shout, the sheer volume of it, or the fact that they’ve sensed the buildup of tension all day and my shout broke their nerves.) Isla’s visual path then is clear to me when she whips around and pins me with a killing look.
The challenge in it causes my blood to fire. The desire to answer her challenge by chasing her down is strong, but I refrain. Instead, I raise my hand to her—and wave.
Her head snaps back. I’ve managed to surprise her.
Before she can reject my wave, I drop my arm, and turn away, allowing her to leave.
CHAPTER 11
BASH
(Crying Counter: 0)
The next morning, I stand at the coffee-ing station, scaring back all the other humans who normally collect here. It’s not my intention to frighten them, but I’ve managed it all the same. They all eye me fearfully, as if I’m a predator that crawled into their watering hole. None of them are thirsting desperately enough to test if I’ll bite.
I wave them closer. “Get your coffees.” I learned the hard way early on that what hobs claimed of these creatures is true: humans need coffee for their survival. The first early shift when I rushed the herd to work without letting them coffee proved them utterly useless. The lot of them were no better than corpses barely revived by witchcraft. They spent the afternoon snapping at each other like frazzled beasts, the rest of the time they were in a fugue state, thus we solved the issue by setting them up a coffee-ing station. They drink the moment they step foot here, and they breathe life and they fight less with their daily brew of necessary magic beans.
Yet none of them are moving for their drink. I scowl. “Did I stammer?”
“No offense,” one human says with wide eyes—Mandi, she is called, “but none of us want to die today.” Then she leans around the others, evidently searching for her male, the one that Gracie calls ‘Mandi’s kitty-cat’—and I’m surprised he’s not at her side. Apparently, she’s surprised too. She’s looking around for him anxiously.
“Where is your herd’s leader?” I ask her. Gracie will get her people to drink. Yes, I’m aware that I could move and they will surely accomplish their drinking, but I want to be here the moment Isla arrives. It’s important that she sees me right away, that she recognizes that I am making an effort at reparation. I am afraid if I step away that I’ll miss her and she’ll serve herself. My gesture will mean less then, and I have misstepped with her. I owe it to the both of us to make this right.
“‘Herd leader?’” Mandi mutters with incredulity.
My gaze slices to her.
Her eyes go wide and she hollers, “GRACIEEE!”
“Never fear, your queen is here,” Gracie calls back. She’s descending the quarry steps almost lumberingly. I feel my brows dip in concern. She’s been growing heavy with pup; she’s reached the time when she really can’t be working in the quarry. Unfortunately, this means I’m going to have to argue with her, as it goes without question that every discussion becomes a verbal battle with this human. If I’m lucky, her mate will agree with me that her condition has become unsafe—and with more luck, she’ll mind him.
...Creator. That won’t take luck. That will take a miracle.
When Gracie makes it to the coffee-ing station, she sees me and her eyes briefly show surprise. “Have we converted the great Bubashuu to coffee?” she asks in disbelief.
“No,” I say dismissively, and this is the only answer she will have from me on the subject of their swill water. Except to order her to make her people drink it while I stand here. “I’m not leaving this spot. Tell your followers to water themselves.”
She widens her eyes and raises her browfurs expectantly but rather than explain, I bring up another subject. “Your time here has ended.”
Gracie almost reels back. “Excuse me?”
I glance down pointedly at her stomach, and her hands immediately come up to shield and cover the swell of her belly. But she argues anyway. “I’ve got weeks and weeks to go yet. I’m fine.”
I tilt my horns, indicating the steps. “You are struggling with your balance. What if you fall?” I haven’t failed to notice that even bending down is difficult for her now. I shake my head. “It’s not safe.”
Gracie makes a flat ‘gerrr’ noise—the human approximation of a real growl. They form their effort in their mouth, not their throats or their