Page 110 of Theirs to Crave

Not so overcome with despair that she cast herself onto the ground, cursing.

I turned pleading eyes to Zaf, who was shifting his weight from foot to foot, distraught.

“Would you like to hear how Litha lost her arm and won my mother’s wrath?” he blurted out. Immediately, he realized what he’d said and ducked his head, avoiding my eyes.

Estrayuh’s angry stream had stopped as if a hand had clamped her mouth shut. I looked down, my ears pinned back in embarrassment, and attempted a smile.

She squinted at me, then shifted her focus to Zaf. “I know what you’re doing. But I really, really want to know, so I’m allowing it.” Estrayuh knee-walked to Revik, plopped into his lap, and folded her arms—the pair matched in stubbornness, if not in size.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

I sighed and stretched out on my back. No point in trying to influence the conversation. Revik and Zaf insisted on attributing some great noble heroics to my actions—when really they were no more than anyone would have done in the same situation. I just happened to be the one there at the time.

Our people had fled the mountains’ fire only four generations ago, taking refuge deep in the jungle. Those ancestors had made their way to the great rivers, looking for new places to make their homes. They’d found the Svestrix, who—though comparatively few in number—were great warriors and knew the jungle in ways our ancestors had not.

That first generation had seen many people—Teterayuh and Svestrix—go to the sky.

By the time I was wandering into the Svestrix territory as a young, cocky,ka’vek, our peoples had not seen battle since my parents were kits.

I’d strolled blithely past the territorial markers, too intent on finding the perfect shade of reeds to match our new mate’s eyes to care that I trespassed. When I’d stumbled across a Svestrix man fighting ava’grevfor his life and that of his baby, whowailed from a nearby root hollow, I could not walk away. No one with a heart could have.

I shifted uncomfortably.

The babe had survived, but the man hadn’t, and I’d been badly wounded. His mate—Kashka—found us and nursed me back to health. I’d been sick with wound-fever, and she’d been mad with grief, so I’d laid in her den most of a semi-moon.

It was to be expected that we’d form a bond under such circumstances, not exceptional.

It was natural that our friendship and the experience we shared had brought our people closer, so that instead of uneasy truce, we enjoyed trade and a tentative alliance.

It was just unfortunate that Saytireka chose to see all this as a challenge, rather than an opportunity.

“Litha.” Estrayuh’s voice, thick with emotion. Her soft hand touched my cheek.

I turned my head, meeting her watery eyes.

She seemed to struggle for words, finally giving a little sob and simply pressing her forehead to mine. Hot tears dripped onto my cheeks.

I cupped the back of her head, inhaling her moist, ragged breaths, and heard all the things she didn’t say.

I wanted to tell her I wasn’t what she thought. That I was only a person, like any other. I wanted to tell her she’d done the same as I, in a similar situation, only I was a warrior—trained, armed, and blooded—while she was small and defenseless. Her bravery was so much greater than mine.

But I said none of those things. I was a selfish person. Much as I disagreed with my mates’ devotion, I craved it. I would work to be the person they thought me to be.

Besides, those things weren’t entirely true. Estrayuh was small in stature, yes, but if she had someone to protect, her ferocity was as great as any warrior’s.

I rubbed my cheek along hers, elation filling me as I realized her scent had shifted, weaving in hints of mine, Zaf’s, and Revik’s.

“Let us go home, my brave warrior,” I murmured. “I want to hold and be held, and sleep in the bed we made.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes,” Zaf agreed, helping her to her feet.

“Always,” Revik swore, his big arms trembling as he wrapped them around us all.

Chapter 32

Revik

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