Page 19 of The Horde King of Shadow

Though she wasn’tquitea Dakkari, was she? They’d mixed their bloodlines with humans over the course of the last two centuries. Shelookedhuman—small, vulnerable, and weak.

So small,I thought again, my eyes tracking down the front of her body when I placed her on the ground. She had no tail, as if she was a rider. Short limbs, smooth flesh, dressed in worn brown pants and a green embroidered tunic saturated from the storm. Not unlike any other female, though I had the unyielding impression that she was…soft. Unhardened to this life.

And easily broken.

I couldn’t have picked a worse wife.

She wouldn’t last one riding season. The Sarrothian horde would never accept her. It was laughable.

Though…as she stared back at me in this strange moment of quiet, I could concede shewaspleasing to look at, scar and all. Beautiful, even, with her smooth—albeit wind-stung—skin, upturned nose, round face, and full pink lips. The tips of her ears were subtly pointed.Different. She possessed a soft beauty so unlike what Karag valued, and I found the contrast oddly…

And her eyes. Gray and luminous, I felt like they could sear straight through me. I’d never seen a match to their color.

Intriguing.

I had the discomforting sense she was observing me in a similar way, all careful curiosity, and I released her quickly, stepping back. I tapped on Zaridan’s wing, which she lowered, and I walked up to untie a thick satchel, throwing it down before I went to the second one.

When I returned, I said, “Go wait under the tree line. We’ll stay here for the night and wait out the storm.”

Chapter 8

KLARA

A short while later, after we’d found a drier spot within the protection of the forest, Sarkin pulled out what looked like a black rock from a leather bag, wide and round at the bottom but tapered toward the top.

It was gleaming and smooth, but inside…I caught a glow of red.

I was trying to ignore the throbbing pain my entire body was in. Every small movement ached and burned, my muscles screaming in protest. My skin felt chafed and raw in every place my clothing hadn’t covered it. Between my thighs, I knew the skin was bloodied and scraped from Zaridan’s unyielding leather mount. My palms were beginning to blister from where I’d gripped the bar.

“Is that a dragon egg?” I asked in disbelief, trying to keep my teeth from chattering and my limbs from shaking…because ithurtto shiver.

Sarkin’s gaze flashed up to mine, and I watched him place it on the forest floor. It sizzled on contact when it met the damp ground, steam rising, but it did nothing to dull the red glow within.

“No,” he replied.

I waited for him to explain, but he said nothing more. In my curiosity, I walked forward, gritting my teeth as I bent down, but I wanted to get a closer look. The heat it was radiating was unfathomable.

“Don’t touch it,” he growled. How had he? It should’ve burned him. “Undress.”

I gasped, straightening quickly, feeling a searing ache follow. “What?”

From the other pack, he tossed me a bundle of clothing. “You can’t get warm in those clothes.”

The material in my hands was heavy but soft. A pair of thick trews, well–broken in, and a long-sleeved black shirt. Simple and without decorative embellishments, so unlike what my people wore.

But they were dry. That was all that mattered.

Gazing around the clearing, I saw a tree wide enough to offer me privacy, and I walked—gingerly—to it.

The forest we’d landed in was lush and damp, the floor covered in a soft dark blue moss. The trees’ trunks were smooth and black, leading up to thick, curling branches laden with velvety leaves, a kaleidoscope of different colors—dark greens, blues, and purples. I imagined in the daylight, or in the golden glow of a sunset, this forest would be breathtaking.

Strange flora illuminated the forest, bushes and shrub and vines glowing. For a brief moment, I thought they wereheartstones, my hopes for Dakkar coming true. But instead, it appeared it was the stamens of the blooms themselves, glowing a light blue at their very center, and disappointment swept through me.

Though I still had hope. I’d dreamed of heartstone forests. They had to be here.

“Don’t try to run,” came the dark warning, though Sarkin’s tone was nonchalant. “There are worse things in here than me.”

A chill went down my spine, the beauty of the dark forest suddenly turning ominous. Quickly—as quickly as I could—I undressed. Inspecting my inner thighs briefly, I winced when I saw theyhadbeen scraped raw, little beads of red blood already drying.

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