!”
I had the distinct impression that the pyroki tossed its head to signal its displeasure.
The Mad Horde King mumbled something in Dakkari, watching as the guards finally sprang into action and began opening the gates. It didn’t take long and once the pyroki saw the road cleared in front of us, it started to run again, though not quite the jarring full-sprint it had done before.
Craning my neck behind me, I watched the walled city begin to fall away. Before us, the Dothikkar’s paved road was lined with towering trees and the forests beyond them looked dark and sinister. But they blurred by as the pyroki increased its pace.
The Vorakkar began laughing and I tensed at the foreign, husky sound.
“What?” I asked, gritting my teeth when my rump landed painfully on the pyroki’s scaled back.
“She does not like you,” he told me once his laugh faded away. “I have never seen her so displeased about anything.”
She?
“I gathered that for myself,” I murmured, wincing when I landed hard again.
I prayed that wherever our destination was, it was close by. I’d been on the pyroki’s back for mere moments and already, I felt pain blooming.
“Livri,” the Vorakkar said next and all at once the pyroki gentled its sprint, slowing down to a trot.
I almost sighed in relief. And then I committed the word to memory. Livri.
When I shifted, my backside brushed his groin again and I sucked in a breath, leaning forward. When I rested my hands on the pyroki’s thick neck, hanging on, it flung its head backwards and I cried out, losing my grip and falling back into the Vorakkar’s chest.
My heart was thundering but I righted myself immediately. All right, so the pyroki didn’t want me to touch her. Fair enough.
It seemed the pyroki was just as prickly as its master.
“Will you tell me where we are going now?” I asked instead. I’d asked before we’d left the Dothikkar’s keep but all the Vorakkar had said in reply was that the heartstone we sought was not in the city.
“To my horde,” he said.
I jolted. “What? Why?”
Dread coiled in my stomach. My gut had told me something wasn’t right and I should’ve listened to it.
Never look a gift horse in the mouth?
I should have.
I was running out of time. Every day I was away from the Dead Mountain…the poison in my blood grew thicker and thicker. We didn’t have time to gallivant around Dakkar. I didn’t have time.
“No, please, just…” I shook my head, my throat growing tight. “Please, I need to get the heartstone and quickly.”
The Vorakkar didn’t say anything. Not at first, and I felt familiar desperation claw its way up my throat.
“Tell me one thing about you,” he finally said, “and I will tell you a story. About why we must go to my horde first.”
From behind, he pulled my hood away and it tumbled around my shoulders. Cool air threaded through my hair and it felt good.
A story?
“You know I cannot say anything about Lozza,” I told him. “Or