Page 50 of Taken to Lemora
“For comet’s sake,” Merquin groans. “You’re insufferable.”
“You’reinsufferable. Now can I just see my mate?”
“She isn’t here.”
“This again? If I have to camp out here all lunar and sing victory songs, I will.”
“Stars, that’s terrible.”
“You know you can’t sing,” the two females say simultaneously. They share a look, then laugh.
“She really isn’t here, Raingar,” Merquin shakes her head. She steps up next to Librida and slides a hand possessively around Librida’s lower back, settling it on her hip. I swallow, focused on that hand, wondering how she mastered the ability to touch her mate without hurting her. So much control. So much trust. And it goes both ways between them.
“You mean it?” I rub my chin, unsure.
“Yeffa.”
My brows draw together. My pulse spikes. “Well then, where in Lemora’s suns is she?” The two females exchange a look, debating whether or not to tell me. I can’t let them decide against. “Pagh!” I shout, taking a haggard step forward. “Just tell me. I’ll behave…”
“He will have to or the drunken mob will come after him,” Librida chuckles, shoulders jerking as she laughs.
Merquin grins lopsidedly at her female before turning her gaze back to me and it’s stony all over again. “I hear the party at Winter’s End is wild this lunar. You may need a pad pad if you expect to get there with enough time to catch her.”
“Then ready the beast!” I can’t believe it. Both Gorman and my entire ohring village lied to me to protect her. The thought makes my chin wobble.They love her already. They really do love her.
Librida takes off but Merquin still stands there, arms crossed, frowning. “You’ve done a bad thing, Raingar. A series of them.”
I nod but I don’t disgrace myself, Merquin or Essmira by looking away from my accuser. “Yeffa.”
“You think you’re ready to try for her, but you aren’t.”
I don’t say anything. If Merquin says it, she’s probably right.
“That’s why I wanted space between you two. She’s still discovering herself. And if, this lunar, you go and find her in the arms of another male dancing, what are you going to do?”
Shred his face off. Disembowel him. Throw her over my shoulder and take her back to my chambers and lock her in… “Nurfigh,” I say, stubbing my toe into the mossy soil roughly.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“I can’t hear you.”
“I’m not going to do anything!”
“Hm,” she says. She doesn’t believe me. I know I don’t. But I’m going to try. Is there any more that a mate can do for his miriga, but try? “Behave.”
I grunt. “I’ll try that, too.”
“What?”
“Norfig! Bye!”
A miserable pad pad ride later and I’m ridingbackinto my own ohring village. I stable the pad pad and stomp past the partygoers, my heart hammering in my chest, trying to pound its way through my sternum. The streets are eerily clear — up until I pass the town square. There, the orbs shine bright, illuminating the party that’s spilled near andintothe fountain where half a dozen drunk creatures bathe in the shallow pool.
“I hope you all drown! The lot of you!” I shake my fist at them, but only two acknowledge my barb.
One Lemoran male breaks the kiss he has ongoing with his mate just long enough to scowl at me. Both his and his female’s horns are a dull white, where the molting of my horns has stopped.
