Page 15 of Daring the Drakarn Warrior Lord
"Looking forward to it," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through my system.
They launched themselves upward with powerful wing beats, disappearing into the shadows above. The corridor fell silent except for the sound of our breathing and the distant hum of the mountain's geothermal systems.
"Me and Hawk will walk you home," said Vega. "It's on the way for us."
Lexa was still holding a wickedly sharp knife and staring at the ceiling above us. It was easy to forget we were living in caves sometimes, given how tall the ceilings could be. At moments like this, I cursed them. Too many places to hide, too many anglesof attack. The Drakarn had all the advantages in their own territory.
"That's a good idea," Lexa agreed, finally sheathing her blade. "They don't bother us when we're at home."
Was that good enough? That the unmated humans could sleep without worrying about attack? Was that all they could hope for?
We'd survived eight months on this alien world, carved out a place for ourselves among warriors and politicians and fanatics who wanted us gone. I was starting to believe that we might actually have a future here.
But tonight was a reminder that acceptance was fragile, that there would always be those who saw us as invaders, as corruption, as something to be eliminated.
Things were supposed to get easier, the longer we survived here.
So why did it feel like it was only getting worse?
5
DARROKAR
Terra satcross-legged on the floor near the bathing pool, her back to the entrance. Her blade lay across her knees, and she worked a whetstone along its edge with mechanical precision. The sound grated against my nerves, sharp and aggressive. Each stroke too hard, too fast, like she was trying to grind the metal down to nothing.
I stopped just inside the doorway and watched her.
The set of her shoulders told me everything. Every muscle in her back drawn tight enough to snap. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the blade's hilt, and the whetstone moved with barely controlled violence.
Something had happened.
I felt it in my chest, a tightness that had nothing to do with my own emotions and everything to do with hers. Fear. Anger. Both twisted together until I couldn't separate them.
My claws flexed. The urge to cross to her, to demand answers, to find whoever had put that tension in her spine and tear them apart, it burned through me. But I forced myself to stillness. She knew I was here. She'd heard me enter. And she was choosing not to acknowledge my presence.
That meant she needed space. Or she was trying to work through something on her own.
Or she was avoiding a conversation she didn't want to have.
I stayed where I was and let the silence stretch.
The blade sang against the stone. Over and over. A pattern she'd repeated so many times the sound had worn grooves into my patience.
"Tell me about the Skalanth," she said without looking up.
The question came out too carefully neutral. Like she'd been waiting for me to arrive so she could ask with exactly that tone.
I moved deeper into the quarters, my steps loud enough that she could track my approach. "What do you want to know?"
"What it involves. Why it matters." Another stroke, harder than necessary. "You've been preparing for weeks. I should probably understand what all the fuss is about."
She was looking for something specific but approaching it sideways, like she thought I wouldn't notice.
I did.
I crossed the space between us and knelt behind her. Close enough that my body heat would reach her, that she'd feel my presence at her back. But I didn't touch her.
"It's a trial," I said. "For young warriors who want to prove themselves worthy of their rank."
