Page 4 of Daring the Drakarn Warrior Lord
He took it carefully, claws gentle on the fabric. "What is this?"
I rolled my eyes. "Open it and find out."
He did, unwrapping the cloth with a precision that made me smile. I'd worked with Vyne in secret for weeks, describing what I wanted, helping to forge it myself.
It was a ring designed to fit over his knuckle, crafted from a piece of metal I'd salvaged from our crashed ship. I'd spent hours shaping it, polishing it until it gleamed like silver.
"Luvae," he breathed, holding the ring up to the light. "You made this yourself?"
I nodded, suddenly shy. "I helped. I know it's not much, but, well, it's Christmas. Ish."
He slipped the ring over the knuckles of his right hand, flexing his fingers to test the fit. It looked perfect there, like it belonged. "You mark me as yours,luvae," he said, his voice rough with emotion.
Before I could respond, he reached for me, pulling me across his lap until I was straddling his thighs. His hands framed my face, thumbs stroking across my cheekbones as he studied my features like he was memorizing them.
"It is exquisite work. But what is Christmas?"
He had trouble fitting the syllables around his tongue. "It's an Earth thing. A tradition." I settled onto him. "Back home, we celebrate it during winter. We give gifts, share meals, relax for just a bit."
He seemed confused. "We have no such tradition here."
"I know. That's why I'm not upset that you didn't get me a gift." I had to laugh at his sudden, slightly panicked expression.
He looked at the ring for a long time before slipping it onto his index finger. "You honor me."
He kissed me then, soft and sweet, so different from the desperate claiming in the training chamber. It was tender. Reverent.
Right.
When he pulled back, there was a smile on his face. "The other warriors will think I've gone soft."
"Let them think what they want."
"Rath will never let me hear the end of it."
I grinned. "Rath can mind his own business." And I happened to know for a fact that Rath would be getting a Christmas gift of his own from his mate.
Darrokar laughed, the sound warm and genuine. Then he sobered slightly, and I saw the shift in his expression—from mate to Warrior Lord.
"The Skalanth begins in three days."
I groaned. Darrokar had been boring me with news of the ritual preparations for weeks. Apparently, the Skalanth was a big deal. The annual warrior trial where every trainee and young warrior tried to prove themselves. It was part competition, part rite of passage, and entirely dangerous.
"You haven't been able to hide your enthusiasm for it," I observed sarcastically.
"The Skalanth is necessary. It tests skill, builds unity, honors tradition." He sounded like he was reciting from a manual. Then his shoulders slumped slightly. "But every year, some young fool tries to attempt a challenge far beyond their capability. For glory. For recognition."
"And you have to keep them from killing themselves."
"Exactly." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Last year, a trainee barely out of his juvenile training tried to fight Khorlar. Khorlar, who has forgotten more about combat than this whelp had ever learned."
"What happened?"
"Khorlar knocked him unconscious in under a minute. Gently, by his standards. The trainee woke with nothing but bruised pride and a valuable lesson."
I could picture it perfectly. Khorlar's stone-faced expression as he efficiently dismantled an overconfident youngster. "At least he learned."
"Some do. Others require multiple lessons." Darrokar's tail lashed in irritation. "And the senior warriors must balance allowing them to test themselves with preventing actual harm."
