Page 23 of Daghel

“Very well,”it hisses, the icy chill of its voice drifting from everywhere all at once as the darkness withdraws from her.“But I will never be far. I am never far. Eventually, I will possess everything I have come for.”

I watch the heavy coil of shadows as the darkness departs, whisking back out into the night—where it belongs, beneath the watchful eye of Vepra. For now, anyway.

Grunting quietly, I lie back down and carefully gather Daghel and Anya close to me. They both appear so relaxed, and a peaceful expression has returned to Daghel’s face. Something softens within me. This is my family—I cannot forget that. And because of that, it is my responsibility to protect and care for them. Brushing my muzzle across the tops of their heads, I breathe in their delicious scents and let them settle within me. I will keep my mates close. They will sleep undisturbed under my wing.

Chapter

Sixteen

ANYA

The icy chill of the morning crawls through the rookery and it’s utterly miserable. I don’t bother to hide the fact that I hate it, even if Daghel watches on with amusement as I practically wedge myself completely under Drisk’s wing in order to bathe in the natural heat the male possesses.

“Have I told you how wonderful you are, Drisk? My personal furnace,” I moan, tucking my toes into the toasty warm webbing of his wing as the wyvern shakes with his clicking laughter.

“Strange female to cling so to a wyvern,”he growls in mock threat, but he turns his big body, gently cushioning my head and upper body against his powerful chest.

“What’s wrong with cuddling with a wyvern?” I muse with a small yawn. “Your scales are soft and wonderfully warm. Besides, Daghel is not much of a cuddler when he’s got so much to do.”

I spare a teasing look toward the orc seated in the chair, and he smirks back at me as he lifts his mug and sips at some sort of thick, cinnamon-y brew that is too strong for my human tongue.

“You would not be so cold if you dressed properly and drank your fill of spice,” he points out, tapping a claw against his cup in emphasis.

“Spice would be a name for it,” I reply with a faint shudder. “I like to keep my tongue intact, thanks… and I would imagine that you should as well, considering that you seem to enjoy what I can do with it.”

A dangerous grin spreads across his face as he regards me. My stomach flutters with excitement, but he makes no move to rise from his chair. Instead, he strokes his jaw, his claws catching the firelight as he watches me, his eyes glittering dark pools. Staring into his eyes is like staring into an abyss, and it makes me tremble with desire whenever he looks at me that way.

“As for the clothes,” I say, wrenching my gaze away from his to focus on teasing the inside of Drisk’s wing with my toes, “all the layers are simply too confining. I prefer being comfortable, and sadly orc fashion isn’t any more comfortable for females than it is in Zyerk.”

Here I am, living in a damned mountain where everyone expects females to wear layered dresses of all things over their surcs while the males get to walk around in nothing more than surcs and tunics. I have nothing against dressing up when I want to look devastatingly impressive, but I have newly discovered that I value comfort more than the lessons hammered into me over the years. Madrina would be turning in her grave if she knew.

Daghel’s brows rise, but his head turns toward the window as a brassy bellow from a young wyvern pierces the air. Drisk’s ears snap forward and a rattling growl rises in his throat until Daghel lifts his hand as rises from the chair, heading for the window.

“Impetuous males! They dare too much in directly approaching the rookery without invitation.”

“Calm yourself. It was merely a summons for my rounds,” he mutters and then turns to pull his fur cloak around his shoulders.

“No one should be ‘summoning’ you either,”Drisk mutters darkly. “You are a gathol, not a servant.”

“You will receive no argument from me, but this is on Vorn’s orders. I will play his game for now. It will at least give me an opportunity to work against him, especially if he attempts to make a move against Linahna.”

“Linahna?” That catches my attention. Didn’t Kael insinuate that there was some sort of relationship between them? Clearly it never was allowed to flourish for whatever reason and doesn’t threaten me, but I’m admittedly curious. Dropping my feet from Drisk’s wing, I turn and sit up to peer at him expectantly. “Why would he move against Linahna?”

Daghel pauses in the midst of fastening his cloak to look over at me gravely. “Linahna is the princess and heir. The female leads and the male defends. This is the way it has always been in the Cold Mountains. But the current queen has not been seen in years, and Vorn has made it clear that he intends on blocking Linahna’s ascension to the throne, preferring to keep it for himself.”

“I see,” I murmur. “That certainly tracks with his particularly loathsome pretense at authority. It practically reeks.” I glance at him from beneath my lashes, watching as he resumes fastening his cape. “I should have guessed it was something like that when Kael remarked that it was impossible for Linahna to mate you.”

He freezes at my words, and his dark eyes rise to focus on me. “He suggested that Linahna and I would have mated?”

My stomach drops at his curt words. Had I misjudged the situation? Had he wished to mate with her and had not known of her interest? Daghel is not a male to let small things like Vornstop him from mating. He proved that by capturing me, hadn’t he?

Eyes narrowing me, he strides forward, his hand curling firmly around my arm. “He spoke this in front of you?”

I frown down at his hand and step back, pulling my arm free from his grasp. “As a matter of fact, he did.”

His brows pull into a dark glower as his eyes follow my retreat, his breath hissing from between his teeth. “He should not have said such in front of you.”

“Why?” I demand. “Is it something that I should not have known?”

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