Page 41 of Alokar
Yaard tried to bring the club around, but we were too close now. I grabbed his wrist and slammed it against the rocks until his grip loosened, and the bone club fell from his grip.
“You fight well for a youngling.” Yaard’s voice dripped with grudging respect as he clambered to his feet, his chest heaving as crimson rivulets traced down his scarred hide. The admission seemed to surprise even him.
“My adopted father taught me well,” I snarled, my voice a guttural rasp as we prowled in a deadly circle, muscles coiled like springs.
“And your pathetic Earth mother?” His muzzle contorted into a mask of revulsion, yellowed fangs gleaming. “What poison did that weak creature pour into your mind?”
His fist crashed into my jaw with bone-jarring force, stars exploding across my vision. I retaliated instantly, my clawsraking deep furrows across his forearm, painting the stone beneath us with his lifeblood.
“My mother taught me that kindness and gentleness burn brighter than any warrior’s rage,” I growled through gritted teeth.
We collided again in a savage dance of violence—fists like hammers, claws like daggers, each impact echoing off the canyon walls like thunder.
“My mother taught me that every soul in the universe deserves freedom and happiness in equal measure.” My words came between brutal exchanges, punctuated by the wet sound of flesh meeting flesh, our bodies slamming together with a primal fury before breaking apart, both of us bloodied and breathing hard. From nearby, I could hear Hannah’s faint moan of pain every time Yaard landed a blow.
“My mother taught me to listen, to honor the voices of others even when they whisper truths I don’t want to hear.”
We crashed together once more, a whirlwind of desperate strikes and defensive blocks, the metallic taste of blood coating my tongue.
“But above all else,” I locked eyes with him, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper, “my human mother taught me the power of love.” My gaze flicked to Hannah, pressed against the boulder with a jagged bone shard clutched in her trembling hands like a makeshift blade. “I love Hannah. And because you dared to lay your hands on her, you will die.”
Yaard’s eyes went wide with hatred and desperation. He reached for a sharp stone with his free hand.
I didn’t give him the chance to use it. With a roar, I wrapped my arms around his torso and lifted him off the ground. Yaard thrashed wildly, clawing at my face and shoulders, but my grip was durasteel. I could feel his ribs grinding against my forearms as I squeezed tighter.
Then, with all the fury of a mate protecting what was his, I brought him down hard across my knee. The crack of his spine breaking was like thunder echoing off the mountains. Yaard’s scream cut off abruptly, his body going limp as his eyes glazed over. Yet words, along with a trickle of blood, continued to pour from his mouth.
“You fool. You stupid fool. You cannot stop me, even in death. Alliance rule is coming to an end. The consortium is everywhere.”
“Ewok!” Hannah’s voice tore through the air like a battle cry, jerking my attention from Yaard’s dying ramblings. A heartbeat later, she came hurtling toward me—a blur of desperate motion—crashing into my arms with such force it nearly knocked the breath from my lungs.
I crushed her against my chest, my face buried deep in the curve of her neck, and I inhaled her scent like a drowning man gasping for air. She reeked of terror-sweat and the putrid musk of rotting pelts Yaard had draped over her to mask her precious scent, but beneath it all was the intoxicating essence that was purely, uniquely Hannah.
Nothing else mattered. Not the blood streaming down my face, not the fire burning in my muscles, not even Yaard’s labored breathing behind us. Only this—my mate alive and whole in my arms.
Dirt streaked her face like war paint, purple bruises bloomed across her pale skin, and her hair hung in wild tangles—yet she remained the most beautiful creature I’d ever beheld. In her white-knuckled grip, she clutched a massive bone, its tip snapped off and honed to a lethal point that gleamed like a polished blade.
My brave, resourceful mate.
"I'm sorry, my love," I said, my voice rough with regret, the words scraping against my throat like gravel.
"Why?" She glanced up at me, her gray eyes shimmering with unshed tears that caught the light like dewdrops on morning grass. "You came for me. I knew you would."
"Always," I promised, my fingertip trembling as I traced the delicate curve of her jaw, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch. "But it was my ineptitude that put you in this danger."
A small frown creased her brow, creating tiny lines between her eyebrows as confusion clouded her features. "I don't understand."
I sighed deeply, the weight of failure churning in my gut. "Yaard tracked us the entire time we were hunting him. The grizzly I kept catching scent of was him—the grizzly that killed Rodney--I didn't recognize his deception, and it put you in danger."
"Are you kidding?" Hannah's frown deepened, but there was a tinge of amusement dancing at the corners of her mouth. "He stunk like shit. Not even your impressive nose could have told the difference. No one could."
"Then you do not blame me?" I ventured, my voice barely above a whisper, hope and fear warring in my chest.
"No." Hannah smiled then, a radiant expression that seemed to chase away the shadows from her face, her free hand coming up to cup my cheek with gentle fingers that felt like silk against my stubbled skin. "You came for me Ewok. You saved me. That makes you a hero in my book."
I wondered about this book she spoke of but decided to leave it till later. I nodded toward the improvised weapon held tight in her hand, pride swelling in my chest until it threatened to crack my ribs. “The killing blow is yours,” I growled, my voice rough with emotion. “To avenge your father.”
Hannah’s gray eyes dropped to where Yaard lay sprawled and broken, still spewing his poisonous words through blood-frothed lips. A shadow crossed her features—grief, rage, and something deeper warring in her expression. Then, like dawn breaking over a battlefield, the tension melted from her shoulders. The weight of vengeance, the crushing burden of loss, seemed to evaporate from her frame like morning mist.
