Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
But I cannot leave T’ia behind, and I have no idea where they have taken her. Duty to my people—and the loyalty I feel to the female I once thought would be mine—makes me pause. “We will try to make Set’nef realize that we are not the enemy. When he returns, we will speak to him again. We will try to get him to release us, and to bring T’ia back to us. If that does not work, then we will escape.”
How, I have not figured out just yet.
She stiffens, gazing off into the distance over my shoulder. “The shadows just moved.”
The shadows?
I turn, getting to my feet. I raise to my full height, letting my camouflage slide into the color of the shadows in case R’slind wishes to hide behind me. My tail wraps around her protectively, and I scan the darkness just beyond the bars that enclose our cave. I can smell nothing, which troubles me. Whoever these ancestors are, they mask their scents. They can camouflage, too, which means they are better at hiding than I am.
But I have a long-awaited mate at my side, and they will not touch her.
“Show yourself,” I snarl. “If you wish to look upon us, come and look.”
The shadows surge, and one of the strange, furred ancestors appears. It is not Set’nef, but the other one. The one with scars and hard eyes. The one that stares at R’slind far too much.
He is staring at her even now, his gaze moving over her, and I am filled with helpless anger. R’slind is my mate.
The male ignores me as if I am not even there. He stalks just outside the bars of the cage, moving this way and that to try and get R’slind in his sights. I move to block her from his gaze, but he has more room to maneuver, and no matter what I do, it seems he can look at her.
I growl like an angry metlak, furious. She is my mate, and I do not like the way he watches her. He needs to understand that she is mine. I thump my chest, indicating the song that thrums out of me, so loud and obvious, but the male only smirks, his scarred face contorting with the gesture.
“Speak,” I demand. “Only a coward hides in the darkness.”
But the male does not understand me. He scratches at his furry jaw with clawed fingers, and I am reminded that he has four strong arms, not just two. “Such a soft female,” he says in a low voice, so low I have to strain to hear it. “I like the look of her.”
The way he says it leaves no doubt in my mind as to what he is thinking about. I snarl, surging forward. “Let us out!”
He laughs, tossing a pouch at our cell.
I reach through the bars and catch it, the soft contents crushing in my hand as I do. More food, then. “Where is Set’nef?” I call at the shadows. “Tell him I need to speak to him. Tell him R’jaal awaits him!”
The male does not answer. I cannot tell if he has left or if he yet lurks in the shadows. I lift my head, trying to pick up any changes in scent. There is a subtle one, that of mushrooms—the mild scent of earth.
“Somehow I don’t think that guy is friendly,” R’slind whispers as I pace in front of the bars.
So she noticed his attentions, too. She is sharp, my mate. She might not be a brash hunter like Leezh, but her eyes miss nothing. “He masks his scent.”
“And he changed colors like you,” she points out. “Can everyone in your world do that?”
I shake my head. “Just the islanders…and the ancestors.”
“You say those words like they’re supposed to mean something to me,” R’slind teases. She opens the pouch and studies the contents inside. “More food, I think. Maybe he’s our captor today and Set’nef isn’t coming.”
The thought fills me with dismay. I can reason with Set’nef. He does not look at R’slind with that strange fascination. It is not quite hunger. It is more like…a metlak tearing the wing off a bird so it cannot escape. I saw this once when hunting and it haunted me for many moons. They are casual in their cruelty, as if it has not occurred to them that the creatures might deserve better.
This ancestor, this male, stares at my R’slind in the same way.
“Ew, they’re wet!” R’slind jerks her hand out of the sack, making a face. “He poured something wet on the food.”
Another growl starts low in my throat. I snatch the sack of food away from her and sniff the bag. Sure enough, the faint tang of a male’s seed is evident. It only makes me angrier, because he does this on purpose.